The Break-Up Diet: A Memoir (21 page)

I moved from the table to the kitchen and crunched the take-out boxes into the trash.

“Annette, quick, you have to see this.” Ryan's laugh echoed in the room.

“You guys go ahead, I'll clean up.” I turned on the faucet to rinse the plates.

Okay, so maybe we don't have the same taste in movies. We like the same music. The warm water turned my hands pink. He's great with Josh.

For the last three weeks, they'd devoured truck magazines, talked about engines and rims, went to a car show, built my Ikea pantry and shelves, and had quiet conversations about “boy stuff.” Josh needed someone like that.

I switched the water to cold and let it run through my fingers. Ryan had been persistent. Completely attentive. And extremely affectionate. It felt good to be wanted. He would never leave like Kevin did. I turned off the water and dried my hands on a towel. Leaning against the doorway, I watched the guys together.

“Watch this part, watch this part.” Josh's elbow nudged Ryan's side.

Ryan's arm slung across the back of the couch put his tattoos on display. A California edition of Billy Idol. I had to admit, he had a certain magnetism. After the false start, the sexual chemistry between us was definitely there.

Ryan's bad-boy toughness softened when he looked at me. He mouthed the words “I love you” and turned his attention back to the television.

Maybe that was all that really mattered: someone who would love us.

grocery store pony sex

Sunday, August 11

The Summer Jam concert ended early, hours before sunset. The Crips and the Bloods, two rival black gangs, traveled from Los Angeles to Irvine to spent the day throwing their colors around, along with whatever else they could find. I saw someone two rows below us get pegged in the head with a flying Nike.

Ryan and I ducked to avoid the randomly launched food and full water bottles, and positioned ourselves near people wearing clothing colors other than blue or red. It was safer to just enjoy the hip-hop music and stay out of the conflicts.

I was glad we hadn't brought Josh along. He would've liked the music, but I didn't want him exposed to the environment. He'd groused about not going, until I offered to drive him over to our old neighborhood to spend the night with Adam.

LL Cool J was in the middle of his set, singing “Phenomenon,” when the scuffles accelerated into a full riot. LL chastised the crowd for their behavior and for interrupting the show, but his protests were swallowed in the sounds of girls screaming and fists connecting with flesh. A police helicopter circled overhead and uniformed officers in protective gear entered the amphitheater, filing the people one at a time through the exit gate. The fighting continued, deep within the press of the crowd.

The anarchy of the day echoed in my head. I stared at the ceiling and tried to dissect the social motivations of such destructive behavior—it just didn't make sense. In the darkness of the bedroom, I could hear Ryan's rhythmic breath of deep sleep. The blue glow of the digital clock read: 1:57 a.m.

I slid my hand under the sheet to rub him up while he slept. When Ryan was fully erect, I climbed on top of him and rocked back and forth, my body weight pressing him inside of me. I could feel his thickness and pushed hard against it, forcing it deeper, trying to fill the void.

Ryan awoke just before he climaxed. “Hi…” his voice low and groggy, greeted me. His hands reached out to grasp my hips, stopping their motion as he shuddered in orgasm. In the faint light of the room, I could see a smile curving his lips.

“Go back to sleep,” I whispered as I climbed off and moved under the covers.

I did it because he was there. And because I could. But I still felt hollow.

a south american rat fuck parable

Monday, August 12

The cursor on my computer blinked. The glaring white page felt like a black hole. No, not a black hole. It was more like an impenetrable wall that was blocking anything creative. I couldn't figure out how to fill the page with words. Not just any words, that was easy. The right words. Infinitely harder.

It was easier to avoid writing completely than to work through it, so I picked up the phone and called Valerie. “Let's do lunch today,” I said.

“Okay. Meet me at the sandwich place by my office, I have something funny to tell you about.”

I stepped down the short hall to Josh's room. With the loss of a homeschool zone, his bedroom became tight quarters. His computer desk sat wedged in the corner between his bed and the wall.

When I walked into the room, Buddy jumped off the bed, lowered his head, and left the room quickly.

Josh sat at his computer playing
Tomb Raider
. I moved behind him and pressed my palms on each side of his head, tilting it back so he could see me. “How many times have I told you dogs don't belong on the bed?”

Josh crossed his eyes. “At least a hundred million.”

“Well, now it's a hundred and one million.”

“Um, Mom…isn't that a hundred million and one?” he said, still looking at me upside down.

“Thanks for the math lesson, Mr. Smarty Pants.” I let go of his head and sat on the edge of the bed. “I came to tell you I'm going to meet up with Valerie for lunch. And I'm swinging by the grocery store on my way back. Do you need anything?”

