The Heart Chaser by Gina Azzi
Abbi
It happens on a Wednesday. In an instant, everything changes.
It’s a subtle shift in the air, an extra-long glance, a whisper behind folded fingers.
And I know.
Dread settles in the pit of my stomach, expanding outward until I feel both sick and numb. My fingers tremble, the rolled-up poster board in my hand rustling.
A sympathetic cluck. A judgey side-eye. An aversion of eye contact.
Tears prick the corners of my eyes as I pick up my pace, slipping into my office and closing the door. I drop the posters on the edge of my desk. My shoulder bag, heavy with two binders for all of the March break camp preparation, lands on the floor with a thud.
I pull my phone out and wince at the flood of messages lighting up my screen. It’s out in the open now, everyone knows.
Shame clogs my throat and my mind races.
Will I lose my job? Will Luca leave me? Will Boston turn into Hoboken part two, and I’ll be forced to start over again? Will this follow me for the rest of my life?
Phil: I told you not to get too comfortable.
He sent the message along with an image of me and Luca, walking down Boyleston Street hand in hand. I blanche, my anger rising in red hot waves. Phil leaked the photos because I moved on? Wasn’t destroying my career in NJ enough?
A disturbing thought rolls through my mind and I wince. Thank God Gran isn’t here to witness this.
My gran, with her kind eyes, strong hugs, and bold cocktail rings, would be mortified to know that the girl she raised turned into a woman who could star in a porno. That there are pictures out there, on the Internet for everyone and anyone to see, and that they will live on forever.
My phone screen lights up every three seconds with new messages, with awful Tweets and social media comments, with missed calls. I’m relieved it’s on silent and I turn it facedown on my desk, dropping my face into my hands.
You’re okay. You’re going to get through this. Everything is—
The door to my office swings open and I jump, my mouth dropping open when I see Chloe.
“How bad?” I ask her.
She swears and closes the door behind her. She rounds my desk and pulls me into her arms, hugging me tightly. “Indy sent it to me.”
“Indy?” I ask, wondering how the hell Indy stumbled across my photos.
“The students in one of her classes…”
I wince, squeezing my eyes closed. Of course. If someone suddenly becomes a social media meme or trending Insta hashtag, the college crowd pounces. God, what must she think of me?
“What did Panda say?” Chloe asks, pulling back to sit in the chair across from my desk.
“Nothing yet. I just, you’re the first person I…” I take a deep breath. “I haven’t looked at all the messages on my phone yet.”
“Good,” Chloe declares, swiping my phone up. She drops it into her purse without glancing at the screen and for that, I’m grateful.
“Thanks for coming.”
She rolls her eyes. “Stop. I’m always here for you.”
“Good. Because I need you to break me out of here and take me to the nearest bar.”
Chloe pauses, studying me. Her eyes, a bright green, gleam like a cat’s as she sees all the things I want to hide. But she’s been my best friend since high school and knows me better than…well, anyone now that Gran passed. “Do you want to call Panda?”
Horror washes over me at the realization that I’m going to have to talk about this with Luca. “God no,” I blurt out, feeling nauseous. “I want to pretend that this isn’t happening. That I’m not reliving the past eight months of my life. That my job isn’t in jeopardy and I didn’t just fuck shit up with the man I lo—” I clamp my mouth shut.
Chloe’s eyes widen. “You love him?”
“Shit.”
Her expression softens. “I’m so sorry you’re dealing with this, Abs. But maybe you should talk to him? Explain everything? It will be better coming from you than someone else.”
“I’m sure he already knows. And he hasn’t reached out to me.” I point to my office phone, not knowing if Luca tried to call my cell. Even if he did, he’s one of the few people who could get in touch with me if he really wanted to.
As if on cue, my office phone rings and I jump again, my nerves already shredded.
Chloe looks at me for a long moment before reaching across my desk and picking it up.
“Hello? Sorry, she’s unavailable at the moment. May I take a message?”
I slide a pen and pad of yellow Post-its closer to Chloe and she jots down a name and number.
