The Break-Up Diet: A Memoir (17 page)

I hung up the phone and tore his business card in half, again and again, until only tiny pieces remained. The jagged confetti fluttered into the wastebasket.

And I continued to stare at the Earth-shaped, rubber, stress ball on my desk that serves as a reminder to never go for that ride again.

free to good home

Sunday, May 5

I opened the sliding glass door and called the dogs to come inside for the night. Buddy rocketed into the house and almost knocked me over. He ran circles around the room, dropped onto the floor, and pushed his body along the carpet with his back legs. What a clown. I laughed so hard I leaned against the wall for support.

Buddy bolted upstairs, dragging himself along the wall. Almost eighteen months old and still just a crazy puppy. Back down the stairs he rumbled, eyes glazed, tongue lolling from his mouth. I doubled over with laughter. He galloped over to me and wiped his body along the legs of my jeans.

Ugh! What is that smell? My nose wrinkled and my eyes began to water.

SKUNK.

The dog bolted upstairs again.

“Buddy, get down here! Oh, no! Come!” I took the stairs two at a time. “Bad dog! Here boy, here boy!” On the landing, I dove for his legs and wrestled him to the floor. The chemical smell of skunk spray choked the breath out of me. I lost my grip on the dog and clung to the stair banister, dry-heaving.

Buddy ran toward Josh's room. I grabbed him by the tail and pulled hard, lunging forward to catch him by the hips with both hands. “Josh, wake up! Open your shower!”

Josh stepped into his doorway, hair plastered to one side of his head. He yawned and adjusted his
South Park
cartoon boxers. He looked at me and his face registered his confusion. “Mom, what are you doing on the floor on top of the dog?”

Buddy squirmed in my grasp. “Quick, open your shower. Buddy got skunked.” I dragged the dog by the collar toward the doorway. He pulled back like a reluctant mule.

“Ewww, Mom, not in my shower! He stinks!” Josh cupped his hand over his nose and mouth.

“Help me. Now!” I flashed one of those parental looks that foretold the probability of pending death.

Josh held the door while I wrestled the eighty-five-pound dog into the shower. I turned on the water and hosed off Buddy using the hand-held sprayer. Josh stood in the doorway watching and plugging his nose.

“Hold him. I have to go to the store.”

“You're kidding me, right?” Josh stepped backward and looked for a place to run.

Now I know why some animals eat their young.

“Hold the dog. I'll be back in a few minutes.” I punctuated my words with a scowl.

On the way to the market, I dialed the vet's after-hours emergency number.

Can the concept of an emergency be subjective?

While the phone continued to ring, I remembered a story my dad told me once when I was sixteen. Our old ranch dog, Baron, chased skunks regularly.

So, one day at the recommendation of a neighbor, Dad went to the store and bought fifteen disposable douches to use to shampoo the dog. The grocery clerk looked curiously at his purchase, so Dad told her he was a pimp.

It's the kind of family story that stays with you for a lifetime.

I decided not to douche the dog, so when the vet's service answered, I asked the operator if there were any alternatives.

“Mix one quart hydrogen peroxide with a quarter cup of baking soda and one teaspoon of dish soap. Lather, rinse and repeat as many times as you need to,” she said.

what's that smell?

Monday, May 6

I waited for Tyler in the parking lot of Barnes & Noble. I glanced at my watch. Twenty minutes late. It didn't bother me though. It's not like I would ever be crowned Punctuality Poster Girl.

I wandered into the bookstore, zigzagging slowly through the aisles. I stopped at a wall of books in the relationship self-help section. Most of the books seemed to be written for people who still had a relationship.

A little too late to buy one of those.

One title caught my eye.
The Rules: Time-Tested Secrets for Capturing the Heart of Mr. Right
. I picked it up and thumbed through the pages. According to the book, I'd been doing it all wrong—for years. It was no wonder I was still single. I decided to buy the book and implement
The Rules
immediately. I didn't want to let this one get away.

