The Break-Up Diet: A Memoir (5 page)

“How much weight have you lost? Are you eating at all? You look sick.”

“Eight pounds so far.”

“In a week? I wish Derek would break up with me.” Heather patted her rounded hips.

No. You don't.

My eyes filled with tears, and my nose tingled, threatening to run.

Heather saw my total breakdown only seconds away. “Let's order some drinks and greasy food.” She waved to the bartender and wrapped her arm around my shoulder like the wing of a mother hen. “Are you hungry? Have you eaten anything today?”

“A chocolate whey protein shake with a Hershey bar blended in it for breakfast and five chocolate pudding cups before I got here.”

“YEEEAAH! Birdie!” A guy's voice boomed louder than the football announcer on the big screen.

I turned to see three random guys crowded around a video game that stood wedged in the corner between the dartboard and the pool table. It was
Golden Tee
.

Kevin's favorite.

He loved to rout his buddies on the golf course and on the electric greens of that video game.

It still baffled me how grown men could get so wrapped up in video games. There should almost be a screening question prior to the first date—Bachelor #1, Which do you do more often: A. Play video games? Or B. Masturbate?

Kevin played
Golden Tee
whenever we stopped at the neighborhood tavern, always trying to top his last score. He slept and breathed golf in any and every form he could find. Kevin's passion for the game was tangible—the very core of his being radiated the classic mystery of the fifteenth-century game.

So beautiful.

As I peeked over Kevin's shoulder, he spun from the screen to face me. “Did you see that shot, Annette?” He picked me up and twirled me in a kiss.

As usual, Carter and Stan groaned in defeat, but they never stopped trying.

“The next round is on you guys,” Kevin said.

Stan went to the bar to order another round of Samuel Adams while Carter dug into his pocket for quarters to buy the next round of golf.

I perched on a barstool near the drink rail and watched Kevin enter his initials in the electronic scoreboard. I poked my straw into the melting ice at the bottom of my glass, slurping the last of the watery remains.

My eyes roved over his tan, lean frame. He turned from the machine and matched my gaze. Kevin walked over and stood between my knees, dotting my forehead and the tip of my nose with kisses. Kevin's lips moved over mine. His kiss blocked out everyone and everything around us. He whispered against my ear, “I love you, Princess.”

“That's cranberry juice with a lime, right?” Heather said, dragging me back to reality.

“Uh, yeah…” I pulled out of the fog. “…and light ice.”

Will I ever be able to go places I've been with Kevin and not think about him?

A weight of emotion pressed heavily on my chest. The sounds of people drinking, talking, and cheering the game, came as muffled vibrations in my head. I let my eyelids slide closed to block out the room.

“Are you tired?” Heather set her hand lightly on my shoulder.

“Yeah, I think so.” My tears began to brim.

“Maybe it's too soon to go out,” Heather said.

“Maybe a little.”

does mapquest give life directions?

Tuesday, October 30

I jotted notes while Josh peered over my shoulder.

“Thank you for all your information. You've been a great help,” I said into the phone before hanging up.

The local contact for the HomeSchool Association of California seemed to be a nice lady. She explained how to file an R4 form with the Department of Education and suggested a list of resources for purchasing textbooks and study guides. There were so many decisions to make. But as a certified education junkie, I was pretty excited about the possibilities.

I turned to the computer screen and went back to browsing the Irvine Valley College online catalogue. “I think I'll enroll us in a language class,” I said more to myself than to Josh.

Josh sat on the floor at my feet. “Language? Don't you mean an English class?” he said.

“No. I mean like ASL—an American Sign Language class. That would be fun. And I think it would be easier for you to start with that instead of a foreign language.”

Josh looked at me like I'd just grown a third eye. “What good is learning sign language?”

“I dunno. I guess I can always use it to yell at you in public so no one else will know what I'm saying.”

“Yeah, that's real funny.” Josh rolled his eyes. He pulled the notebook off the desk and scanned the handwritten list of subjects. “Mom, I want Kevin to teach me the pre-algebra. Can I ask him when he gets here?”

A knot instantly tightened in my chest. “I don't think so, sweetie.”

