“Come on what? He asked for help. I’m helping.” She refills her wine glass. “The first step is admitting that everything he thinks he knows about women is wrong.”
“Everything?”
“Pretty much. You’ve been operating in a world where your money and fame do all the talking. This woman doesn’t care about any of that.”
“Then what does she care about?”
“Her kids. Her work. Making sure the men in her life aren’t going to create chaos or hurt her family.” Elliot ticks off on her fingers. “You know, adult concerns. Things that matter.”
My phone buzzes again and Elliot glares at it like it personally offended her.
“When’s the last time you went more than an hour without checking that thing?”
“I don’t know.”
“Of course you don’t. You’re addicted to the attention, even when it makes you feel like garbage.” She stands up, pacing now. “You want to know what your real problem is?”
“I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”
“You don’t know how to be alone. You don’t know how to exist without constant validation from women who want to use you for bragging rights.” She stops in front of me. “And until you figure that out, you have no business pursuing someone like her.”
The room falls quiet except for the sound of Elliot’s pacing and my phone’s occasional buzzing.
“You know what?” Elliot says suddenly. “I’m going to help you.”
“What?”
“I’m going to be your wingwoman. Figure out what the deal is with this Golda situation.”
“Wait, I don’t think?—”
“I just watched my husband’s team lose a charity game because you can’t handle a woman having talent,” Elliot interrupts. “You’re taking my help whether you want it or not.”
“How are you going to?—”
“Leave that to me. I’m very good at getting information when I need it.” She smiles, and it’s not entirely pleasant. “Sometimes the direct approach is the most effective.”
Brody and I exchange glances.
“What are you planning?” I ask nervously.
“Nothing dramatic. Just a little reconnaissance.” She’s already moving toward the kitchen. “You focus on getting your own house in order. Delete those apps, stop reading desperate messages, learn how to function like a normal person.”
“Elliot—”
“Trust me,” she calls over her shoulder. “I’ve got this handled. You just try not to have any more public breakdowns before I figure out how to fix your mess.”
I look at Brody, who shrugs helplessly.
“Once she’s made up her mind, there’s no stopping her,” he says. “Besides, you clearly need all the help you can get.”
My phone buzzes again, and this time I don’t even look at it.
Maybe Elliot’s right. Maybe I am a mess. Maybe I do need someone to take control of this situation before I make it worse.
But as I sit in their comfortable living room, listening to Elliot already planning whatever scheme she’s cooking up, I can’t help but feel like I’ve just unleashed something I’m not prepared for.
My condo feelslike a mausoleum when I get home. Thirty-four hundred square feet of marble and steel and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Elliott Bay, and it’s the loneliest place on earth.
