Shedding the Wasteland, I Met You

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My best friend Rosemary Barnes had a severe anxiety disorder. When it flared up, her whole body shook.

For three years I turned down every business trip to stay with her, ranking her ahead of even my fianc, Myron Henson.

That day Myron kicked the coffee table in a temper. She's faking it. Playing sick to milk your sympathy, and you actually treat her like she's precious?

I slapped him across the face, grabbed my suitcase, and walked out.

Four months. I worked day and night out of town to finish the project, then flew back three days early.

When I pushed open the apartment door, Rosemary's stilettos were scattered across the entryway.

The bedroom door wasn't shut all the way. Myron had her pinned against the foot of the bed, kissing her, breathing hard as he said, "The second she's back, I'm ending it. I've had enough of her."

Rosemary looped her arms around his neck and laughed. "She really thinks she's some kind of savior."

I leaned against the shoe cabinet and slowly pressed record.

The door opened.

Both their faces froze at the same time.

The smile hadn't left Rosemary's lips yet.

Myron let go of her all at once, his mouth trembling as he took a step forward.

I shoved my suitcase over and looked at them.

"This apartment was left to me by my mother. Be out in half an hour."

I paused. "Before you go, settle up three years of her medical bills. Every last cent of it, I paid."

...

The color drained from Myron's face.

He started toward me, but my cold stare pinned him where he stood.

"Celia Pruitt, let me explain."

"Explain what?"

I stepped around the fallen suitcase and walked into the living room.

"Explain that you'd had enough of me a long time ago? Or explain that she isn't a savior?"

The recording echoed clearly through the empty living room.

Every word out of Myron's mouth, every one of Rosemary's laughs, drove in like poisoned needles, straight through the airtight loyalty I'd once wrapped around them.

Rosemary's body began to shake. She clutched Myron's arm, tears rolling down in fat drops.

"Celia, I... my anxiety's acting up again, I don't know what I'm saying."

It really did work.

For three years, one use of this trick and I'd walk through fire for her.

I walked up to her and looked down at her.

"Is that so?"

"So these past three years, every time you had an episode, the medicine, the therapist, tell me which bill I didn't pay?"

"You're shaking so hard right now. Want me to book you another appointment?"

Rosemary's crying stalled.

Myron finally snapped out of it and pulled her behind him.

"Celia, that's enough!"

"She's sick, and you have to provoke her like this?"

I laughed.

"Myron, four months ago you said she was faking."

"What, one night in bed and it became real?"

The line landed like a slap across both their faces.

Myron's face flushed red, and he forced the words out through his teeth.

"We genuinely love each other."

"Genuinely love each other?"

I repeated it, finding it beyond ironic.

"Love each other so much you're living in the apartment my mother left me?"

"Love each other so much you wore the watch I bought you, the suit I bought you, to go hold another woman?"

I pointed at the door.

"Get out."

"Take every last one of your things with you."

Myron's chest heaved. He stared at me hard, like he was trying to bore a hole through me.

"Celia, you'll regret this."

I ignored him, turned, and pulled a thick stack of receipts out of the drawer.

"Before you regret anything, settle the bill."

I threw the stack onto the coffee table.

"Three years of Rosemary's therapy, medication, and hospital stays. Three hundred seventy-eight thousand six hundred, all told."

"Which one of you is paying?"

Rosemary looked at the stack and shook even harder, but this time all I felt was disgust.

Myron snatched up the receipts, glanced at the number, and his hands started to shake.

"Celia, are you insane?"

"You spent this much on an outsider?"

I looked at him and said it word by word.

"Before, she wasn't an outsider."

"But now, the two of you both are."

"Half an hour. If you're not gone, I'm calling the police."

With that, I stopped looking at them, walked straight into my study, and locked the door behind me.

I leaned against it, every ounce of strength drained out of me.

My stomach churned, and I rushed into the bathroom and threw up until I couldn't see straight.

Nothing came up but bile.

I looked at my own ashen face in the mirror and suddenly felt these past few years had been a joke.

A complete and total joke.

Half an hour later, I heard the door close outside.

I went out. The living room was empty, nothing left but the couch and coffee table they'd knocked out of place.

Not one thing of theirs remained.

