Breathe: A Novel (19 page)

Alone out on the sidewalk, I stopped, looked up at the night sky, and took a long breath. Then another. And another. I let myself feel the cold evening air, neither crossing my arms nor pulling out my wrap to prevent it. I needed some physical sensation to subdue the sheer panic Lauren’s name had induced.

I stood there for a good minute before noticing the people everywhere. I was surrounded. Goblins, presidents, witches, and every last version of scantily clad domestic help lurched past me. It was like a carnival. Unexpectedly, I laughed out loud, laughed at myself. I’d been so focused on my own internal drama that I hadn’t even noticed where I was, floating in a sea of fun, flirty, bold outrageousness. This energy could transform me if I let it. Thoughts of Lauren, Tripp and even Andy began to recede as I focused on the colors, sounds, and ecstatic faces. I was okay. Everything was okay. I started walking toward home.

“Alex, hold on,” Andy called from somewhere behind me.

When he caught up, he threw his jacket around my shoulders and matched his pace to mine.

“Are you crazy? It’s gotta be forty degrees out here.” We kept walking, our stride much faster than the ghouls around us. “So, nice excuse with the leg and all. But I’m guessing from the pace that’s not the reason for your sprint out the door.”

I almost told him about Lauren and Tripp, but I just couldn’t do it. Why did I feel so much shame and embarrassment, when I was the one who’d been faithful? I just couldn’t handle Andy knowing I’d be left for someone else. I remained quiet.

“Alright then. We’ll just keep going with the leg story. Give me that.” He took back Billy’s leash and then scooped me into his arms, Superman-style. “If the leg’s that bad, you definitely shouldn’t be walking home.”

For an instant, I gave in to longing, and curled into the warmth of his body. But being in his arms, as right as it felt, made me feel so vulnerable, I thought I might just float away. Once again, I froze in defense.

“Andy put me down!”

“Nope,” he said, and kept right on walking.

“Andy, I mean it. You have to stop. I can’t do this. You said
my lead
and you’re not letting me lead!” I said in frustrated desperation.

Andy stopped and let me down. I brushed myself off.

“Thank you,” I said firmly, although my legs were shaking.

“It was just a ride home. Nothing more.”

“You know that’s not true. Even Galen and Marco think we’re a couple.”

“And why is that so bad?” he asked.

“Because I can’t think when I’m around you. It feels too fast.”

“Alex, right now, it’s just a friendship. I know you’re divorced and things have been rough, but that doesn’t mean you can’t live your life.”
Divorced.
It sounded so ugly. I pictured some silicone-inflated woman with permanently pursed lips, arguing with a maître-d’ about whether her teacup poodle could have a place setting. “I’m not asking you to marry me. I just want to get to know you.”

I felt silly and ashamed. But to me, it felt like a big deal. “Andy, I’m trying desperately to get to know myself again. And it’s extremely slow going.”

“It should come naturally.”

I could hear exasperation creeping into his voice.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked.

“Alex, I like you. I like being around you, talking to you. That’s it.” There was no agenda, no airs, no games.

I softened.

“Can we just go slowly? Enjoy our friendship?” I asked.

He didn’t say anything for a while, but watched the people streaming past us.

“Friendship.” He sighed. “Sure, Oregon.”

He slung his arm across my shoulder, and we walked, side-by-side, toward my apartment in silence.

Finally, I spoke.

“So. How is it that you know Galen so well?”

He looked over at me and smiled.

“We did a project together. My kids—remember the two hundred children I had with various women in the Bay Area? They’re participants in a grant-funded program to get inner city kids closer to the land. Galen raised thousands of dollars for us through donation classes. He’s a great guy.”

Once we were on a side street, we slowed to a stroll, and the rest of our conversation was easy—yoga, surfing, a general debriefing of our dinner. The strain had dissipated, and thankfully, Lauren didn’t come up again. When we reached my building, Andy stopped and said, “Well, Madonna, rest up and get those stems back in working order.”

“I will.” I handed him his coat. “Thanks.”

“And Alex?” Andy asked as I opened the front door.

“Yes?”

“You do look very pretty. In a friend kind of way.”

I smiled and tried to receive the compliment.

“Thanks. And you look totally rad.”

He laughed.

“Goodnight, Oregon.”

“Hey, Andy?”

“Yep?” he looked at me.

