Breathe: A Novel (6 page)

Are you kidding me?

I flopped down on the bus stop bench, unable to make it any farther. Then right there in the middle of the road, my very fragile psyche exploded into a thousand little pieces. Where was I? What was I doing? Who had I become? My body shook as I grieved for my marriage and my childhood. I missed my family, my home, my dreams. How had I gotten so far off track? I mean, I barely spoke to my parents, managing to call once or twice a month. It just seemed like there was never much to say after I married Tripp. I knew no one approved, not even Jackson, and when I heard myself describe my life to anyone in my family, I felt ridiculous. So I would fall back on “They just don’t understand,” and avoid the calls. Now my ego was making it nearly impossible for me to reconnect.

Alex, you are completely alone. And it’s all your fault.

Thought designer furniture would keep you company? Think again.

“Shut up!” I shouted, not caring how absolutely insane I looked. I hid my face with my hands, imagining the headlines. “Marin Divorcee Makes Home on Farmer’s Market Bench” and “Homeless Woman Struck Dead by Yoga Bus.” Suddenly, I was aware of someone sitting next to me. I slid over without looking up.

“Apple?” the body next to me asked.

I peered at the ground through my fingers. I could see the bottom half of a leg covered by faded jeans and a worn-out, black Converse All-Star. Was he talking to me? I turned my head and rested it on my hand. There, sitting next me, a guy smiled and held out an apple. Even in my state, he was noticeably cute.

“No thanks.” I sniffed, still not lifting my head. “Sorry, I just . . . don’t like apples.” I said to the ground.

He laughed. “I don’t buy that for a second. A healthy girl like you? Come on. It’s organic.”

I sat up and surveyed his disheveled golden brown hair, his shining brown eyes. My own eyes were practically swollen shut. What could he possibly be smiling at?

“Let me guess. You do yoga,” I said, wiping my cheeks.

“What?”

“Never mind.” I dried my hands on my new pants and reached for the apple. He bent down to grab another from the box at his feet. He took a huge bite, spraying apple everywhere.

“Uh, thanks,” I said, wiping my face again.

“For the apple or for the spray?” He laughed through a mouthful. We sat for a minute, crunching and chewing. He seemed perfectly happy to sit in silence. I, on the other hand, was conflicted. Withdrawn but lonely, nauseous but starving, sad but happy if only for a moment . . .

“So, thanks for the apple.” I stood, turned toward him, and extended my hand. “I’m going to head over to the farmer’s market.”

He bent down and picked up his box of apples.

“Me too. I’ll walk you across the street. That was a close one a few minutes ago. It would appear you need an escort.” He was smiling. I felt warmth creeping up my neck. The walk signal blinked. We both stepped off the curb and crossed the street side by side.

“Anything in particular you’re into?” he said when we got to the other side. What the—? So that was it! He was some urban sex fiend—what did I look like?

“I’m not looking for anything! For your information,” I looked around and took a step closer, “my husband just left me,” I whispered. “I’m not homeless. Or crazy. At least not yet. I was just . . . thinking about something and got turned around. Now, if you don’t mind, I am going to find myself some produce!” I turned to walk away.

“I meant were you looking for anything in particular at the market?” he said, sounding amused.

“Oh.” Please, large earthquake, right now. Did I just tell a complete stranger my husband just left me? Something was seriously wrong with me. “No, I . . . I,” Shoot! Nothing was coming. “Okay, well, bye.” I put my head down and walked as fast as I could into the chaos of the market. What was the matter with me? I felt like I was either going to explode or die of humiliation.

Breathe, Alex. Get back to it.

I let the fruits and vegetables engulf me. I focused on the colors, the brilliant reds of the tomatoes, the vibrant greens, the purples of the turnips and cabbages, and began to calm down. I loaded my bags with lettuce, leeks, oranges, and jicama, anticipating the simple, healthy meals I would make for myself. An hour passed, and my arms were beginning to ache. Up ahead, I saw a flower vendor and, finally, actually smiled. I would buy a bouquet. Give some life and color to my now very stale house. As I passed the large stand directly adjacent to the flowers, I heard a familiar voice.

“Hey, you need a cart?” There, behind the artichokes, was the apple guy. Now that my adrenalin was under control, I could at least attempt to redeem myself. I walked closer.

“Do you work here?”

“Sure do.” He smiled and started unloading squashes from the truck behind him. “And you? Always that crazy? Or did I catch you on a bad day?” He kept working, talking to me like we had known each other for years.

“Bad week. Actually, bad year.” This time, I laughed for what I think was the first time since Tripp left. “And why am I crazy when you’re the one handing apples to strangers on the verge of a nervous breakdown?”

“Cute strangers.” He looked up from the squashes he was stacking and gave me another little smile.

“Oh, come on. I look like I should be on
Dancing with the Stars
,” I said, referring to my windblown hair and slinky ZEAL halter.

“Yeah, maybe. But that deer-in-headlights-thing you’ve got going makes up for the outfit.” He smirked and went back to arranging his squashes.

How did someone earn a living doing this? Maybe he slept in his truck. I watched his hands. They were strong and dirty, very different from Tripp’s, which were big, but always perfectly clean and groomed. He said hands were important, especially when you shook them as much as he did. I blinked and tried to erase Tripp from my thoughts.

“What ‘cha thinking about? Same thing that almost got you killed crossing the street?” He spoke pleasantly without looking up. I pictured him curled up under the steering wheel in a Denny’s parking lot off the five-eighty.

“I was thinking I should get back to Marin.”