“Sounds great, thanks. Okay, bye.” She hangs up the phone and glances at me nervously.
“What now?” I ask, knowing that more bad news can only follow something like this. How bad will the fallout be? How destructive will my reaction be?
“That was Mr. Miller from Melrose Middle School.”
“They’re pulling out of the camp, aren’t they? Shit, I didn’t even think that this whole project could fall apart because of, because I—”
“Phil’s a fucking douchebag,” Chloe interjects.
Her outrage pacifies me the tiniest amount and I cling to that small win. At least my best friend is still standing by my side. At least I can rely on Chloe.
“And I don’t know what he wants. He just asked you to call him,” she offers, not sounding hopeful at all.
I shrug and blow out a deep breath. “Margaritas?”
“Abbi,” Chloe says slowly, “you can’t just drink your way through this.”
“Want a bet?”
“Talk to Panda.”
I shake my head. “I can’t. I mean, he knows about the photos but—”
“He does?”
I nod. “I told him. But knowing something exists and seeing it”—I shake my head—“two completely different things. I can’t, I’m not ready to talk to him about this. Please, Chlo,” I plead with her.
“All right,” she agrees, picking up my shoulder bag. “Jesus, this is heavy. You need anything else?”
I shake my head, knowing she has my phone.
“Put on your coat. I’ll venture out first and let you know when it’s safe to follow.” Chloe moves to the door.
I snort, knowing how ridiculous this is. I’m a grown woman, thirty-one years old, independent, smart, and motivated. What I do on my own time, in my personal life, should be private. If I was a man, I’d be getting calls of congratulations and having strangers slap me on the back.
But because I’m a woman, I’m about to be slut-shamed in every facet of my life. I can feel the dark cloud hovering just out of reach but soon, it will be pouring on my head and when it does, I want to be drunk. Or at least a little tipsy. Just enough to handle things with humor instead of rage.
I zip my coat and flip up the hood, waiting by the door for Chloe’s signal.
“Coo, co-coo,” she lets out a fucking bird call that makes me laugh despite the fact that my life is spinning out of control.
I follow her out of my office, down a stairwell, and out into the cold air and winter sunshine. We make a run for it, the two of us laughing even though nothing is funny.
When I slide into the passenger seat of her car, my laughs turn into sobs and then, tears. Big, fat tears that roll down my cheeks. I drop my head into my hands and ugly cry like a woman who just discovered naked photos of her are making their rounds at her work, among her friends, all over the damn city.
Oh wait, that’s me.
“You’re going to be okay, Abbi. I promise.” Chloe reaches over and pulls me into a hug.
I’m sure I will. But what about Luca? How will he live this down? Will he even want me after this? “What if he doesn’t forgive me?”
“Panda?” Chloe pulls back.
I nod, scrubbing my fingers across my eyes. The tips come away black with mascara and I moan, knowing I must look like a drowned raccoon.
Chloe reaches into her center console and removes a packet of makeup cleansing wipes.
I give her a look and she shrugs, plucking one out and passing it to me.
“Panda’s gonna step up for you. He’s probably got a hundred dick pics circulating right along with—” I cut her a look and she stops talking. “Sorry, that was insensitive. I was just trying to lighten the mood.”
“Don’t try so hard,” I advise. “Just…take me to the tequila.”
Chloe pulls her seat belt across her chest and flips the ignition. “Jolene’s here we come.”
I lean back in my seat, staring out the window as the Boston city streets blur past. It’s too bad I was really starting to like it here. Where will I move to next?
I rub my fingers over my temples, trying to reframe my thoughts. I search for a sliver of positivity, for something good that I can pluck out of this scenario and focus on.
But the thought that persists is an image of Luca. Disappointment in his eyes, disgust in the twist of his mouth, and hurt in the lines of his face. He’ll never forgive me for splashing him all over social media as the hockey player who fell for a whore.
Bitterness explodes in my mouth at the word. I hate derogatory words used against women like weapons but right now, I can’t conjure up a different description.