Breathe: A Novel (16 page)

My stomach feels heavy and knotted.

My jaw is clenched
.
My breath is shallow.

I looked at my phone. 5:12pm. Then I continued my meditation practice. Could I call it that?

I am breathing in. I am breathing out.

Haley is really leaving Karl?

I looked at my phone again. 5:14. Two minutes. Okay, I can do three.

Breathing in, breathing out.

Andy wants to go out tonight.

Two minutes is pretty good, right?

I grabbed my phone and called Andy to accept. Then I “meditated” for a second before jumping in the shower.

Jaw is loose.

Breath is steady.

Stomach is fine.

I feel . . . better.

I knew this feeling, this long-lost ease of being. This was what it felt after clearing a jump.

***

Andy arrived at seven looking insanely cute with wet hair and a fresh t-shirt. He walked in, sat down in his camping chair, called Billy over, and scratched him under his collar with both hands.

“Busy day?” I asked. I was propped on my crutches, watching him. I could have stood there all night.

“Yep,” he said. “Ready to chill out.” He looked at me then stood up. “Okay. Put those things down.”

“What?”

“That’s right, Seabiscuit. Hop on.” He turned around so I was looking at his back, muscular through the soft white cotton.

“Are you serious? You want to carry me?” I asked.

“Sure. It’s not far. Considering how you get around these days, this might be a little faster.”

“Hey, I’ve gotten pretty good on these.” I lifted a crutch and hopped a bit to keep my balance.

“Yeah, I can see that.”

He walked over, took the crutches from my hands, and leaned them against the bed. I wrapped my arms around his neck, and he lifted me onto his back. He smelled clean and a little like dirt, a familiar and pleasant combination. I tried to control my heart, afraid he would feel it pounding through his shirt.

Pizza and a movie.

Very casual.

No pressure.

But definitely a date, right?

Was it too soon to be dating?

After my miscalculation with Galen, I seriously doubted I would ever be ready for another relationship. But that night, walking through brisk autumn air and feeling the warmth of Andy’s back, my reluctance simply disappeared. It was a fantastic evening. We talked easily about things that we loved: dogs and travel and gardens, and we thoroughly enjoyed our non-dosha-enhancing pizza. Even the film was amazing, all about the struggle of small-scale dairy farmers. I thought of my mom, her own deep ecology, and wondered how I’d gotten so far from my roots. For a moment there, sitting next to Andy in the dark, I remembered where I came from; but when he placed his hand on mine, I froze. A deer in the headlights once again.

I managed to make it though the movie without pulling my hand away, but the piggyback ride home was more than I could handle. I was so physically close to him that I couldn’t ignore my feelings of intense attraction. Part of me wanted to slide my hands inside the front of his jacket and bury my face in his neck, but another part just wanted to run. Run
fast
. The only thing I could do was try to breathe through it. To watch my thoughts. Let it go. Get back to it. But all I could think of was space. I needed space.

Winger.

The High Desert at dusk.

It’s a good thing I didn’t dig my heels into poor Andy’s thighs and yell, “HYAH!”

“Here we are,” he said as we reached the top of my stairs. He wasn’t out of breath, and he hadn’t broken a sweat.

I slid off his back. Avoiding his eyes, I found my keys and said, “Thanks. That movie was incredible. And totally depressing. In a good way.”

“Is that what I was picking up on the walk home? Your reaction to the film? Thought you seemed quiet.” He was helping himself to a glass of water as I stood by the door. “So
Farmageddon
won’t be making your Top Ten movie list, huh?”

“Are you kidding, it’s my new number one,” I said, looking in his direction and meeting his eyes. The fluctuation of my feelings was so extreme I thought I might spontaneously turn inside out.

Is it even possible to be ‘just friends’ with someone you’re this attracted to?

He put down his water and walked toward me, smiling at first, scruffy and clear-eyed. I was panicked but didn’t move, overcome with a desire that I hadn’t felt since Tripp.

“Glad to hear it,” he replied, standing in front of me now. He wasn’t grinning. He wasn’t smirking. He wasn’t laughing. But he looked soft and open and beautiful, and he was moving his face toward mine. I looked up at him, the twin curves of his upper lip—

“My leg’s feeling much better,” I stammered. “Improving every day.”

Then he did laugh.

“Alex, relax. I’m going to let you lead, okay?” He stood there looking at me, waiting. And waiting. And waiting. “Hm. Okay, then. I guess I’ll put us both out of our misery.” He gave me a big bear hug. “So Galen tells me we’re on for Halloween?”