Tyler rang my cell phone to say that he was pulling into the parking lot. I finished my purchase and tucked the paperback into the bottom of my purse. The best-planned attack was definitely a surprise attack.

Tyler opened the door just as I stepped out of the bookstore.

“Hey, sorry I'm late. The movie's about to start, can you run?”

“Uh, sure,” I said.

About as fast as a three-legged rhino in Birkenstocks.

We took off in a sprint toward the theater. My purse jostled against my ribs. Thirty-four and running in strappy sandals to watch Spiderman? I'd expect my son would ask me to do it, but not a guy I was dating.

Tyler and I settled into the darkness. No popcorn. No drinks. He didn't want to miss a single minute.

A radioactive spider bit Peter Parker and Tyler watched raptly.

“Do you smell that? What
is
that smell?” Tyler whispered, leaning over and wrinkling his nose.

I faked a stretch and took a sniff under one arm. Maybe my deodorant was on vacation after that run. “I dunno. What do you smell?”

“Something smells like a skunk,” he said.

The darkness of the theater hid the redness of my face. Should I tell him? Yeah, there's a great idea. Um, by the way, that nasty smell of feral rodent ass gland—that's me.

“Really? I can't smell it,” I said.

“You're lucky. It's nasty,” he whispered back.

thick crust temptation

Monday, May 13

I stepped into his kitchen and set the pizza on the counter. Tyler had mentioned he had boxes of flyers for his band that needed to be folded and stapled, so I told him I'd swing by with pizza and a movie to help.

Okay, so my plan broke five of the rules—not counting the rule I broke when I called him instead of waiting for him to call me.

The flyers were scattered in random piles all around the living room. My OCD immediately flared up to near seizure proportions. I quickly dove in and organized the paper chaos into neat piles of flat, folded to be stapled, and already stapled piles along the length of his coffee table. I set the stapler at a left angle to the folded stack for easy stapling. Effortlessly, I moved flyers through the assembly line and stacked them into the open box waiting at the other end of the table.

Tyler watched my efficiency with an appraising look and then sat beside me to do the stapling while I folded. We watched MTV while we worked. The piles finally gone, the boxes held all the folded and stapled flyers.

I hopped up and went into the kitchen. “You hungry now? I'll serve the pizza.” I looked in his cupboard for plates.

Tyler scanned through the channels with the remote. “Ooh, it's on again. I've been wanting to catch this documentary on The Mommas and the Poppas.”

I made a face behind the kitchen partition. Borrrring. It was the last thing I wanted to sit and watch.

“Good idea. That sounds interesting,” I said.

Two points. I let him lead and responded positively to his interests. I swear these rules are going to kill me.

The documentary dragged like a dog with no back legs.

When the credits rolled down the screen, Tyler glanced at the clock and jumped up. “I have to get ready for band practice.”

I tried not to sound disappointed. “I'll let myself out. Call me after you guys finish.”

“I'm going to jump in the shower real quick. You can wait here. Or you can join me.” Tyler flashed a daring, teasing smile and walked into the bathroom, pushing the door only partially closed.

Join him? Yeah right.

The bathroom door, still two-thirds of the way open, was located directly across the small living room. About fifteen steps from the couch, I guessed.

I saw Tyler's bare hip and the length of his leg as he stepped into the shower. It was a sharp contrast—the tan torso and leg with the fair skin in between. I heard the shower spray against his body. The water rhythm changed in tempo when it rolled off and cascaded to the floor of the shower as he washed.

I looked down at the pizza cheese stuck on the plates. It looked like orange rubber.

What if I just stood up, took off my clothes, walked in there, and stepped into the shower with him? I wondered what he'd say.

Tyler didn't say anything. He pressed me against the tiles of the shower and our lips met. Hungry and insistent. His body was slick with soap. He turned with me and let the water cascade down our bodies while his hands moved sensually over my wet skin. His lips never left mine. He sought. And probed.

