The Forest for the Trees

I have officially lost my mind. Just in case you were wondering if I knew that, I'm letting you know that I do. I mean, why else would I be here? Standing in this hallway, lookin' at this front door, getting ready to do what I'm about to do? There is no explanation other than my brain fell out of me ear on the plane. Doesn't change the fact that I have to do this, but still. Acknowledging the crazy is a step, right?

There's no response when I knock the first time, so I check the mapquest page in my hand and do it again. Maybe I should take the hint. Assume nobody's home. Maybe that's the smart thing to do, but since we've already established that I'm not exactly erring on the side of intelligence right now, I wait.

"Jamie?"

Here we go. "Hey, Tatum," I greet, tucking my blond locks behind my ears before stuffing my hands into the pockets of my jeans. Now that I'm here, and she is, I'm not exactly sure what the hell I'm doing. Oh, who am I kidding? I didn't know what the hell I was doing before.

She lowers the Starbucks bottle from her mouth and wipes her bottom lip with the back of her hand, her brown eyes wide with surprise. "What are you doing here?"

Um . . . how do I answer that question? Motioning over my shoulder with a nod, I fidget in my place. "One of the guys opted for company-funded rehab instead of getting fired, so . . ." I leave the explanation hanging because my brain has already raced on to the next phase of explanation.

"You had to get him where he was supposed to be," she nods, a smile forming on her lips. Pushing the door of her apartment further open, she gestures for me to enter, standing aside as I shuffle into the small home. "But what are you doing here? In my house?"

She's not really one for small talk, that Tatum, ya know? All of the excuses and justifications are going to sound as flimsy as they really are, so I just spin on my heel and shrug my shoulders as I look at her. God, it's hard to look at her. "I need to talk to you," I say, fighting like hell to keep the cold edge out of my voice. It's not her fault that she feels like my enemy now. It's not her fault that I grow more bitter at the very thought of her every day. "About Randy," I clarify when she drops onto soft, camel-colored suede couch.

For a recovering junkie, her place is really nice. Comfortable. Homey. Lots of candles and rich colors. It feels elegant and expensive, even though nothing really looks new. I guess that's one of the perks of being a fashion designer, an ingrained sense of style. Yet something else that we don't have in common. Am I kidding myself to think that the man who once loved this woman so completely could also love me? My apartment looks like an Ikea showroom. There's no character in that, is there?

"Is this your boyfriend?" I ask, lifting a pewter framed picture of Tatum and the silver-haired man I met a few hours ago in the rehab center. She nods and takes another drink, watching me carefully. But she doesn't say anything. "So I know you and Randy hung out in Dallas," I open the conversation, hoping she'll fill in some of the blanks.

Of course, she doesn't. Just shrugs her shoulders, her gaze never wavering from me as I take a few steps and lower myself onto the edge of her throne-looking arm chair. "Yeah, we did." That's it. That's all she gives me, and in this moment, I'm not sure I've ever disliked Tatum more than I do right now.

I rest my hands on my knees, and I know I look like I'd rather be anywhere else. I would. To be honest, I'm not sure now why I felt so compelled to see her just a few minutes ago. "And you guys just, what? Chilled? Talked?" She nods again. This is, by far, the worst idea I've ever had in my life.

As I rack my brain for another question that might lead this exotic artist into spilling some secret about her time with my man, she reaches for a cigarette on the end table and lights it, her lips twitching into a grin. "You always this passive, Jamie?" she asks, her voice dancing with amusement.

"Pretty much, yeah," I level with her, since I can't really think of any other way to answer. I'd like to play it as cool as she is, but we're on her turf. I made the choice to bring this discussion into her house. I kinda feel like I have to play by her rules. Don't I?