“Why? Do you think he won't want to?”

I knew it would come up this week, but I still hadn't prepared what to say. I stood up from the desk chair and motioned for Josh to sit beside me on the edge of the bed.

“You know Kevin has been staying at the company apartment because the drive is so far…”

Josh nodded.

“Well, he won't be coming home on his days off anymore. He wants to live there all the time now.”

I bowed my head slightly, hoping Josh wouldn't notice the tears welling in my eyes.

“So, we're moving to Los Angeles with him?” Josh's voice sounded both hopeful and confused.

“No, honey. Kevin and I aren't going to be in a relationship anymore.” My tears spilled over.

Josh leaned to wrap his arms around my shoulders in an awkward hug. “It's okay, Mom.” He squeezed a little harder. “It's okay if it's you and me again. We don't need him anyway.”

I knew his dismissive comment came from his deep loyalty to me. And maybe a desire to mask his own disappointment. Josh liked Kevin, so much that he had even tried to learn to play golf, though I knew he'd rather play baseball. They were both people-pleasers whose quiet emotions ran deep.

I started to say something to draw Josh into a conversation about it, but the stony look on his face made me swallow the words. I silently welcomed his simple statement of closure because if I didn't have to talk about it, he wouldn't discover how weak I really felt.

When Josh left my bedroom, I opened a blank journaling template and began to type. The thoughts poured onto the screen.

How could I possibly go on without Kevin? The end of my Cinderella story left me holding a handful of frog piss. And what the hell was I thinking when I pulled Josh out of school? I'm a moron. How could I possibly teach him anything of value? Maybe I should just embrace the Orange County stereotype: get a boob job, a lobotomy, and hunt for a rich husband—

My cell phone rang “Ding Dong the Witch is Dead”—it could be Valerie, Bonita, Heather, Jaimee, or Chelle—one of the gal pals in my witch posse. I took a break from my diary rant and answered the call.

“So, how are you holding up?” I could hear Valerie's nails tapping a rapid staccato on the keys of her adding machine.

I looked beside my computer monitor at the empty jar of fudge topping, a sticky spoon handle leaning against the inside rim.

“Fine, I guess. Just had lunch and I'm writing in my journal about you.”

“Oh, really? So, what does it say?” she asked.

I read the page-long entry to her. She laughed through it—right up until the part about the boob job and the lobotomy.

“Hey, no fair taking shots at me when I'm not around to defend myself.” Valerie pretended to be angry, then her tone quickly changed. “That was some funny shit though. You should make that into a book.”

“You think so?” Everything I'd tried to write lately sounded like crap.

“Either that or go get a real job,” Valerie took her jab to counter the boob smack.

Ever since college, we playfully boxed. Now, in the real world, she was an investment analyst. And as an English major, I was highly qualified to suggest an order of french fries and the opportunity to supersize it.

“Seriously, do you think it would make a good book?” I asked.

“I think you are the only person I know who can make misery funny. I'd buy it.”

“Well, maybe I will…” I leaned back in my chair and chewed the inside of my lower lip.

“So, what's the deal with the homeschool thing? Are you really planning to do it? Who's going to teach Josh math? You suck at math.”

The call-waiting function on my phone beeped.

“Hang on a sec,” I said.

I switched lines. “Craig! Um…I'm on the other line, can you hold?” I squeaked like a strangled mouse. “I'll be right back.”

I clicked over.

“Val, it's the producer for the Disney project, oh shit, oh shit. I'll call you back.”

My mind raced. I had no new pages to give to him. My muse checked out after Kevin left and I didn't have shit.

I clicked back on the line, “Hi…” The word came out like I was recovering from a marathon.

“Annette, I want to go over some script notes with you, do you have a minute?”

“Yes, of course,” I said.

While Craig talked about the pacing in Act II, I stared at the patterns on the scraped ceiling.

I couldn't do it.

There was no way I could possibly write the happy, fluffy, family comedy he wanted. The thought of it made me want to vomit.

“Craig…” I broke into his flow of comments. “I am so sorry, I can't finish this project.” I took a breath and continued, trying to get my explanation out before the tears came. “I'm having a hard time dealing with some emotional family stuff, and I know the script will suffer. I can't do this. I'm really sorry.”

