To think, this was supposed to end after the wedding. I hope you're still enjoying it.
Will wrap up soon - but then, I've said that before. As always, thank you for reading along.
The Fly in the Ointment (by Joseph Furphy)
Myka's hand immediately reached across the table to grab Bridget's hand, who was already apologizing for the tears. Bridget turned her head away toward the window and wiped her eyes with the palm of her other hand.
"I'm so sorry, Myka," the banker said, embarrassed that it happened so quickly upon seeing her friend. She had promised herself that she would just tell Myka the details after updating her yesterday, but then they went to couples counseling last night.
"Bridget, it's okay. Just tell me," Myka said and then waved the waiter off who wanted to take their orders.
"I could have at least let you have your salad," Bridget tried to make a joke, but her laugh came out as more tears. "That woman drives me crazy!" she finally confessed.
"Sarah?" Myka guessed, letting go of Bridget's hand so she dab her tear stained cheeks.
"Molly Goldstein," Bridget said and Myka – being Myka – was certain she had never heard that name before. "Molly?"
"Oh, sorry – the therapist. Our therapist. Oh God, my ancestors are spinning in their graves as I speak," the stoic southern Irishwoman said.
"Bridget, we're a lot more enlightened now. We know it's actually a strength, not a weakness to address our issues," Myka said, having had a healthy dose of that same outdated philosophy. "Why do you want to pay attention to your feelings," Jeannie Bering would ask her daughter. "They will only cause you trouble." Myka remembered all too well what that did to her.
"Well, to be truthful, Myka, I only initiated this whole thing because …," and Bridget lowered her voice and leaned closer, "….to help Sarah with her issues. That's what got us into this whole mess. I didn't realize I was going to be part of the deal," she said, pushing back in her chair now to show how surprised she still was. "I put together all kinds of complicated deals every day and I couldn't figure this one out? Ha!"
"What has you the most upset?" Myka asked, knowing Bridget already had thought it all through. What Bridget Cummings may have lacked in emotional insight, she made up for with her cognitive insight.
"Molly insists we talk about feelings. I try to describe what happened, why I react a certain way, but is that good enough?" Bridget asked, throwing her napkin on the table. "No! We have to …," and her eyes rolled to the top of her head, "…experience them!"
Myka almost wanted to laugh at how cute Bridget was being. It was a mixture of feigned intolerance and surrender. The woman knew what was good for her, even if it was the most unpleasant thing she had done in ages.
"Is it helping?" Myka asked the critical question.
"Damn you, Bering," Bridget laughed. "You're such a good lawyer."
Myka smiled and was used to skillful evasive maneuvers. She was married to the Queen of them. "Is it?" she asked, letting Bridget know she wasn't letting go easily.
Bridget took a deep breath and nodded her head before answering. "It's so annoying, Myka. I have everything figured out before I go in there and I lay it all out. Then she asks, 'How did that make you feel?' and …and…..floodgates open up. I think she's part hypnotist or something," Bridget laughed.
"Bridge, what's going on with you and Sarah now?" Myka got to the heart of the matter. Tears renewed in Bridget's eyes in spite of her best efforts.
"I don't know, Myka. I want to forgive her. We all make mistakes. I mean, I'm no Sunday school poster child. I've done things," Bridget summed up her indiscretions. "But, never when I was really with someone."
Myka could see the hurt that swelled up in Bridget's eyes. She put her hand across the table again and grabbed Bridget's hand. "Do you want to work it out?"
This is why Bridget wanted to tell Myka. She knew Myka's intuitive skills would help her ask the right questions. No bullshit, just the right questions.
"It all happened so fast, Myka. I was on Cloud Nine and she was screwing the first thing that walked through the door," Bridget said, unable to stop hot tears from streaming.
"Is she sorry?" Myka asked. She knew the whole conversation was uncomfortable for her friend and any second, it could end.
Bridget looked over at Myka. "I think she is," she said. And then the door came down. "Well, enough of this feeling sorry for myself. I hope I haven't ruined your appetite," Bridget said, taking the menu and hiding behind it. "Salmon looks good."
Myka smiled and took her menu. She respected her friend enough to allow her to set the pace. Bridget brought up the issue and put it away. Myka would be there when she wanted to talk again, as Myka was certain she would.
The conversation turned lighter as the food was brought out and the two friends sat and talked.
"I saw that Grayson news conference. What an idiot he is," Bridget said, taking a bit of her salmon.
"He's lucky he wasn't really hurt," Myka shared.
"Oh, our little Helena. I'd go there for the kicks and giggles, but she goes for the kicking ass and taking names. I adore her," Bridget said sincerely.
Just the mention of her wife's name made the missing swell in Myka's chest. She wanted to touch Helena, see her, and be with her. Six o'clock couldn't come fast enough.
