The Heartbreak Club

Influencer

By the end of the month, I was on my eleventh post with over 50,000 readers subscribed. I felt differently walking down the street. That person could be a reader, or that one. For the first time in a long time, I had a sense of connection.

I held my coffee cup with my name facing out, just in case anyone might notice.

"Emma? Not Emma from the club, are you?" they'd ask.

"Me," blush, "yes, yes I am." We'd giggle and share a laugh. Caden would walk in just as she related a story about how I touched her life. I'd flash him an I-don't-even-notice-you look. Hard to do, but entirely possible. That didn't happen, but I made sure my name was visible all the same.

I did get a notification from the blog platform asking if I wanted to enable advertising. I selected yes because "sure, why not" wasn't an option. It's interesting how unaware we can be during the moments our life is changing.

I was acutely aware that Caden had a meeting and would be in the coffee shop any minute. Everything around me moved in a slow, wavy motion. There he was, his tussled hair swaying as he walked with effortless confidence. More than confidence, swag. Gulp. Huh? What? No. My brain refused to process the message my eyes delivered. The hot "it girl" actress from his show, her lanky toned arm wrapped around his.

Obviously I couldn't let them see me and nothing (including public safety) took precedence over that. I bolted to the door, my oversized bag caught a man's elbow, I turned, another person - man, woman, elderly, I don't know - bumped my arm sending my hot coffee airborne.

"Ahh," a man reacted. He gingerly wiped my beverage off his white shirt. As if that was going to do anything. It was too late for him, but there was still hope for me, I dashed passed him outside.

I wasn't sure if Caden had seen me, but the rest of the free world had. I turned the name on my cup around. I finished my coffee back at my desk while having agonizing fantasies about what Caden and his black widow were doing. Guaranteed she was touching him with her long, supermodel fingers intertwined through his hair. Ouch! When did my insides get wrapped in barbed wire? Oh, that was a good analogy, I decided to write it down for my Heartbreak Club post later that night.

I needed retail therapy on my way home. It was more expensive than carb therapy, but at least this way I got to choose how much of it to carry with me. I was totally responsible with bills and stuff but needed to check my account before spending.

"What the?" A $1,400 charge? Dialing furiously.

"Customer service, may I help you?"

"Yes, help, please. I'm the victim of fraud!"

"Can I have your name and account number, please?"

"Fine." I looked around before cupping the receiver and whispering my information.

Minutes later...

"A deposit? Oh, um, yes, it does appear to be green. That means deposit. I see." Where did I get $1,400? I wondered.

I racked my brain. A distant relative passed away? Finally, I saw the notification on my blog account. Payments from adverts. My readership had doubled, again. I was being boosted and sought out by more advertisers. OMG Tabloid News was among them! The T News Network was only the most popular and trendy broadcaster ever.

In a couple months, they'd call me. I didn't know that then, of course. I just opened The Heartbreak Club and started sharing what it felt like to be replaced by a beautiful actress. Few adjectives come close. It feels like...being replaced by a beautiful actress.

After a breakup, we wonder if they're thinking of us. Especially when they, you know. That girl's image flashed in my mind. He definitely wasn't thinking of me. Was he? Thinking of me and comparing me to her? I pulled my sweater closed in the front, I hoped not. Just when I thought it couldn't hurt any worse, it could.

That was it, the new handbag wasn't cutting it, I needed pizza. The line was long but it was moving quickly. Plus, people-watching in the city passed the time. A girl came out of the bathroom wearing what I can only describe as a cape. See, in New York no one cares what you do but I'm from California, and we care. A lot. My parents are lawyers (did I mention that?), and I'm practically a professional judge. I guess that showed on my face.

"Excuse you," a man behind me said.

At first glance, I didn't like him. Tall, dark and definitely a jerk.

"Excuse me? Who the hell are you?"

Surprise on his face, then a smile.

"Okay," he held his palms up. When it was my turn to order, he extended a $20 to the cashier.

"What?"

"I got it. You're having a bad day."

"Oh, you know about my day?" Snarky. I noticed the brown stain on his white shirt. No. It couldn't be.

"It's cool, Emma. Enjoy the pizza."

"Umm?"

"It was written on the cup you attacked me with this morning."

I never wanted to disappear so badly. Well, except for that morning when I saw Caden. And everyday when he walked passed me at work.

"I'm sorry. I'll pay your dry cleaning."

"No, it's okay."

I still don't know why, but it felt like rejection. I wasn't good enough to pay his dry cleaning?

"You know what, fine!" I stormed out, leaving my pizza. Technically, his pizza.