37
The next morning I'm drying off from my shower and hear voices, which is odd because Tom was sound asleep when I got up fifteen minutes ago feeling incredibly achy. I've never heard of a two-day hangover, but I feel crummy and a hot shower hasn't helped. I'm getting sick.
I turn off the fan to hear better. One voice is Tom and the other has the higher pitch of a woman. I can't imagine who it could be. A neighbor, a coworker? Then a vision of Tanya pops into my head. God, it better not be her.
With no clothes in the bathroom, I'm forced to slip into the bedroom wrapped in a towel. But I'm taken aback to find a woman in our bedroom. She has sleek dark hair, long legs in heeled boots, and is wearing a fitted leather jacket. This is definitely not Tanya, but who the hell is she? I can't stand in my towel all day, and I'm not going to hide in the bathroom.
"Tom, this is my place again, too. I sublet the extra bedroom from Ryan," she says in a silky voice.
"Why the bloody hell would you do that?" Tom fumes.
"You've been ignoring my calls for days. It's the only way I knew you'd talk to me."
On that note, I step to the foot of the bed where they both can see me. Tom, looking irritated, is sitting on the side, a sheet covering his naked midsection. The woman, and damn she is definitely that with her carefully arched eyebrows and glossed lips, is a combination of knock out and determination.
She spots me in my towel and the corner of her mouth raises in a sly smile. "So this is the new girl. Not your usual type is she?"
Tom's expression hardens. "Chelsea, this is Barbie. She's leaving," he says in a level tone as if struggling to keep his patience in check. I've never seen this side of him, not even when I was a drunk idiot.
"No, I'm staying." She says with a satisfied smirk and leans against the frame of the closet, crossing her legs at the ankles.
I'm speechless. There's no denying that this woman and Tom were an item. The question is when and for how long? And she might not think I'm his type, but she sure doesn't look like it either with her runway model makeup. I tighten my towel, wishing I had a bathrobe, but she's blocking the closet.
Tom snatches his jeans from the floor and pulls them on sans underwear. Barbie watches with a catlike smile. I'd like to grab a pillow and smack the lipstick off her thin lips.
He buttons his jeans and turns on her. "You're wrong. This isn't happening. I don't care what Ryan told you, there is no room to sublet, and I have no time to talk." He grips her upper arm and hustles her into the living room.
Unfazed, the woman places her hand on his chest, looks into his steely eyes, and says in a honeyed voice, "I understand. You're still hurt."
“You overestimate yourself.” He delivers a withering stare. "You left before, now do it again."
"And I'm sorry. I was wrong." She sidles up and runs her hand down his arm, which raises my hackles. "I came back to apologize and make it up to you."
She wants him back, and she doesn't look like the kind of woman who takes no for an answer. I'm about to interfere, but what am I thinking? Tom's an adult. He can make his own decisions, and yet my heart is lodged in my throat as I hear the soft murmurings of her making her move.
I close the door and change into jeans and a sweater. A glance in the mirror reveals my freshly scrubbed face. Next to the sophistication of Malibu Barbie, I'm a washed out Girl Scout. I pinch my cheeks and drag a brush through my hair. There's no way to transform myself in two seconds.
Do I stand back and watch her hit on Tom, or do I stake my claim? This feels like high school when Kelly Monson stole Kirk Tiegen from me.
Ready to face them, I open the door and hear Barbie say, "She's really got her clutches around you. Was it a rebound thing?"
Unable to stand idle, I march into the living room. Unless Tom wants me to leave, I'm going to stand with him. But I stop short at the sight of Barbie's arms around his neck and lips locked on his. I gasp, and Tom pulls her arms away and steps back.
Barbie frowns. "Can we do this someplace where your pillow buddy isn't eavesdropping?"
His arms are crossed and his jaw set. "The time for talk was a year ago." He casts me a quick glance as if apologetic, then looks back to her. "You walked into my apartment uninvited, so, no. And I'd like my key back." He holds out his palm.
Unfazed, she wanders through the apartment picking up a stray piece of mail and scoffing at the picture of Tom and I from Celebrity Dance Off. "Well that's not going to happen until you and I have a heart to heart."
"Barbie, my feelings for you are as dead as the plant you left behind."
She looks to the corner at the dusty dried up fern and gasps. "You killed my plant? How could you?"
He wipes his forehead. "Seriously? It's time for you to go." He opens the apartment door, but she ignores him.
"Not until we talk, and I'm pretty damn sure you don't want her—" She flips her hand my direction, as if I'm an annoying gnat that won't go away. "—hearing what I have to say."
I'm an outsider in their battle of wills. Tom has only looked at me once since she arrived. What's going through his mind?
"I think it's fair to assume that whatever you say is a load of inflated drama," Tom says.
She saunters over to him. I desperately want to shove her out. Instead I stand frozen in place.
"Is that what you think? After everything we went through?"
"Barbie, we were history a long time ago. I was just a stepping stone for you."
"Why are you always so difficult?" She runs her fingers over his shoulder and down his arm. "You want me to say it? Fine." She whispers something in his ear that makes Tom go still. He stares at her, speechless. Barbie tilts her head and shrugs.
What the hell did she say? She's pulling him away from me. Who is this woman and why does she have such power over him?
"Tom?" I need him to acknowledge me during this insanity.
But before he can register my voice, Barbie says, "surprise," watching his face for a reaction. "And if you want to know more, you will talk to me. Now." She hikes her purse over her shoulder and steps over the threshold."
Tom is pale and shaken. "Wait!"
She pauses with a knowing smirk.
"I've got to go with her." There's frustration in his eyes.
There's fear in the pit of my gut.
I want to understand, but I don't. What could possibly make him walk away from me? How can everything be normal, then a stranger walks in and suddenly he changes? I muster my voice.
"Please don't leave," I say the words calmly, but my eyes plead with him.
"I won't be long." He passes me without a glance and heads for his dresser and pulls out a pair of socks.
I follow. "What's going on? Who is she?"
"It's complicated."
"I can handle complicated."
Doesn't he see how important it is that he stay and explain?
He glances at me as if battling with what to do when Barbie yells from the other room, "You coming or not?"
"Give me a bloody minute," he snaps. "Where the hell are my trainers?" He digs in his closet and comes up with his running shoes.
He's really going and I can't stop him. My chest tightens. A rush of panic hits. I need him to stay? But how do I convince him? I touch his arm, warm and strong under my trembling hand. "Please don't go."
Tom finishes tying his shoes and turns to me. His eyes are dark and conflicted. "I need to do this. I'll be back soon." He forces a tight-lipped smile that doesn't convince me. Collecting his phone from the dresser, he heads for the living room and grabs his coat.
I'm about to lose it. I realize I'm overreacting, but I can't stop myself. A rush of dread consumes me; I clutch his arm. "Don't do this. Don't walk out on me." I say in desperation.
Barbie waits at the stairs taping her designer boot on the tile. Tom looks from her, to me, and back, as if it's Sophie's choice, then steps toward her. She gives me a smug lip curl.
Tom raises his hands in defeat. "I have to. I'll explain later." He steps into the hall and disappears.
Standing in the open doorway I flashback to when I was fourteen and my father ignored my cries and walked away. Hell, he walked away from me again just last week. I can't deny the overwhelming feeling that another door in my life is closing.
I rush to the window and in a few seconds see them on the sidewalk. Tom's head is down and his hands are sunk in his coat pockets, but Barbie smiles brilliantly and laughs, then links her arm through his as they walk. My heart is in my throat and I choke out a sob.