Craig gently pushed for details. In our first few meetings, we had shared stories about our personal lives, so it wasn't hard to continue. Soon, the complete story tumbled out. In my incoherent babbling, I even admitted I worked as a dancer to pay the bills.

Career suicide. My professional credibility died on the line.

He listened quietly and waited until I finished before responding, “If there's anything I can do, let me know. Don't worry about the script, I have other things in the pipeline. Call me whenever you're ready to take another run at it.”

After we hung up, I looked back at the journal page filling my computer screen. The cursor blinked and I stared. Would chronicling all of my break-up misery actually make a good book?

all hollow eve

Halloween
Wednesday, October 31

I heard the sound of Josh's running feet pounding down the stairs. He jumped into the living room and posed with his most menacing glare. “So, how do I look?” He cradled a plastic machine gun against his chest.

“You look great. That costume is perfect,” I said.

His man-sized, pin-stripe suit was far too big, but still a lucky find. The thrift store also had a worn pair of wingtips for three dollars and a black fedora for five. A quick stop at a costume store for the black, mock shirtfront and white necktie finished off the look. Josh's slight Italian features sealed the image.

One tween gangster—$25. No retarded Butterick costume pattern to sew—priceless.

Josh grabbed his black plaid pillowcase and headed to the door.

“Don't eat anything until I check it,” I said.

“Aw, Mom—”

“I'm serious.” I grabbed his retreating coattail.

“Okay, okay, let go. I promise already.” He drew an invisible cross on his chest with his index finger and bolted out the door, slamming it closed in the rush of his wake.

I wandered through the living room and stepped over the lounging dog bodies. Nina's long legs and lean form stretched out like a supermodel during a
Sports Illustrated
photo shoot. Her paws twitched, perhaps chasing the electric rabbit around the Greyhound racetrack from her youth.

Buddy aimed a lick at my ankle and thumped his tail as I passed. He expended most of his puppy energy wrestling with Josh for over an hour. Adopting the abandoned Rottweiler/Shepherd puppy was a good choice. Rough and tumble enough for a growing boy, even if he was originally a Valentine's present for Kevin.

Kevin. Without him, the house felt hollow.

I paused in the doorway of the kitchen. The night before, Josh and I had carved two funny-faced jack-o’-lanterns for the front doorstep. Now, on squares of paper towels, the pumpkin seeds spread out, nearly dry. I had rinsed them meticulously and lined them up in careful rows. They were ready to salt and bake.

I don't even like pumpkin seeds. And neither does Josh. Kevin likes pumpkin seeds.

With a sweep of my arm, I scattered them into the sink, rinsed them down the drain, and ground them to pieces in the garbage disposal.

I pulled a large plastic bowl from the cupboard and opened the bags of candy bars into it, ready for the parade of greedy little monsters.

Is it a good thing or a bad thing to only buy Halloween candy I like? I poked my fingers into the bowl and tossed the different chocolate bars like a garden salad. I always wonder about the cruel intentions of people who buy candy no one likes.

In the weeks that follow the big night, the ten pounds that Josh collects gets picked over. Then the crappy stuff sits in the bottom of the bowl until Easter when I finally throw it out.

Who says I haven't established any family holiday traditions?

I popped in a DVD of
The Wizard of Oz
and sat cross-legged on the floor between the dogs with the bowl of candy bars in my lap. I turned up the volume on the TV to fill the empty house with voices. The wind began to blow. A tornado was coming. I unwrapped a mini Snickers and popped it into my mouth.

I wished a tornado would carry me far away.

The doorbell rang. Halloween munchkins called out, “Trick or Treat” and peeked into the entryway from the partially open door.

Follow the yellow brick road.

Buddy's eyes lit up. Someone had delivered giant pet toys right to his doorstep. He ran barking and skittering across the entry tiles. Buddy drooled and bumped the children around as I filled their bags with candy. A motherly Bo-Peep scooped up her woolly-headed lamb when Buddy began gnawing on the child's cotton-stuffed tail. Nina kept her distance, watching the chaos from the safety of the living room.