The Break-Up Diet: A Memoir (35 page)

“Is it a new stereo?” I asked.

I looked over to the entertainment center and saw a black electronic unit hooked up and set under the DVD player.

“No,” Steven said. “Go see.”

I walked over and squinted at the printing on the unit.

“A karaoke machine!” I closed the space between us in a half stride and threw myself into an embrace with him.

“Now all you have to do is read the instruction manual.” Steven smiled and pulled the book from behind his back.

“Noooo,” I whined. “You know I hate that.” I was famous for fiddling with electronics just enough to figure out how to work the basic functions. That was why every gadget I owned showed a different time of day. I never bothered to read how to set the clock.

Josh waved the song CD case in front of me, playing keep-away. “If you can take this from me, I'll show you how to use it,” he said.

Before he could blink, I had Josh in a headlock. “Never forget, I brought you into this world and I can take you out of it.” I noogied the top of his head with the knuckles of my fist.

After his quick surrender, I decided to use the automatic disk changer function for the karaoke machine: Josh. He sat next to the unit, switching out the CDs for me.

I crooned the “Chattanooga Choo Choo” song like a tone-deaf 1940s big band singer. I sang it five times in a row with the volume turned up loud.

Steven snapped a digital picture of me belting out the last line of the song. My mouth formed a gaping O, with my head thrown back, I warbled the final word. I ended with a huge smile directed at Steven.

“You look so happy. I love seeing you like that.” He leaned down and kissed my forehead. “I'm glad you're enjoying your present.”

I sang for three hours straight—through every track on the ten CDs that came with the machine, until finally, my voice was nearly gone. I had a blast, even if it was unjust torture for the neighbors on a quiet Sunday morning.

The phone rang. I thought it might be the verbal equivalent of a neighbor pitching a shoe at an alley cat on the back fence, but it was Heather calling to wish me a happy birthday and confirm our knitting date. I told her I was on the way.

When I pulled into the parking lot at Tall Mouse Crafts, I saw the sign on the glass doors announcing the free knitting lessons and another sign that was advertising a thirty-percent-off sale on yarn. My absolute favorite word: FREE. My next favorite word: SALE.

I met up with Heather and we settled ourselves side-by-side at one of the long folding tables. I was surprised there weren't more people in the class. How can anyone pass up free knitting lessons?

Our instructor, her shoulders hunched into the shape of a
C,
smiled and introduced herself as Ethel. She held up a set of knitting needles, showing the proper way to hold them, how to drape the yarn between our fingers and cast on.

Three women, about our age, sat across the table from Heather and me, laughing at their own fumbling. They chatted lightly about current events.

Heather and I focused on our knitting. I tucked the end of one needle into a loop of yarn on the other, crossed the strand wrapped around my finger and pulled it through. I felt slow and awkward but was starting to get the hang of it. With any luck, I'd have an entire scarf by next winter.

“Guess what Steven gave me for my birthday,” I switched the needles in my hand to start another row. “A karaoke machine,” I said without giving her time to actually guess. “I didn't even ask for it, he just knew I loved singing so he picked it out because of that.”

I thought she muttered, “Isn't that special.” But I knew I must've heard wrong. “So, how are things with you and Derek?” I said, still concentrating on moving the yarn along my row.

“Fine,” she said tightly.

I glanced at Heather. Her stabbing movements sent one needle flipping from her hand. It clinked onto the floor and bounced under the table. She scowled and bent to retrieve it.

“Here, let me help see if you dropped a stitch,” I said.

Heather jerked away, her face stormy. “Oh, so now you're perfect at this?” She yanked and pulled at the yarn, her hands fisted around the needles. The knitted line she had created drew taunt.

I noticed the women across the table eyeing Heather's violent flailing. I leaned over and whispered, “Relaaaaax. It's only knitting. This is supposed to be fun.”

Heather huffed and fussed with her yarn. “Don't tell me to relax!” she hissed through her teeth. She threw the knitting needles and knotted yarn onto the table. “I can't do this.” Heather pushed back her chair and reached for her purse.

I gathered my materials and followed her into the parking lot. “I'm sorry this didn't turn out to be fun for you,” I said. I didn't know what else to say.

Heather looked at her watch. “Now I'm late to meet up with Derek and my whole day is wasted.” She jammed her key into the lock to open her car door.

“Look, I don't know what your deal is, but you need to mellow out before you drive anywhere,” I said.

“Whatever.” She got into her car and slammed the door. She drove out of the parking lot and left me standing there.

I climbed into my car and called her on the cell phone as I headed home.

She seemed to be a little calmer. I avoided talking about knitting or Steven, not knowing exactly what had set her off, so I picked a current event topic I overheard the women at our table talking about. A young surfer who had her arm bitten off by a shark was apparently going around the country giving inspirational talks about how the accident had been God's will.

“Don't you think that's odd?” I asked. “I mean, it's great that she's getting on with her life and doing something positive and good after the accident, but the shark was probably hungry and thought she was a seal. I hardly think God is up there playing
The Sims
with a sea creature expansion pack.”

Heather was quiet on the line.

When she finally spoke, the malice in her voice was unmistakable. “Ever since you met Steven, you've changed.”

“What do you mean? I have not,” I said.

“Yes, you have! You used to be conservative.” Her voice twisted in disgust. “Now, all of a sudden, you've turned into a Democrat.”

Hardly a crime, but maybe a certifiable sin to a woman with an autographed 8x10 picture of President George W. Bush on her refrigerator door.

“Now you don't believe in anything. You've turned into a fucking atheist!” she shouted.

Stunned, I opened my mouth to protest the out-of-right-field attack, but her tirade gained momentum. “You have! You're a fucking atheist! A FUCKING ATHEIST!” she shrieked into the phone.