They'd cleared out completely.

My phone buzzed. A message from Myron.

"I'll pay you back. But remember this, Celia, you're the one who stopped caring about me first."

I stared at that line and laughed.

I stopped caring about him?

Because of one comment about wanting to put down roots in Ashford, I worked myself to death, trying to pay off the mortgage sooner.

Because his stomach was bad, I learned to make all kinds of chicken soup for it.

Because of him...

Forget it.

I blocked his number, then opened Rosemary's profile.

Her last post was from yesterday.

Anxiety's acting up again. Thank goodness I have a knight watching over me.

The photo was Myron's face in profile, gently tucking the blanket around her.

I saved that photo, packaged it up with the recording from earlier, and sent it all to our shared friend group chat.

Then I sent the digital copy of the bill to Rosemary alone.

With a note: Pay me back within three days.

Once all of it was done, I switched off my phone and dropped myself hard into the couch.

The ceiling light stung my eyes.

I didn't cry.

I just felt like a piece of my heart had been hollowed out.

The next morning, I woke to my phone ringing.

It was Jeanette Finch, my department director.

"Celia, you're back in Ashford? Why didn't you say anything?"

My throat was dry. "Yeah, got in yesterday."

"Perfect timing. We just landed a big project, and the client asked for you by name."

"Their lead is a man named Brent Delgado. He's got a reputation in the industry for being hard to work with, and he specifically wants to meet you. Two o'clock this afternoon. Get ready."

I rubbed at my aching temple.

"Okay."

After I hung up, I noticed the dozens of missed calls and hundreds of unread messages on my phone.

Some were friends, shocked and worried. Others were from Myron and Rosemary's mutual friends, demanding answers.

Celia, that was cold. You won't be happy until you've driven Rosemary to her grave?

Whatever the problem was, couldn't you handle it privately? Did you have to blow it up so everyone knows?

I read through the messages with no expression, and answered none of them.

Cold?

When they were cheating in my own bed, why didn't they call themselves cold?

I pulled myself together, changed into a work suit, and put on makeup to cover how worn out my face looked.

At two on the dot, I walked into the agreed caf.

He was already there.

A man in a dark gray suit, his back to me, tall and straight.

He turned his head, and I froze.

Brent Delgado.

It was actually him.

Three years ago, back when I was still at another company, he'd been my client.

I was new then, and a data error nearly sank an entire project.

He stayed up all night helping me check the numbers, and that was what saved us from the loss.

Later he took a job overseas, and we lost touch.

"Celia?"

He looked just as surprised to see me, then gave a warm little smile.

"Long time no see."

"Long time no see, Mr. Delgado."

I pushed down whatever was stirring inside me and handed over the proposal, all business.

He didn't open it right away. Instead he ordered me a hot cocoa.

"You don't look well."

"Thank you." I didn't refuse.

The warm liquid slid down my throat and chased off some of the chill.

The meeting went smoothly. Brent was demanding, but his thinking was sharp, and every question he raised hit the mark.

By the time we finished, it was nearly evening.

"Let me drive you home," he said, closing his laptop.

"That's all right, I have my car"

Before I could finish, a shrill voice cut me off.

"Celia!"

Myron came out of nowhere, standing a short distance away with his eyes red.

He crossed the space in a few strides and grabbed my wrist.

"Why won't you answer my calls? Why won't you reply to my messages?"

"What was the point of putting all that in the group chat?"

His grip was strong, crushing my wrist until it hurt.

I tried hard to shake him off, but it was no use.

"Let go."

"I won't! You're coming back with me to talk this through!"

Like a beast that had lost control, he started dragging me off.

Brent stood, laid his hand over Myron's, and spoke calmly, with a force that left no room for argument.

"Sir, please let go of her."

Only then did Myron notice Brent beside us. He looked him up and down, his eyes full of hostility and appraisal.

"Who are you? What's between us is none of your business!"

"I'm her friend."

Brent's hand tightened slightly, and Myron winced and was forced to release me.

I stepped straight behind Brent, rubbing my reddened wrist.

Myron's gaze swept back and forth between us before landing on me, thick with sarcasm.

"Celia, I really underestimated you."

