Best Friend's Ex Box Set

I burst up the steps, knowing that Rachel had the day off that afternoon. I felt my bag as it banged against my side. Each step seemed further and further apart. Finally, I reached her floor and tapped at the door, bringing my weight from one foot to the other.

Rachel appeared in the crack of the door. She looked so bright, so sunny. She was wearing a spring dress, even on the grey fall day. And she was holding a broom. “Hello! You’re home early!” she called to me.

I loved that she called it my home. In that moment, I felt really light, really happy. But then, she saw my face, and her frown took form. “What is it, Amanda?” she asked. The reality rushed up around me. She pulled out the kitchen chair and allowed me to collapse in it. She locked the door. “You look so sick. Are you all right?” Her voice had taken on that authoritative feel—the one she’d used to use when she’d worked in politics. It was oddly comforting to me. This was the Rachel I had first met.

I shook my head. “I really need to talk to you,” I whispered. I made a strange motion with my hands. My throat was caught. “I just. I need to talk to you.”

Rachel frowned. She reached around and grabbed the wine bottle then, and she tipped it back on her mouth, allowing the wine to drizzle down her throat. She handed it to me, and I did the same. Then, she grabbed two glasses and got serious.

“Okay,” she stated as she poured. “Is this what you’ve been so upset about—is this why you called me out of the blue?”

I nodded, taking a long sip from the glass of wine. “I’ve made many, many mistakes,” I began then. “You know that I’ve always treated my career as the most important thing.” My eyes flitted up to her, and she nodded, listening to me with such earnestness. “Well. I worked my way to the top, just like I wanted. I had the interview with the president.” I sighed, thinking about his face. “And truth be told, I’ve always had a thing for him. But in an abstract way, you know?”

Rachel nodded. “I remember you talking about it.”

I smiled sheepishly. “I can’t hide things like that very well. Anyway. We started seeing each other. Just as friends, of course. And then, not like friends.”

Rachel’s eyes grew wide. “He’s married,” she whispered. But she didn’t seem shocked; she was simply stating the fact of it. The root of my debacle.

“I know. That is an issue. But I was just following my heart, sort of being reckless. Which isn’t like me at all. And then: boom. He comes to my place. We sleep together. Things get out of hand.”

“Sure,” Rachel whispered. She poured us both another glass of wine. We were drinking far too quickly, and the room was blurring on all sides.

“But Jason, my second-in-command in the campaign. He had placed cameras in my apartment. And he caught it all on c

amera. And he’s blackmailing me, Rachel. He’s ruining my life.” I felt my throat crack. I felt the tears course down my cheek. I didn’t know what to do, who to turn to. I watched as Rachel brought her hand toward me, placing it on my arm, rubbing at the skin with her thumb.

“He’s taking advantage of you. This is completely illegal,” Rachel stated. Her words were precise, a bit angry. Her eyes flashed. “I can’t believe this.”

I nodded, closing my eyes. I wanted someone to whisk this all away, to carry it for me.

Rachel thought for a moment, tipping her tongue up to her top lip. She tipped her head to the right. “Have you seen the president since then?”

I nodded, blushing. “We—we care about each other a lot. He told me that he would leave his wife for me.”

Rachel’s eyebrows rose high on her forehead. “Well. This is quite a quandary. And you’re worried, of course, that if this is exposed, the president will be slaughtered. And naturally, you’re worried about your own career.”

I nodded. Finally. Someone understood. It was out in the open. It was free.

Rachel considered this. “You love him, as well. I understand that. Don’t you think it’s time to tell him about this, to allow him to help you through this?”

Initially, I shook my head vehemently. I nearly laughed. “No. No. I mean. He’s so busy; he’s the president. He has so much on his mind—“

But Rachel squeezed my arm a bit harder, looking at me with such assurance. “You have a good deal on your mind, as well. Please don’t downplay this in your life. If you’re important to him, then he must care about this. He must help you get out of this. Do you understand?”

I understood. I bit my lip, blinking toward her with big, doe-like eyes. My wine was disappearing before my eyes. I gestured toward it, hoping to cut through the tension between us. “Gosh. I’ve really hit rock bottom here, haven’t I?” The words rang with a strange truth. I shuddered.

But Rachel just shook her head, bringing the wine bottle back toward us. “We’re just two 20-something girls—not yet 30!—with so much going on. Someday, we’ll be old, and this will all feel like a dream. At least you’re living. You slept with the president!”

“I’m in love with him,” I whispered, my words emanating with drama, with life. And then we giggled together for a moment, lost in the comprehension that this was it—that us two girls were safe in our little abode at the top of the steps, away from the rushing Washington D.C. world.

I was so appreciative of Rachel’s words, of course. But I wasn’t sure if I was ready to tell Xavier about my dilemma. I tried to imagine the conversation playing out in my mind, and I couldn’t. When I told him—in this imagined reality—his face grew blank—no nose, no mouth, no eyes. Just grey and pale. Like a shadow of his former self.

Chapter Eleven

The next morning, I woke in the guest bedroom. The light shone in brightly from the exterior courtyard. To the side, in the bed, lay Rachel. She was sleeping so peacefully. I remembered then, that we’d both stayed up in the guest bedroom watching television and giggling together until dawn, never wanting to say goodnight. I laughed at the thought of having a best girlfriend at the age of 29. But things were upside down in this new reality, anyway.

I righted myself and then peered over at the clock on the bedside table. My eyes grew large. “Shit!” I pushed myself from bed and sprang toward the shower, knowing that I was already 30 minutes late for work. I scrubbed at my scalp, at my back quickly, my mind rushing. Shit! I knew that we had a big campaign meeting again that morning—one to right the mistakes of the previous day, of course. I pulsed from the shower and wrapped a towel around my body, shaking at my hair. The water splashed everywhere. God, I didn’t want to go to work this day—I wanted to lounge around, cure myself of this terrorizing headache. Why! So much wine!