I waited to hear if Heather's head would spin around and I listened for the gagging sound that accompanies projectile vomiting. Where do you find an exorcist when you really need one?

Even through the phone, I could hear her chest heaving with emotional exertion. I wondered, at what point, had I morphed into a mortal enemy? It was like a bad
Twilight Zone
episode—like when you think you recognize your world until you realize nothing is the way it was and nothing will never be the same again.

Heather's voice quaked in indignation. “After twelve years of friendship, I don't even know who you are,” she said. Then she hung up.

the baby and the bath water

Memorial Day
Monday, May 26

My cell phone rang: “Ding Dong the Witch is Dead.” The Caller ID showed Bonita calling from her cell phone.

I hadn't talked with her or Valerie since the Hollywood trip. I didn't call them and they didn't call me. Three weeks without a single word was like a lifetime compared with years of daily chatter. It seemed a distance continued to grow between us as my relationship with Steven developed. And I wasn't sure how to mend the gap.

“Hi,” I answered the phone, trying to sound casual, as if I'd just spoken with her earlier that day.

“Hi…how are you?” Bonita's tone sounded a little strained, almost like she, too, wasn't sure what to say.

“I'm fine. What's up?” I said, still a little guarded.

“We hadn't heard from you, so I thought I'd call to see how you've been.”

She didn't mention Valerie's name, but I knew who “we” was. I had stopped calling Valerie because of her repeated backhanded comments about Steven. I could only imagine it came from a place of jealousy, but it was hard to ignore the negative feeling it gave me.

“Things are pretty much the same.” I said. “We celebrated my birthday yesterday and we're getting ready right now to leave so we can launch the Seadoos in Dana Point Harbor.”

“That's right…happy birthday.” Bonita seemed a little embarrassed to have missed it.

“Thanks,” I said.

The conversation died on the line.

Me not calling Bonita was like throwing the baby out with the bath water. Whatever tension there was between Valerie and me, Bonita was caught in the middle. I considered her more Valerie's friend than mine, since Valerie had introduced us.

“Well, we were just wondering if you were coming over for the Memorial Day Barbeque,” Bonita said.

It seemed a strange question since I hadn't been invited. Although it had been a tradition for years, considering the current strain in the friendship, I never would've just assumed and shown up at Valerie's house.

“I'm sorry. I have plans with Steven.”

The conversation lagged again and I wasn't sure how to revive it. I didn't know if Bonita was extending an olive branch or whether it was a fishing expedition on Valerie's behalf. I didn't feel like sticking my neck up on the chopping block to find out.

Valerie wasn't the one calling, so that sent a message all its own. I didn't think we were going to be friends anymore. There would never be those little cottages on the communal property so we could all grow old together.

It was sad to think I was losing friends I'd had for over a decade. But when I thought about the basis for our friendship, aside from all being single moms, it seemed the only thing Valerie, Bonita, and I really had in common was a bond of shared bitterness about past failed relationships.

I had let go of that and was finally happy. So maybe I did change.

da plane! da plane!

Monday, June 2

Steven and I stretched the blanket across the sand near the waterline. The gentle lap of the water accompanied the soft breeze of early evening. We sat beside each other and watched the sailboats tack across Mission Viejo Lake. Josh paddled a rented kayak, gliding between the boats.

Steven fished his cell phone out of his pocket and checked the time.

“What? You late for a hot date?” I teased, scooting over to snuggle against his side.

“No. It's almost six and I'm just expecting a call from the…tile guy. He needs to drop off some…um…tile. At one of the job sites.”

Josh paddled to shore, jumped out, and pulled the kayak onto the beach. “So, what's up?” he flopped onto the blanket beside us.

“Let me take your picture with the kayak.” I dug the digital camera out of my beach bag and followed him to the waterline.

Josh posed holding the paddle with one foot on the edge of the bright yellow boat.

Steven's cell phone rang. He jumped up, took it from his pocket, and walked over to the deserted lifeguard stand to answer it.

When he finished the call, he pulled a one-dollar bill out of his wallet. “Josh, go to the snack bar and buy me a candy bar, please.”

“What kind?” Josh asked.

“I don't care, whatever looks good.” Steven pressed the money into Josh's hand, and Josh sprinted across the beach.

There was a faint rumble of a single-engine plane in the distance—a noise that usually blended into the sounds of calling seagulls and children's laughter.

Steven stepped beside me and whispered in my ear, “Annette, look up.”

I dropped my head back and scanned the soft blue canvas. Filmy brush strokes of clouds dotted the sky; a thin sliver of pale moon hung in the distance.

Steven directed my gaze by pointing across the lake. A banner trailed on a short tether behind a small plane.

Instinctively, I knew what the words on the banner said. Through tears that suddenly blurred my vision, I turned to Steven in near panic and grasped his arm. “I have a feeling it says something really important, but I can't read it.”

“Don't worry, it will come closer,” he said.

The plane was almost directly overhead, but I still couldn't read the words on the banner. “What does it say?” I squinted through my tears.

He read it to me softly, leaning close. “It says, ‘Annette will you marry me? Yours forever, Steven.’”

He took my hand and lowered himself onto one knee in the sand. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me?”

A black velvet box appeared in his hand. Still so overwhelmed by the plane and banner, I didn't see where he had hidden it. Steven opened the box and revealed a beautiful platinum ring: a princess cut diamond with two trillions, one on each side. The large facets of the center stone glittered in the sunlight.

“Yes!” I said. Tears ran down my face as Steven slid the ring onto my finger.

The plane banked and headed away from the beach. “The plane!” I grabbed the camera from atop the blanket and ran down the beach trying to take a picture of the banner.