"Found your next man already? No wonder you were so full of nerve!"

"I kept wondering why you suddenly went off on a four-month business trip. Turns out you'd hooked up with someone all along!"

His words got uglier and uglier.

I was shaking with anger.

"Myron, shut up!"

"Shut up? You can dish it out but you can't own it?"

He jabbed a finger at Brent. "Is he richer than me? Better to you than me?"

"You paid off the mortgage for him, you learned to make soup for him. What have you ever done for me?"

The last line he practically roared.

Everyone around us turned to look, whispering and pointing.

My face burned, as if someone had stripped me naked in public.

I had never felt so humiliated.

Brent stepped in front of me, blocking Myron's line of sight.

He looked at Myron, his voice going cold.

"Sir, if you harass Ms. Pruitt again, I'll call the police."

Myron looked like he'd just heard the funniest joke in the world.

"Call the police? Go ahead! I'm her fianc, we're just having a little spat!"

"Ex-fianc."

I stepped out from behind Brent and corrected him coldly.

"Myron, we're over."

"The money. I'll give you one week. If I don't have it in a week, you'll get a letter from my lawyer."

With that, I stopped looking at him and said to Brent, "Let's go, Mr. Delgado."

Brent nodded and walked me out, keeping himself between me and Myron.

Behind me, Myron screamed, "Celia! Don't think you can shake me off! Seven years together doesn't just end because you say so!"

Seven years.

The number was like a dull blade, sawing back and forth across my chest.

My step faltered, but I didn't look back.

Only once I was in Brent's car did I finally let myself go slack.

It was quiet inside, nothing but the sound of steady breathing.

Brent didn't ask a single question. He just drove.

As we neared the entrance to my complex, I spoke. "Thank you, for today."

"And sorry you had to see all that."

He turned to look at me, his eyes gentle.

"It wasn't a joke."

"It was an accident."

"Once you deal with it, it's over."

I paused, then gave a bitter smile.

Right. An accident.

A crash that had cost me seven years of my youth and nearly half my life.

Before I got out, Brent handed me a business card.

"If you ever need anything, call me anytime."

I took the card. It had only his name and number.

"Thank you."

I came home to an empty apartment, and the sight of the slippers I'd only just swapped in yesterday, sitting there at the entryway, struck me as unbearably absurd.

Two days ago, Myron and Rosemary's shoes had still been sitting here.

I threw the pair of slippers into the trash and started cleaning like a woman possessed.

Every trace of the two of them, bit by bit, I scrubbed away.

I didn't stop until my back ached too much to bend any further.

My phone lit up. A message from Rosemary.

Celia, I know I was wrong. Please give me another chance, okay?

I really don't have that money. My parents are in poor health, I can't let them find out.

After all these years between us, does that really count for less than money?

Reading it, all I felt was a wave of nausea.

I wrote back.

Years between us? When you were talking about feelings with Myron in my bed, did you spare a thought for all those years?

The money. Not a cent less.

Or I'll send the glorious record of you and Myron, recordings and photos included, straight to your parents.

Let them hear all about how their precious daughter plays the other woman.

Once it was sent, I blocked her too.

The world was finally quiet.

I lay in bed, eyes open, and didn't sleep the whole night.

Over the next few days, Myron and Rosemary seemed to vanish from my world.

No calls, no messages, no more coming around to harass me.

I threw everything I had into work.

The project with Brent went unusually smoothly.

He was an excellent partner. Professional, meticulous, and every so often he'd drop in just the right touch of humor.

Working with him was a pleasure.

That afternoon, right after a meeting, Jeanette called me into her office.

She handed me a coffee, a searching look on her face.

Celia, you and Myron, are you really done?

Done.

Well, that's for the best. Jeanette sighed. All these years, wearing yourself down for him, for Rosemary, you pushed yourself too hard.

I've wanted to say it for ages. That Rosemary, something about her never sat right. Who has an anxiety disorder and still posts on social media every single day?

I held the cup and said nothing.

It's over now. You should start living for yourself.

Jeanette patted my shoulder. Oh, and you and Mr. Delgado I'd say he treats you a little differently.

My heart jumped.

Jeanette, it's strictly a working relationship.