“Please don’t stop calling.”

“‘Course not. I’ve got something planned for you.”

“What?” I smiled at him quizzically.

He shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged.

“You’ll see,” he said with a grin, then slipped off into the night.

On Wednesday after Halloween, Andy texted me.

Free Sunday?

Hot fudge or banana split?
I wrote back.

Ha. Dress warmly. Pick you up at 10.

The morning of our adventure, I was making breakfast when he called. I left my eggs cooking and went to grab the phone.

“Morning, Andy,” I said cheerfully.

“What, no scratchy morning voice? I thought I’d be your wake-up call.”

I loved the way everything he said came out kind, warm, and slightly funny. I sat on the edge of my bed, imagining him in his garden, strong arms lifting bags of soil.

Be open to what the universe offers you.

Open. I would try open. No controlling. No resisting.

“Nope. Been up for hours. Between Billy and Simon, I rarely sleep past six,” I said. “Oh, and to clarify, Simon is my boss, not my new boyfriend.”

“Glad to know I haven’t been passed over for Simon.”

“Actually, I’m surprised you don’t know him, Mr. Mayor.”

“If it’s Simon Schwartz, then I do. But only because he’s a local hero. The work he’s doing is incredible.”

“Well I can’t wait to tell him he’s got a fan club.” I was lying on my bed now, thoroughly enjoying our conversation, when I smelled smoke. “Shoot! My eggs!” I ran into the kitchen, phone still to my ear. I grabbed my only dishtowel and lifted the smoking pan and charred eggs into the sink.

“Everything alright over there?” Andy asked.

“Yes, except I just burned my last two eggs, and I’m starving.”

“So let’s get breakfast. I’ll come get you,” he said.

“I promise that wasn’t a ploy to get you to feed me again.”

“Sure it wasn’t. I’ll be there in fifteen. Just finishing up at the greenhouse.” What time did he start working? “Do you like the Cottage?” he asked.

“Never been. But it sounds fine.” I was suddenly nervous.

“Alright, see you in a few.”

“Great,” I said casually.

I hung up and sprinted to the shower, glancing at the Cartier clock which now graced the back of the toilet. No time for the water to warm up: I jumped in, gasped, shampooed, conditioned, and shaved before it even got lukewarm. I toweled myself off like Billy after a bath, whipped a brush through my hair, and began rummaging for mascara.

Prior to Tripp, I rarely wore makeup, although Haley would press me to use hers when we’d go out in New York. It made me feel strange, like I was someone else entirely, and it never looked right. Haley’s application was flawless, however. She appeared airbrushed when she was done, her piercing blue eyes electrified. I think when I married Tripp, I hoped that make-up would conceal the “naturally pretty” farm girl that failed to turn heads in New York. All it did was make me itchy.

I left my mascara in the drawer, and threw on a t-shirt, jeans and a cozy wool turtleneck. One last glance in the mirror to put my hair in a ponytail, and . . . I looked like me. I made my bed, cleaned the egg pan, and sat in Andy’s camping chair. Then I stood. And sat. Then I stood again. I looked at my phone. It had been twenty-two minutes since he called. I grabbed
Be Here Now
off my nightstand and settled back into the chair.

The essence of contentment is stillness.

Hm.

I threw the book onto the bed, crossed my legs, closed my eyes, and noticed my heart beat. Then my breath.

Inhale. Exhale.

I am not my thoughts.

I am not my feelings.

I am peace.

“Bzzzz!”

I was on my feet before the doorbell had stopped.

This is why meditation requires a cave in the Himalayas. No buzzers, no hot guys.

I gave Billy a head scratch and headed downstairs. He’d been out earlier, so hopefully he’d be okay ’til I got home.

I opened the door and felt a rush of cold air on my wet hair. Andy was getting out of his truck.

“Morning, Oregon. Lookin’ good.”

I blushed. “Must have been the shower. I’m pretty sure the only time you’ve ever seen me clean was when I was dressed as someone else.”

“Amazing what a shower can do. Actually, now that you mention it, you weren’t really that cute the last few times I saw you.” He opened the passenger side door. “Where’s Billy?”

“He’s upstairs. Don’t worry; he’s got water. He’ll be fine.” I did feel bad leaving him without knowing how long I’d be gone.

“We can’t leave Billy. Give me your keys. I’ll grab him.”