“Yep,” I said into his shoulder, trying to recover. “Day after tomorrow.” I cleared my throat and willed myself to pull away.

“Should be fun. Looking forward to it,” he said, watching me closely. He lingered, giving Billy one last pet, giving me the opportunity to change my mind, but I remained standing stiffly by the door. “Well. Guess I’ll see you then. G’night, Alex.” He stood, gave me one long last look, and walked out. My head was spinning.

That could have been my rebound, and I let him go!

But the second Andy reached for me in the theater, all I could feel or imagine or remember was Tripp’s hand in mine. Tripp’s lips on mine. It didn’t feel like nostalgia. It was pure fear.

And there it was again. The knotted stomach. The shallow breath. The clenched jaw.

I breathe in. I breathe out.

I breathe in. I breathe out.

Since I had failed to attend Galen’s class the day before, I called him and promised at least to continue reading
Be Here Now
.

“Take your time with it. Meditate on it. It’s a process.”

“Absolutely,” I agreed.

Now, obsessing about Andy was making it impossible to concentrate. All this effort to ‘watch my thoughts’ made it clear that I really liked him—and spent too much time thinking about him—yet a relationship was out of the question. I was still reeling from the divorce. And, no, Andy could never be just revenge sex. He was choice, grade-A boyfriend material. So where did he fit in my life? What did I want? Would I always be locked in this holding pattern? I lay in bed looking at his water glass left by the sink the night before.

“
She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love,”
my phone sang.

I sat up and broke into an instant sweat. Tripp’s ring tone.

“
She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love.”

My heart stopped. With legs like sandbags, I stumbled toward the phone, and with a shaking finger pressed ‘answer.’

“Tripp?” My voice seemed loud, and echoed in my head.

“Alex, I’m so glad you answered.”

It felt like my ribcage was collapsing, compressing all the air from my lungs. I tried to stand taller, to open my chest. But gravity was stronger. I sank to the ground.

“Is everything okay?” I asked. What was it? Louise? Why was he calling me?

“Everything’s fine. How are you?”

“I’m fine.” I was starting to gather my wits. “Tripp, what is it? What do you want?”

“Can you meet me for breakfast at The Blue Hour?”

“Today?”

“Yeah. Before work. In twenty minutes or so?” he asked.

Say no, Alex.

Pause. “Why?”

You want me back. You miss me. You can’t live without me.

“I need to talk to you about something, and I’d like to do it face-to-face,” he said.

I knew I should put him off. But I had wanted this, yearned for this, fantasized about this very moment for months. I wanted him to want me back, and I was done with playing to win. I just wanted sincerity, and something in his voice seemed . . . humble.

“Okay. I’ll meet you there.” I hung up without saying goodbye.

My arms felt detached as I staggered around, throwing myself together. What did he want? Part of me was calculating how fast I could pack up this place and head back to Marin if he asked. I knew I should stop and ground myself; that I should call Nancy or Jenny and rehearse the things I needed to say. But I also knew they would tell me not to go. And I wanted to go. Limping to the bathroom, I stumbled over my mediation cushion and kicked it under the bed. I was out the door in six minutes.

***

Tripp was sitting at a tiny café table by the picture window when I arrived. He was dressed for work and reading the paper, looking absolutely perfect. My heart swelled. A silver carafe of coffee was waiting for me.

He stood.

“You look stunning.”

I’d worn my most flattering black pants and grey wrap and, at the last minute, had put on the pearls that he gave me. ‘Stunning’ was probably an overstatement, but I was more dressed up than I’d been in a long time. I reveled in his compliment.

“You’re limping,” he said. “What happened?”

I was tempted to lie, but if we were going to work things out, I needed to start with honesty.

“A yoga injury.” I half-smiled and shrugged.

“Really.” he leaned back in his chair, surveying me with an appreciative smile. “Doing yoga, huh? And with unmistakable Greene intensity, no doubt.”

“Yep, you could say that . . . ”

“Seeing you makes me realize how much I’ve missed you. Tell me about your life. How’s it going? Where are you living? How’s Jackson? Your parents?”

He was talking casually, like he’d never left. I knew he had no right to be asking these questions, but I played along, laughing, chatting, secretly wanting to kiss him and knowing just what it would feel like. A burst of sunlight spilled through the window, momentarily surrounding us in a golden glow. I let him pour my coffee. I let him make me smile. But a dark cloud soon passed in front of the sun, and just like that, everything looked different. Tripp’s eyes went from sparkling blue to flat steel, and in that instant, I remembered.