She leans her head back against the couch and exhales a fine line of smoke toward the ceiling. "Look, you seem like a cool chick, right? I mean, John and Maria think you're chill. Randy obviously digs ya. So I'm gonna level with ya." Stretching her legs before her on the couch, she crosses her ankles and takes her sweet time in looking me over. Probably judging how 'not right' I am for her Randy. "Randy is the catch of the century," she says. When I raise an eyebrow, she seems to confuse it for doubt. "Seriously," she assures me. "He's the best of everything you could possibly want in a man. Randy Orton is the guy they write romance novels about." She takes another drag, closes her eyes and exhales, and then looks at me again with a dismissive shrug. "And he's yours."

Maybe I'm letting my imagination run away with me, but it seems like she might be snarling a little bit at that fact. I don't wanna seem catty, but I think it would make me feel better if she was. If I actually had something she wanted. "That bother you?" I ask her, allowing myself to scoot further back into the chair. I don't consider myself manipulative, but something about knowing I have something on her gives me confidence. Maria thinks Tatum is Randy's end-all, be-all perfect woman. And she wishes she was me. Ha.

Tatum nods, confirming my suspicion. "Little bit, yeah." She takes another puff and smiles easily. If she's so intimidated, why does she look like we're still playing this little posturing game by her rules? "But ultimately, I think both of our lives are in good places, and that's more important to me than any 'what if' or 'could have been.'"

"Do you miss him?" I don't know where the question comes from. Maybe because I know I don't have it all together all the time, and everyone seems to think that Tatum does now. I think I need to know that she doesn't. That there are things she regrets.

"To be really honest," she chuckles a little bit, "I'm not sure I remember enough of mine and Randy's relationship to miss it."

Maybe it's just me and my hyper-sensitive state of mind, but I'm not sure that makes sense. I mean, how can she tell me how great it was with him, and how he's the perfect man, but then turn around and say that she doesn't remember enough to miss him? Is it just me, or is that complete, "Bull shit."

"Excuse me?" Her eyes narrow, and I'm pretty sure I've just about over-stayed my welcome. "What is it that you want from me, Jamie?" Oh, I wish I knew. "Do you want the truth, or have you already decided what that is and you just want me to confirm it for you?" Swinging her legs to the floor, she leans forward to rest her pointed elbows on her knees. "Do you have a script for this conversation. 'Cause I'd be happy to read it. What role am I supposed to play in your fantasy world?"

Look, I didn't like her before I walked in this place, but now she's mocking me. And the fighter in me, the one that was beaten down like a ridiculous child for years by Josh, starts swinging. Standing, I rake my fingers through my hair and shake my head. "Both y'all have your stories," I tell her, remembering exactly why I came here in the first place. "And it seems like they match, but I can't help thinking that something is missing. Something's not being said. Something's still undone." She tilts her head like a confused puppy as she stands from the couch. "I just want it . . . I want it to be done."

Tatum turns to extinguish her cigarette and by the time she turns back around, I'm on my way to the door. I've accomplished what I came here to do, I think. There's really no reason for me to stick around. "Jamie," Tatum calls after me.

But I just pull the front door open and turn to face her one, last time. As far as I'm concerned, this is the last time I ever need to see Tatum Sharpe. "Figure it out, Tatum. And when you do, let Maria know so she can stop her plans for world domination or whatever." Pulling the keys to my rental from my coat pocket, I blink back the tears that unexpectedly slam into the back of my eyes. "And then fill Randy in, so I can either celebrate with my boyfriend, or buy some Ben & Jerry's and lock myself in my room to cry it out." She says nothing, only stares at the floor as I walk out and slam the door behind me.

Tatum's right, ya know? Randy's a great guy. He's everything I stopped believing that I would ever deserve for awhile. But this shit? This being caught in the middle of their unfinished business? I don't deserve this. And I'm not standing for it anymore.

I've heard Randy's side of the story, and I've heard Tatum's. I've told Tatum how I feel. Now all I have to do is fly to Minneapolis and tell Randy. Throw down the gauntlet, so to speak. Either way, this shit is going to end.