“I actually thought you might join me.” Tyler stepped out of the bathroom, tightening the towel around his waist. He shook some of the dampness from his long hair. Droplets of water clung to his faintly chiseled torso.

Still sitting on the couch, I hugged a leopard pillow against my chest. “I thought about it.”

“Oh well, your loss.” Tyler said.

all dressed up and no one to blow

My Birthday
Saturday, May 25

A pedicure, sushi, and a movie—that was my choice for my thirty-fifth birthday. Bonita, Valerie, and I started a birthday tradition years ago; each girl decided what she wanted for her special day and the others would make it happen. My day passed, filled with laughter and chatter about everything and nothing.

“Are you going to celebrate with Josh tonight?” Bonita asked as we walked out of the theater. “My boys always make me a birthday dinner.”

“We'll do it tomorrow. Josh has a barbeque and sleepover at his friend's house tonight. And Tyler is supposed to pick me up in two hours.”

“Where's he taking you?” Valerie slurped the last of her large diet Coke.

“He said he's taking me over to Sing Sing, that piano bar at the Irvine Spectrum. He knows the owner, so he's going to get up on the stage, play the piano, and sing to me.”

“Aw, that is sooo sweet,” Bonita and Valerie said in unison.

“Tyler said he wants it to be a special night out for us. I have to get home and figure out what to wear.”

We hugged goodbye and I rushed to my car.

I stood in my closet and pulled out my favorite jeans. Comfortable and cute. Low rise, stretchy—they made my butt look small and round. Black suede boots? Brown suede boots? Or tan suede boots? That depended on the colors in the top. I changed tops four times. Finally, I decided on a sleeveless v-neck top that had a lacy overlay in a deep red, charcoal, and beige floral design. I finished with a red, antique, teardrop bead necklace with matching earrings and a bracelet.

I glanced at the clock in the bathroom. Fifteen minutes late. Good. I'm ready. He'll be here any minute.

I stretched my damp towel over the shower door and put the deodorant and toothpaste back in the medicine cabinet. I spritzed some perfume into the air in front of me and walked into the mist flailing my arms to capture the scent lightly on my skin. I hung the other three tops in the closet.

Twenty minutes late. I began reorganizing my makeup drawer.

Maybe I should call him to see if he's almost here. I looked at the cell phone resting on the granite vanity next to my large barrel curling iron. I picked up the curling iron, started to fix an unruly curl, then set it down again. I grabbed the phone and scanned the internal phone book for Tyler's cell number.

It rang once and went straight to voicemail. “Hi, um, it's me. Just wondered if you got lost and maybe didn't have my number with you to call. Call me if you need directions again. See you soon. Bye. Call me.”

I picked up the curling iron and decided to fry the ends of my hair again. That killed another fifteen minutes.

Maybe I should call him one more time. I snatched the phone, but dialed Valerie's number instead.

“I think I just got stood up,” I said as soon as she answered.

“No, Tyler wouldn't stand you up on your birthday. He's probably just running late. Did you try calling him?”

“Yeah. It went straight to voicemail, so he must have his phone turned off. I left a message.”

I sat down on the edge of the bathtub and cradled the phone against my shoulder. “I think I'm being stood up.”

Just the thought of it stung. An uncomfortable giggle squeaked out. “I can't believe this.”

“Maybe his cell phone is just out of range,” Valerie said.

I looked at the clock again. Forty-five minutes late.

“I am. I'm getting stood up.” I paced the length of the bathroom. “If I am getting stood up, I'm not staying home.” The heels of my boots tapped woodenly against the tiles. “I'm all dressed. I actually have make-up on and I curled my hair. Twice.” I stopped in front of the mirror and stared at my reflection. “I look too cute to stay home. Let's go out.”

“I'm in my pjs in bed. I'm not going anywhere. But if you want to come over here and watch a movie with me, you can.”