Sure, sure, a working relationship. Jeanette's smile turned knowing. Still, Mr. Delgado really is a catch. Character, ability, no complaints on any front. If you're thinking of starting a new life, you could do a lot worse.

I gave an awkward smile and let it drop.

I was walking out of Jeanette's office when a transfer alert came through from the bank.

A hundred eighty-nine thousand, three hundred.

Not a dollar more, not a dollar less. Exactly half of Rosemary's bill.

A message followed, from a number I didn't recognize.

Celia, I've paid you back. From here on, we're even.

It was Myron.

I looked at that phrase, even, and almost laughed.

He was using my money to pay off the debt he'd saddled me with.

Then tossing out one light little word. Even.

There was no bargain that cheap anywhere on earth.

I sent the screenshot of the transfer to Rosemary's backup account.

She probably hadn't dared delete me, afraid I'd lose it again.

Your man paid off half. The other half, you figure out yourself.

You get three days.

Rosemary replied instantly.

Celia, I really don't have the money. Can't you, for the sake of what we used to be

I cut her off cold.

What we used to be ended the moment you climbed into my fiance's bed.

Or should I go have a chat with your boss? About how rich his employee's personal life is?

Rosemary stopped replying.

I knew I'd hit exactly where it hurt.

She cared so much about face, so much about how she looked to outsiders. There was no way she'd let anyone at her company find out.

Sure enough, two days later, I received the other half.

It came in more than a dozen transfers, the biggest of them only twenty thousand.

You could tell she'd scraped it together with a lot of pain.

I collected the last of what she owed, then wiped every one of her contact details clean.

And with that, the two of them were finally out of my finances and my life for good.

That evening, to celebrate the first phase of the project wrapping up smoothly, Jeanette organized a department dinner.

As the client lead, Brent was invited too.

Over the meal everyone kept egging us on, saying Brent and I were a perfect match, made for each other.

They poured plenty of drinks into me, and my head was swimming a little.

I made an excuse about the restroom and slipped outside for air.

The night breeze on my face felt good.

A jacket carrying a faint scent of wood settled gently over my shoulders.

I turned. It was Brent.

He stood beside me with two cans of warm milk in his hands.

Drink something warm. It'll help.

I took the milk and thanked him.

I hope tonight didn't put you in an awkward spot. He meant the coworkers' teasing.

I shook my head. They just like their jokes.

We stood in silence for a while.

Then he spoke up Three years ago, why did you quit so suddenly?

I hadn't expected him to ask that.

Something happened at home.

That year, my mother was diagnosed with late-stage cancer.

I quit my job to be with her through the last of it.

That was also the worst year of Rosemary's anxiety disorder.

She called me almost every day, crying that she couldn't go on living.

I was caring for my mother and calming her down at the same time.

Looking back now, I honestly don't know how I got through those days.

I'm sorry. I brought up something painful. Brent's voice was very soft.

It's fine. It's all in the past.

I tipped my head back and took a sip of the milk, the sweet warmth spreading down my throat all the way into my stomach.

Actually, I should thank you.

Hm?

Three years ago, if it hadn't been for you, I'd probably have been fired.

He gave a small smile. It was nothing.

Not to me it wasn't.

I looked at him and said it in earnest Brent, thank you.

He looked back at me, the smile in his eyes deepening.

You're welcome.

Just then, my phone rang.

An unfamiliar number.

I hesitated, then answered anyway.

On the other end came a woman's hysterical wailing.

Celia! You vicious little tramp! You've ruined our Rosemary!

It was Rosemary's mother.

My heart sank.

"Ma'am, what are you talking about?"

"What am I talking about? You still have the nerve to ask?"

Rosemary's mother's voice was so shrill it felt like it would split my eardrum.

"You forced Rosemary to pay you back. She didn't have the money, so she had to go to the loan sharks!"

"Now they've come knocking, saying they'll take her life if she doesn't pay!"

"Celia, if anything happens to Rosemary, I won't let you rest even when I'm dead!"

Loan sharks?

I froze.

Why would Rosemary go to loan sharks?

Those hundred-odd thousand weren't nothing to her, but they were nowhere near enough to drive her to something like that.

"Ma'am, calm down first. Tell me exactly what happened."