“Tripp, what am I doing here?”

He leaned in. “I feel terrible about how things went down,” he said, looking directly into my eyes.

“You do?” I was hanging on his every word.

“Yes. I wish I’d intervened. But it just seemed easier to have a third party do the face time, especially early on. Because feelings were so raw.”

Were
raw?

“And by third party, you mean Louise?” I asked. Uttering her name officially ripped me from my reverie and into the loud, tile-floored room.

“Yes. My mother. She was trying to help.”

“Help. WHO?” I gripped the sides of my chair.

I wanted to jump across the table and wring his neck.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

I feel . . . FURIOUS!

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Okay.

The coffee is steaming.

It’s going to rain.

And Tripp will never get out from under his mother.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

I looked back at him.

We needn’t react to everything that provokes. Maintain your inner peace despite external disturbances.

“Yes. I’m fine.”

“You’re beautiful,” he said.

Don’t react to that either.

“
Tripp, really, why are we here?”

“I just wanted to apologize and to make sure that you were alright,” he said.

I nodded and looked at my hands.

“Okay, and now you’ve done that.” I looked up at him. “You no longer need to feel guilty or responsible. Is that all?”

He was not here to tell me how wrong he had been. That he loved me and couldn’t live without me. That I was the best, the only, The One.

No. He was here because he couldn’t live with what he’d done.

Tripp stood and walked to the bar. He returned with a large, flat package. He unwrapped the paper and held it in front of him.

“I want you to have this.”

It was the painting of Delphino.

I was speechless. Tears slipped down my cheeks and I didn’t care. I allowed myself to accept the painting, which I’d long since let go, and to accept the untouchable beauty of the man who was no longer mine.

Nothing is permanent.

It was one thing to read it, study it, and meditate on it. But to truly embrace it? This was the practice, the real practice. Could I let him go? In this moment? Yes, in this moment, I could. I stood.

“Thank you,” I said, taking the painting from Tripp who’d wrapped it back in its protective cover. “I’ll miss you, Tripp.” I looked at him one last time before turning to leave.

“Alex, I—”

I shook my head to stop him from saying anything else.

“It’s okay,” I said, pushing open the heavy glass door. Then I turned to walk into the fog with an aching heart, a quiet mind, and Delphino in my arms.

***

Do the work that presents itself.

Do the next right thing.

Stay out of the past.

Stay out of the future.

You are not your thoughts.

These quotes and dozens of others were pasted all over my apartment. I desperately needed guidance, and those one-liners were actually helping to lift my spirits. But after seeing Tripp, I was a wreck: pacing and questioning the point of trying to make it work in a city that didn’t know my name. Why not
run home, this minute, with my tail between my legs?

It was only my commitment to dinner with Galen that kept me from jumping on the next Greyhound out of there. I was resigned to the fact that showing up tomorrow night was the “next right thing.” I would keep my word. So with twenty-four hours to go, I threw myself into the plotting and preparing of my costume. Nancy was more than happy to help with this diversion.

“Just keep showering and eating salads, darling. We needn’t revisit the past,” she said, referring to my solitary confinement in Marin.

In support of my efforts to ‘carry on’, she insisted on funding my transformation for the big night: the hair, the nails, the henna. Alicia had nothing but disdain for such things, so it was rewarding for her “to indulge a young woman who appreciated it.” I wondered if I should arrange a meeting between Alicia and my mom.

My ‘preparations,’ however, were not all pampering. I had homework to do.
Be Here Now
had watched me for days from its spot on my nightstand. And I had intended to read it. Really, I had . . . But Haley finally called back, and we talked for almost an hour. That is, she talked and I listened: she felt stuck and stifled; married life was aging her; it was a waste of her potential, etc. Frankly, it was sweet relief to stop thinking about my own misery for a change. Finally, toward the end of our conversation, I told her about Tripp.

“Oh, Allie! Why didn’t you call me?” she cried.

“Well, I . . . You . . . It just never seemed like the right time.”

“But when is it ever the right time to get dumped?”

She had such a way with words.

Still, it felt good to share our stories, as different as they were. Of course, it did sting that she was ditching Karl much like I’d been ditched. But in an effort to practice non-judgment and non-reactivity (per my reading) I tried to understand. Her behavior seemed strange and impulsive, even by Haley’s standards. I sensed her wobbling on that pedestal high above me . . . The pedestal I had built.