Dear Heart, I Hate You

Jules: Sorry. I’m still on the plane and my crazy best friend is picking me up. Talk tomorrow?

Smiling, I pressed Send and my phone instantly rang. My heart soared as I glanced at it, thinking it was Cal, but it was my best friend, Tami.

We met after college when I’d taken a temp job at a law firm to answer their phones. Unlike other recent college grads who knew exactly what they wanted to do out in the “real world,” I had no idea. So I temped at various jobs for about a year, hopping from industry to industry until I found something that interested me—high-end real estate.

Tami was a paid intern at the firm when I worked there, and we’d bonded immediately over our distrust of people who preferred tea over coffee, and over the lack of good men in Los Angeles.

“Hey, I just landed. Still on the plane,” I tried to whisper, but I was extremely bad at lowering my voice to an acceptable level whenever I was on the phone. I always thought I was being quiet, but had been told that I was anything but.

“Good. I’m almost there. Pick you up out front or in baggage claim?”

“No, out front’s fine. I just need to grab my suitcase and then I’ll be out.”

“I can’t wait to hear all about this super-hot guy you met!” she said loudly. “I’ve been dying. Jules! Hurry! Get off the plane, people! Move!” Then she hung up on me.

I looked over at the older gentleman sitting next to me and forced a smile. I knew he’d heard her. Hell, half the plane probably heard her.

I had sent Tami a text that first night after I’d met Cal, giving her only the CliffsNotes version of things. She was my best friend, and I’d felt like I might explode if I didn’t talk about him with someone. Of course she had flipped out, in the best way possible, and demanded to know every single detail, but I’d been too busy to fill her in since then. Needless to say, she was dying to get the scoop, and I was dying to share it with her.

Luggage in hand, I made my way out the airport doors and braced myself for the cold air that never came. I’d gotten so used to being in Boston that I completely forgot I wouldn’t be freezing to death now that I was back home.

A horn honked, and I saw an arm wave from the driver’s side window of Tami’s car. She was insane. Her antics reminded me of Robin from Boston, and I laughed as I imagined the two of them together. They would have loved each other. Apparently I was drawn to outgoing, ballsy women as friends.

Tami hopped out of her BMW and squealed like a seventh grader as she ran over to me. She stopped short before hugging me, her normally brown eyes a bright blue today thanks to the colored contacts she wore.

Scanning me from head to toe, she blurted, “You look different. Oh my God, you had sex, didn’t you? You little minx!”

“Lower your voice! I did not have sex. Nice eyes, by the way,” I said, knowing she’d appreciate the compliment on her blue eyes, and also to take the attention off of me long enough to get into the car.

Tami was Filipino, so she had this amazing jet-black hair, so straight and slick. No matter how many times we cut our hair at the same time, hers always grew back three times faster than mine. It was completely unfair.

She also had flawless skin and never wore foundation. She didn’t need it and actually looked super weird the one time I forced her to wear some. It was as if her skin got angry, drinking in the foundation from her cheeks and spitting it out in other areas of her face. She looked blotchy and unnatural. I, however, needed the stuff to even out my skin tone in an attempt to appear flawless. For me, flawless took work. For Tami, it came naturally.

The crazy girl was obsessed with colored contacts and wore them in all sorts of bizarre colors every time we went out. It was hilarious to hear guys compliment her on her purple eyes after asking her if they were real . . . if her purple eyes were real! Yes, guys were that dumb. Or maybe it was Tami who rendered them that stupid. In my opinion, it was a toss-up.

The only thing I had over her was the fact that I could drink alcohol and you’d never know I was drunk just by looking at me. Tami, on the other hand, turned bright pink the second any alcohol passed her lips, no matter what kind of alcohol it was or how small the amount. One drop and her entire face exploded with color. I thought it was great but it royally pissed her off, which only made it better.

I buckled my seat belt as Tami pulled away from the curb and into the stopped traffic. She clicked the button on her steering wheel to turn down the radio and then gave me her complete attention.

“Start talking. I’m dying to hear all about Mr. Calvin Not-Klein.”

I laughed. “His name is not Calvin. It’s just Cal. And thanks, now I’m picturing him all scantily clad on some underwear billboard on Sunset.” At the thought, I swiped my hand across my lips just to be sure I wasn’t drooling.

“How would you know what he looks like in underwear if you didn’t have sex with him?” she shouted. “You liar!”

I groaned. “Why the hell would I lie to you, of all people, about sleeping with someone?” She knew that I confided in her about everything, not that there had been anything to talk about on the guy front in years.

“I don’t know,” she said with a frown. “I just got excited at the idea that you might be a little reckless. It’s been a long time since you let your guard down, you know.”

“Of course I know. But you know me. And you know that I don’t do one-night stands.”

“Such a shame. Letting all of that go to waste.” She waved her hand at my body.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Of course I am.” She gave me a big grin. “It’s what makes me awesome.”

Traffic started moving, so she refocused on the road, yelling at someone for being a shitty driver. Once the cars ahead of us achieved a steady pace, she glanced my way.