"What's there to explain! You ungrateful snake! My Rosemary treated you like her own sister, and this is how you repay her?"

"Let me tell you, you wire me five hundred thousand right now! Or I'll come make a scene at your company! I'll let everyone see what a viper you are!"

With that, she hung up.

I gripped my phone, hands and feet gone cold.

Brent noticed something was off.

"What happened?"

I shook my head and forced out a smile.

"Nothing. Just something personal."

I didn't want to drag all this filth out in front of him.

He looked at me and didn't press. He only said, "If you need help, just say the word."

I nodded.

Back in the private room, I'd lost all appetite.

I said quick goodbyes to everyone and took a cab home.

The whole ride, I kept turning over what Rosemary's mother had said.

I didn't believe Rosemary would go to loan sharks.

She was so timid, so protective of her own image. There was no way she'd touch something like that.

This looked more like a trap.

A trap to back me into a corner.

Home, I opened my laptop and started digging through Rosemary's social media.

All of her accounts were set to private. I couldn't see a thing.

So I checked the feeds of our mutual friends instead.

Finally, in a party photo one friend had posted the day before, I spotted Rosemary.

She was in a pretty dress, makeup done to perfection, laughing brightly with her friends.

The background was an upscale nightclub.

She didn't look anything like someone being hunted down over loans.

I zoomed in on the photo and saw a new watch on her wrist.

Chanel, this year's newest model. Over fifty thousand.

My heart sank, bit by bit.

I understood now.

She didn't have the money to pay me back, or rather, she wasn't willing to use her own money to pay me back.

So she went to the loan sharks, cleared her debt to me, then turned right around and went shopping.

Now the loan sharks had come knocking, and she pulled the same old trick, sending her mother to cry and scream at me, trying to make me the sucker who paid.

Some scheme.

I let out a cold laugh and shut the laptop.

Early the next morning, the moment I reached the foot of my company building, I walked into a full-blown scene.

Rosemary's mother was sitting right at our front doors, crying and slapping her thighs.

"Where's the justice! My daughter was driven to the loan sharks by her heartless best friend, and now she's half dead!"

"Come see, everyone! It's Celia from this company, the one who drove her own best friend to her deathbed!"

Laid out in front of her was a photo of Rosemary in a hospital bed, pale, looking like she was at death's door.

A crowd had already gathered to watch, pointing and whispering at me.

I took a deep breath and walked over.

"Ma'am, let's find somewhere to talk. Don't do this out here in front of everyone."

The second she saw me, Rosemary's mother lunged at me like she'd gone mad.

"You slut! Give me back my daughter!"

Her nails raked hard across my arm, tearing several bloody lines into it in an instant.

Security rushed over and pulled her off.

I bit back the pain and looked at her.

"Ma'am, how much did Rosemary borrow? What's the interest? Show me the loan agreement."

She faltered for a moment, then thrashed even harder.

"What loan agreement! You did this to her either way! You have to take responsibility!"

"Without a loan agreement, how am I supposed to pay it back for you?"

I pulled out my phone and opened the nightclub photo.

"Besides, my friend saw Rosemary at a nightclub just yesterday. That watch on her wrist costs over fifty thousand."

"Someone the loan sharks have driven to the edge still has the mood to buy a fifty-thousand-dollar watch?"

Rosemary's mother's face changed in an instant.

She snatched my phone, stared at the photo, lips trembling, unable to get out a single word.

The people around her had gotten a clear look at the photo too, and the murmuring grew louder.

"So this whole thing was an act?"

"This family's really something. Won't pay their debts and still want to shake someone down."

"Right. A best friend like that, you're better off without her."

Rosemary's mother's face went red, then white, and she hurled my phone hard onto the ground.

"You're lying! That's photoshopped! You'd do anything to get out of paying!"

She was about to keep at it when a black car pulled up to the curb.

Brent got out.

He walked straight to my side, took off his suit jacket, and draped it over my scratched arm.

Then he turned to Rosemary's mother, his eyes cold as ice.

"Ma'am, what you've just done already amounts to defamation and physical assault."

"My lawyer will be in touch."

With that, he took my hand and led me away through the tangled stares of the crowd.