Josh thought for a moment. “Double A batteries and microwave popcorn.” He turned back to his computer game. “Is Ryan coming over tonight?”

“I don't know. Do you want him to?” I said.

Maybe it was the tone of my voice that made Josh turn the question around on me. “Do
you
want him to?” He swiveled in his chair and studied my face.

Since the conversation felt like it was going in that direction, it was the perfect time to nudge it along. “We haven't really talked about it and I was just wondering, what do you think about me being in a relationship with Ryan?”

Josh seemed to consider how to respond. “He's nice. But I think he's just your get-away guy.”

“What do you mean?” I felt a twitch in my stomach, like the feeling of being caught in a white lie.

“It's like you like him because he helps you get away from being sad.”

Get-away guy? Talk about out of the mouths of babes. Was it really that transparent, even to a child?

Once I made it to lunch, I sat across from Valerie in a daze.

She bit into her sandwich, a piece of lettuce wiggled outside her mouth as she chewed. “So, check this out.” She finished chewing and swallowed. “I was watching the Discovery Channel the other night. It was soooo funny.”

My mind wandered, only half listening to another one of her endless TV stories. My sandwich sat untouched.

Am I just settling satisfactorily like my fortune cookie predicted? And like my son so clearly pointed out?

Valerie took a sip of her iced tea then pulled off the plastic lid. “The show was about this South American rat…” She plucked out an ice cube and popped it into her mouth, crunching noisily.

I always swore I'd never settle for less than exactly what I wanted. That was the whole purpose for The List. But is staying with Ryan only because he loves me the same thing as settling? Can I stay in the relationship even if I know I'll never be in-love with him? I pulled a limp slice of tomato out of my sandwich and abandoned it on the side of the wrapper.

Valerie punched the air with the straw. “And you're not going to believe what the rat does,” she paused for effect. “During mating season, it literally fucks itself to death.”

“What?” The absurdity of her statement snapped me back to attention.

“Yeah, can you believe that? I was watching it and thinking, what stupid animal fucks for no reason until it finally dies? And then I had this total epiphany. My ex-boyfriend was exactly like that rat.”

I didn't say anything in response. As much as I didn't want to admit it, I could relate.

twin towers reflection

Wednesday, September 11

First thing in the morning, I tied the wooden stick of a tiny American flag to a fat, ivory candle and pulled the white ribbon into a bow. Tilting the candle at an angle, I lit the wick. My plan was to tend the candle all day and through the night to honor the victims of 9/11 on the first anniversary of the tragedy.

I carried the candle from room to room as I tidied up. When I finished the morning chores, I decided to get out of the house for a while. I just wanted to go somewhere quiet, close to nature.

When I climbed into the driver's seat of my car, I carefully held the candle between my legs as I drove; the heat of the flame rose to warm the space under my chin. I pulled into the parking lot of Mission Viejo Lake. Balancing the candle and a short-legged beach chair from my trunk, I walked to the end of the paddleboat dock.

An almost imperceptible sway gently rocked the solid structure. I sat in the chair and closed my eyes, listening to the creak of the old wood and the gentle lap of the water against the posts.

One year, and I could still remember every detail of that horrific day.

It was a Tuesday. Kevin's second day off work.

We were asleep in a borrowed vacation condo on a golf course in Palm Springs. The night before, we had planned to spend the next day by the pool, and maybe go into town in the afternoon to do some shopping.

Kevin's cell phone rang, startling him awake. He scrambled out of bed in his underwear and ran into the living room to answer it before the ringing woke up Josh. I shifted under the sheets and stretched out my feet, seeking a cool spot. I opened one eye and tried to focus on the bedside clock; it was a few minutes after six.

Kevin returned to the room in a rush and fumbled with the TV remote.

I sat up in bed. “Who was that? What's wrong?”

“It was Carter. He said there was an accident at the World Trade Center.” Kevin sat on the end of the bed in front of the TV.

I crawled across the covers and leaned my bareness against his back.

We saw the images on the television screen unfold in chaos. Plumes of black smoke rose from the North Tower. Tiny bodies fell the length of the long, gray building. The camera captured papers fluttering and swirling. There were people screaming and running through the streets.

We sat clinging to each other and watching in horror. Sobs wracked our bodies. The explosion. The second plane. The collapse. Shaking, and wrapped in each other's arms, we cried out again and again.

“Oh my God, no…” became our litany as the hours passed. We sat in shock, awash in tears. The news reports revealed that it was a terrorist attack. The Pentagon was also hit. Another hijacked plane crashed.

We crawled back beneath the covers, still watching, crying, and holding each other. I felt a headache searing behind my eyes from the force of my tears. All those people. So many people.