I waited while Andy ran upstairs and returned with a very waggly Billy. All three of us jumped into the truck. The sun was bright and both windows were open. Billy settled himself on Andy’s lap.

“Are you okay driving with him like that?” I asked.

“Sure.” He looked down at Billy before pulling away from the curb. “Just make yourself at home, one-eared Bill.”

I smiled to myself. Both windows were open, and as the truck picked up speed, I closed my eyes. Enjoying the wind on my face, I no longer felt nervous, injured, or awkward.

I’m not sure how long we drove, but when we pulled into the parking lot of the Cottage, I didn’t recognize anything. We had clearly left the city, as trees towered above us and acres of green hills rolled in all directions. The restaurant was nestled into the landscape and had very few neighbors. I thought of my parent’s ranch and felt homesick.

“This place is amazing,” I said.

Andy walked around to my door and opened it. He reached out his hand.

“Yeah. It’s one of my favorites. All locally grown and raised. Tim, the chef, is a good friend of mine.”

“Who isn’t a good friend of yours?” I asked playfully.

“I’m lucky to know some great folks.” He opened the door to the restaurant for me. “Bill, be back in a few,” he called toward the truck. We were taken straight to our table even though the restaurant was full.

“I’m just gonna say a quick hello to Tim. Be right back?” he asked.

“Sure. Right here if you need backup.”

He smiled at me, then turned toward the swinging kitchen door. I watched him walk away and found myself back on the roller coaster. Did I have the courage to go for it? I loved being with him. It was easy and comfortable. And his eyes and smile were making it impossible not to imagine what it might be like to kiss him. I looked around, trying to get back to the moment, back to the here and now.

The restaurant was elegant but rustic, its windows and trim faded and chipped. The tableware was substantial and beautiful, as a perfect farmhouse place setting should be. There were carved roosters, horseshoes, and dried herbs on the wall, very similar to the kitchen of my childhood. Both of my parents believed we should grow as much of our food as possible at home, and the first responsibility they awarded me was the herb garden. Mom would take me out back to wander through the rows, picking small bunches of fragrant scrub and pointing out the defining features of each. Then she’d roll them between her fingers and place them under my nose, saying smell is the best way to experience the power of an herb.

When Andy returned, he brought with him a fit guy with a buzz cut, who couldn’t have been older than twenty-two.

“Alex, this is the famous Tim Donnelly.”

Tim beamed at me.

“Hi, nice to meet you,” I stood and extended my hand. “Is this your restaurant?”

He looked confused and glanced at Andy who shook his head.

“Yep,” Tim replied.

Andy jumped in, saying, “Alex had some trouble with her eggs this morning, so if you wouldn’t mind showing her how it’s done . . . ”

Tim laughed.

“I’ll see what I can do. In fact, I should probably head back in there. Good seeing you, man. Nice to finally meet you, Alex.”

“You, too.”

Finally meet me? Andy was talking about me?

He sat down and opened his menu.

“So my theory’s always been that once you have a farm fresh egg, you won’t ever go back. But I know you had your own chickens growing up, and I’ve seen what’s in your fridge now. So I’m thinking you’ve disproved my theory.”

It was sad but true. I’d grown up eating homegrown veggies and eggs from our own coop. My family’s self-sufficiency had been a source of pride. But after I married Tripp, I paid no attention to any of our food sources. I was too busy trying to keep up. Keep up with the parties, the fashion, the gossip. Not to mention keeping up Tripp’s interest.

“Yeah, well, when you’ve got the chickens, sure, but living in the city, sometimes you just have to go for convenience.” It felt like a big lie, given the only thing my mother ever hoped I would learn was that small choices mattered.
Small choices add up to big change
.

“Well, then Miss Convenience, we might have to make a detour today.”

“Where are we going, by the way?” I put down my menu and took a sip of water.

“I thought I’d give you a tour of life outside Marin.”

“I’ve seen areas outside Marin,” I protested. But the truth was I hadn’t. Tripp and I had been to Napa for wine tasting, Tahoe for ‘camping,’ and Palo Alto for ball games. But I really didn’t know much else about Northern California. “But I guess if a tour is in order, you’re the one for the job. You seem to know everyone and everything in this city.” The waitress placed a steaming blueberry scone and some fresh-squeezed orange juice in front of me. “Which reminds me, how do you know Simon?”

