Stay Tuned

Chapter 17

My car trunk was loaded down, and I pulled out of the parking lot of Posh Couture, satisfied that Cher’s wardrobe choices would show off the new and improved me.
    
Stage One transformation:
 
Complete.
    
Stage Two:
 
This was where Candace came in. I hit her number on speed dial, praying she’d finally answer.

“Crisis central.” Candace quipped. She had such a knack for making me laugh.

“Your crisis or mine?” I was interrupted by ear-piercing shrieks in stereo. “Are those happy screams?”

“Let’s see,” Candace replied after a door closed firmly in the background. “Sure. Happy screams, yes. The girls just found a lizard in the laundry basket. Daddy’s taking our new little friend outside. How’s your day been?”

“Fabulous,” I bubbled and gave her the quick and dirty version of my shopping escapade.

“Nice,” Candace agreed, without a trace of jealousy. I loved her for that. Then again, her closet was probably full of the same designer clothes I’d just bought. “I want to see all of it!”
    
“Done,” I said.
    
“Meet me for some dinner? I want to hear all about what else happened at the station. Marcus can keep the kids,” she whispered. “The promise of a little nooky later will do wonders.”
    
I could have hugged her. Candace was my safety belt on life’s merry-go-round, my conscience, and keeper of all juicy secrets.
    
“That sounds wonderful. But first, I need a favor…”
     
“Now, start from the beginning,” she commanded with a sweep of her hand.
    
Hitting the high points, I recapped last night’s drama—some of which she had seen—the punch, the spattered blood, then Alyssa’s attention-getting antics, and Drew’s reaction. I ran through the breakfast fiasco, Chris hidden behind the newspaper, speaking only in grunts, and my worry about filling in on the anchor desk.
    
“And his only concern,” I rolled my eyes dramatically and leaned back in Candace’s chair, “was whether or not I could get his shirts from the dry cleaners.”
    
“Uh-oh.” Candace clucked her tongue, one hand on the denim hip of her Joe’s Jeans. Her blue eyes flashed and she tapped the heel of her Jimmy Choos on the ceramic tile floor.
   
“I told him, ‘Get your own dry cleaning.’”
    
Candace’s eyes widened. She stepped back and did a double take. One hand flew to her mouth. Her huge diamond engagement ring caught the light and winked at me, as if to say:
 
Nice going. Now say goodbye to your marriage.
    
My stomach cramped. I envisioned Chris, furious, packing his suitcases. It had happened once, a long time ago. Would he leave again? Over something so minor?
                      
“You said that?” Candace finally managed to choke the words out.
    
I bobbed my head and stared at the toes of my scuffed suede Borns, suddenly wishing I could hit a rewind button and take back the day, or at least the morning. If I worried long enough, even the new clothes hidden in the trunk of the car would start to take on a sour note.
    
“Maybe I should call him and tell him I’m sorry,” I said, chewing my lower lip. Candace knew what had happened last time.
   
Before I could continue beating myself up, Candace let out a whoop and slapped the side of her thigh. She laughed so hard she doubled over and tears streamed out of her eyes.
 
Candace gasped for breath and steadied herself. “You’re way overreacting. And he’ll get over it.” Wiping her cheeks, she bit her bottom lip. “Melissa, was he listening to you?”
    
I didn’t want to answer.
    
“I don’t know, not really,” I said slowly. “He was in a hurry, and he’s under a lot of pressure at work, but—”
    
The moment I opened my mouth to defend Chris, Candace shot me a searing look. “Don’t whine to me and then pretend everything’s hunky-dory. You always tell me that Chris won’t talk about work; he won’t talk about his parents. He’s part of the problem, but so are you. Neither one of you want to communicate. Something’s gotta give.”
    
I knew what was coming next. The Dr. Phil lecture:
 
“If you don’t want to change your life, quit complaining about it.” I’d heard it so much I could give the talk myself.
    
Candace and Dr. Phil made it all sound so logical. But what if things were so awful they couldn’t be fixed? My mind raced with the possibilities, insecurities mounting like storm clouds ready to burst with rain. No. It had to stop. I was being irrational and needy, two things I hated.
    
“Enough is enough, right?” The words escaped before I could stop them.
    
Candace cocked her head and studied me. “Enough what…?”

“Enough worrying, enough feeling sorry for myself, enough being afraid—”
    
Okay, I was running out of reasons. Breathless but happy, I looked up at Candace, who beamed back at me. I had just given myself permission to live my life. Just like that.
    
“It’s okay to change. To re-invent myself.”

“Good.” Candace nodded approvingly and winked. “Now what about that favor?”