"This is exactly why, years from now when they write the story of Mrs. and Mrs. Bering-Wells, I will come off a saint," Bridget said, teasing her friend.
"What are you talking about?" Myka said, blushing.
"Because the mere mention of Helena's name makes your drift off. It shows on your face, Bering. Your eyes get all dreamy, your face fills with color, and your breathing even labors. Oh, Helena," Bridget said, fanning herself. This time Myka reached across the table and gently slapped her friend's hand. "Really. It's so hard on the rest of us mortals in relationships when you two goddesses are around," Bridget said – smiling, but meaning every word.
Myka tried to dismiss the comment, but the words sunk in.
As the two friends enjoyed the rest of their luncheon, Helena was bored out of her mind in Washington, DC. At first, the board of doctors was skeptical when Helena told them how easily Wells Corp could deliver the latest in exoskeleton neural sheathing that could aid in helping people move limbs again.
"Others have tried ….," one foolish head of surgery uttered and Helena cut him off.
"We, Dr. Miller, are not others. We are Wells Corp and you are trying my patience when you compare us," Helena said, her lips tight.
"She's not exactly gracious," one whispered to another, and Helena heard them. She let out a long sigh.
"If I were gracious, I would be perhaps trying to convince you to try what we are developing. I'm here to tell you that we can give you what you need. If you're too skeptical," Helena said, in a warning tone to which they all assured her they were not.
"Better," she said and then right on time, her phone rang. "Excuse me," said, picking up the phone. "Yes, Miss Sullivan, I'm in a very important meeting. Are you sure this can't wait? Okay, I'll come back right away," she said and gathered her things. "Thank you for meeting with me," she said to the group of doctors. "We'll send you the prototypes by the end of the week."
And with that, Helena Bering-Wells took her leave and made her way back to the airport. She updated her scientists at work who had only gotten the schematics for the prototypes upon her return that week. With the Frederic Brothers' materials, Claudia's programing and Helena's pure genius for design, Wells Corp was about to produce another miracle. The doctor's inability to grasp that annoyed, but didn't surprise, Helena.
"When will I see you?" Myka said into her phone as she swiveled in her chair at work, playing with her hair.
"Not soon enough. Remind me to work on some kind of transporter so that my time away from you will be seconds instead of hours," Helena said as she boarded the plane.
"Oh, sure, you'll get right on that," Myka laughed.
"Darling," Helena scoffed, "I invented a Time….," but Myka cut her off. No need to tell the public about that.
"Yes, yes, I know you did, Mrs. Bering-Wells," Myka interjected. The sound of her name brought Helena back.
"Say it again," Helena said into the phone.
"Mrs. Bering-Wells," Myka said slowly into the phone in a sing-song voice. Helena stopped walking just to take in her name in that voice. "I could listen to you say that all day."
"And I would," Myka assured her.
"How was your day?" Helena asked before taking off. She could sense Myka was concerned about something.
"I had lunch with Bridget," Myka said, and then told Helena what had happened. "You were right about her even before it happened," she told Helena who took no solace in that. "She really appreciated Irene reaching out to her," Myka relayed.
"A lot of good it did," Helena harrumphed.
"No, it did, Helena. She found it helpful to tell someone," Myka said, but Helena wasn't convinced. It wasn't the outcome she expected.
"I'll be home soon, Mrs. Bering-Wells," Helena promised.
"I'll be waiting," Myka said and hung up. Helena's velvet voice made Myka all tingling inside and she ached to be with her wife. But being the complex person she was, Myka at the same time, wondered how Bridget was. Myka knew how fortunate she was to have Helena, but she felt guilty that not everyone had what she had.
Helena heard the concern in Myka's voice as she talked about her friend, Bridget. She knew they were good friends and how Myka would be distracted tonight thinking about it. Helena decided to take matters into her own hands before she went home.
"We have a stop to make before we go home," Helena said after landing to Pete, telling him the address on Madison Avenue.
Pete looked in the rear view mirror. Shopping before going home? He didn't think so. He parked outside the famous French haute couture's showroom and opened the door for his boss. Helena waltzed in, annoyed that she had to take care of this and delay seeing Myka.
"Ms. Wells!" the woman yelled, clasping her bosom in surprise and delight. Helena didn't often visit showrooms since the designers usually came to her.
"Mrs. Bering-Wells," Helena corrected her.
"Of course, I am so sorry. It is such a pleasure for us to have you come here," the woman gushed in a beautiful French accent.
"Not for everyone," Helena promised.
"What can I get you?" the woman asked, and meant a beverage, as she escorted Helena to the satin couch.
"You can get me Sarah Styles," Helena said, throwing her coat and bag on the couch in complete frustration.
"But of course," the woman said, snapping her fingers at an underling to fetch the designer who worked there. "She will be thrilled to see you."
"Oh, I wouldn't count on that," Helena said, checking the time.
She was late and she was about to make Sarah pay for that.