“I don’t know him personally. I read an article about his idea for a mobile rescue truck. Sounds like a cool guy. I keep meaning to shoot him an email; his address was right there in the Stanford Review. But now you can introduce us.” He smiled and put his napkin on his lap.

“Did you go to Stanford?” I choked on a piece of the scone. He handed me my water.

“I did. Still do. I’m working on my dissertation, and I do some teaching here and there.” I looked at him. Sandy hair, tan, perfect teeth, eyes that crinkled when he smiled. He was a like an Abercrombie model in farm clothes that got thrown in the dryer—which made him not just appealing and approachable, but intensely sexy, too. I tried to imagine him as a teacher. How did anyone concentrate? And a dissertation? Every time I thought I had a handle on who Andy was, he threw something new at me. And then there was the obvious freak out—Tripp and the Edwards—I prayed he had never heard of them. But their name was everywhere at Stanford, so I knew that was impossible. I felt my two worlds colliding in slow motion.

I took a deep breath.

“So what’s your dissertation on?” Maybe I could just pretend I was never affiliated with the Edwards. Why would they ever come up?

“My Ph.D. is in biodynamic urban agriculture.”

“My parents would love you,” I said without thinking. He smiled, and I quickly looked down at my menu. “Yeah, well, salt-of-the-earth type folks, that’s what y’all are,” I said in my best backwoods-of-Oregon accent. “I think they wondered what happened to me for a little while there. Now, I wonder what happened to me.”

“You’re just trying things on to see what fits, Alex. Everyone does it.”

“I don’t get the sense that you did, although I still know very little about you,” I said, tucking a few damp strands of hair behind my ear.

“I thought I’d let you get to know me first. Not the Ph.D. candidate.”

“I’m talking about background, Andy. Where you grew up, siblings, favorite superhero?”

He laughed.

“Are we gonna do this? You want the interview now? Alright. Here you go. Born and raised in D.C.—”

“D.C.! Really? I never would have guessed D.C. Seattle, maybe, if it had to be a city, but D.C.?”

“Is that all you needed?”

“No, no. Keep going. I promise I won’t interrupt.”

The waitress arrived with two plates of the most perfect Eggs Florentine that I had ever seen. Andy took a bite and continued.

“My mom was a civil rights attorney, and my dad was into sustainable building, a little ahead of the game. I have a sister, Janie, who still lives there. She took over the firm when our mom retired. Her kids go to the same school we attended. She keeps the hometown fires burning for me.”

Mom, dad, sister. D.C. Stanford. Ph.D. Civil Rights. Sustainability.

“You okay?” he asked. “You’ve got that stunned deer thing going on again.”

“No. I mean yes. I’m fascinated. My homeless apple peddler has suddenly become a Stanford Grad with radical parents and an actual home. I’m just trying to adjust.”

“A homeless apple peddler, huh? Why’d you call me, if that’s what you thought?” He leaned forward and looked at me, holding my gaze until I wasn’t sure where I was. My stomach was in my throat.

Trust the Universe.

He laughed and broke the spell. I wondered what it would be like to feel so comfortable all the time.

I sipped my orange juice and said casually, “Why did I call you? I needed help with my bed. Remember?”

“Ah, your bed. Yes. I remember,” he was looking straight into my eyes again. “And am I mistaken, or is Alex Greene finally starting to flirt with me?”

“Why? Are you flirting with me?” I asked.

“Well, that all depends, Alex. Am I the homeless apple peddler, or the Stanford grad? And are you the diamond-clad Marin divorcee, or the Oregon cowgirl?” That word,
divorcee
.

“Cowgirl, definitely,” I said, realizing the significance of this acknowledgement.

“Okay, then yes, I’m definitely flirting.”

My heart jumped around under my sweater. What was happening here?

“Okay, lighten up. You’d think I just told you the place was on fire.” Andy sat back and patted his still-flat, well-defined abs. “I am a little beyond satisfied. Tim is one hell of a chef.” Phew, he changed the subject. I put my napkin on the table and slid my chair back to stand.

“We outta here already?” he asked, looking up at me.

I sat back down. “Oh, sorry. I thought you were done. Do you want to stay?”

What was wrong with me? Scratch that. I knew exactly what was wrong with me. I had no idea what to do with the feelings that were threatening to surface, and I was fixing to outrun them.