“That’s not what you were thinking, but alright.”

“And how do you know what I was thinking?”

“I guess I don’t. Hey, could you do me a quick favor?” He glanced up from the table.

“Sure, but I really—”

“It’ll just take a minute. Come back here.” I moved to the back of the table where he stood. What was I doing? This guy could be a lunatic, but part of me wanted to stay. It sure beat going back to Marin, anyway. He handed me a knife, a cutting board, and some toothpicks. “I need samples, and the kid that usually helps me had a soccer game. Just cut the oranges in eighths and the apples in cubes.” He turned and started to walk away. Then he stopped and came back toward me. “I’m Andy.” He extended his hand. He looked at me, waiting. “And you are?”

“Oh. Sorry. Alex.” I shook his hand.

He smiled. “Thanks for the help.” He nodded his head toward the stack of fruit he had left for me, then walked away.
Wait!

“Andy!” I shouted. He kept walking.

“Excuse me, dear? Can I pay you for these?” A woman in her sixties held up two spaghetti squashes.

“Uh,” I looked around for someone to help me. “I mean, yes. I guess. Do you know how much they are?” Where had Andy gone? He was probably off getting stoned or something. What a pushover I was.

“The sign says two for five dollars.” She handed me a five-dollar bill, which I took and stuffed in my pocket. I started cutting the orange, muttering swears with each stroke of the knife. So why was I staying? Just when I’d convinced myself that he was never coming back, that I was going to have to call the vendor, have them come retrieve their stuff, and tell them that they’d hired an irresponsible flirt, Andy walked back with two cups in his hands.

“Here, take a break and have some tea with me.”

He sat on an overturned milk crate and motioned for me to join him. I looked around for a sign to tell me if hanging out with this kid was a good idea.

“How old are you anyway?” I asked.

“If I tell you, will you sit down? You are one of the most stressed out people I have ever met. I thought chopping the fruit would help.”

“I am not stressed out!”

“Oh, sorry. Must have read you wrong.” He rolled his eyes.

I took the cup of tea and perched on another crate.

“For the record, people-reader, I drink coffee.”

He smiled and said, “I’m twenty-eight.”

“Liar,” I said, and took a sip of tea. It was actually good.

“Why would I lie?” He was looking directly at me. I felt my palms begin to sweat.

“I don’t know, Andy. I can’t figure any of this out. Did you make a pact with yourself to do a good deed today? And what am
I
doing here? I clearly have not one ounce of a life, standing around cutting fruit for a stranger.” I stood up and put my tea on the table—a little too hard.

“Not stressed out, huh?” He smirked again.

“I am not stressed!” I was so flustered; I just needed to get out of there. “Nice to meet you. Have a good afternoon.” I stuck out my hand. He thought this was hilarious. I tried to resist looking over my shoulder as I scurried away, but of course I did, and I could see that he was still smiling. I was flushed with embarrassment.

Back at the garage, there was a new parking attendant. About time I had some good luck. The Saturday afternoon traffic was slow getting home, but I didn’t mind. I was alone in my car, and for the first time in weeks, I was thinking about something other than Tripp.

“Hey Jenny, it’s Alex.” Mercifully, Tucker hadn’t answered.

“Oh my God! I’m so glad you called!”

“Hey, what time is that class in the city tomorrow?”

“The YOGA class?” she shrieked.

“Uh huh.”

“Oh my God, Alex! I am so glad you finally decided to come. You are going to LOVE it! Galen is just amazing. You won’t believe his energy.”

“Uh huh. I remember you said that.” The scrap of open-mindedness that inspired me to call was dissolving quickly.

“Oh, right. Sorry. I’m just sure it will make you feel so much better.”

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. I tried to backpedal.

“Actually, why don’t we just meet for chai at the Lift when you get back.”

“What? No! Alex, you are coming with me! Let’s go have chai now and do class together tomorrow.” Jenny said.

I glanced at the classifieds in front of me.
Do people even find jobs in the paper anymore?
“Okay. The Lift in twenty?”

It was Jenny’s favorite spot, with hundreds of teas and an oxygen bar. I always joked that she should just move to Oregon. The fresh air was much less expensive.

“Perfect! See you in there!”

I confess Jenny’s kindness confused me. I assumed she and Tucker would have joined Tripp’s team, but I was grateful that she hadn’t. Hanging up the phone, I vowed to become a better friend. And daughter. I might even call my family this afternoon. I felt a lump in my throat.

“Come on, buddy!” Billy wagged furiously as we sprinted into town, my flip-flops smacking.

“Alex!” Jenny called and waved from the other side of Miller Street. She crossed over and gave me a hug. “I’m so glad we finally have a chance to talk.” She took Billy’s leash and linked her arm through mine for our stroll to The Lift.

“Have you ever been in there?” She pointed at the pounded steel Chi-Chi sign as we passed. It was suspended over a large stone fountain.

“Yeah, once.” I tried to sound casual, but the thought of Tripp’s mat made my heart hurt. We walked into the café and found a table by the window. I kept an eye on Billy, tied to a bike rack outside, while Jenny went to the counter to order. I checked to see if I’d missed a call from Tripp. Nothing.

“Alex?”

I felt a ghostly tap on my shoulder and spun around.

Louise. I almost fainted.

“Hello, Alex. I saw that dog of yours outside. How
are
you?” She filled her voice with fake sympathy, because her face was frozen with Botox.

“Hi, Louise. I’m fine. Doing fine.” I couldn’t breathe.

“Well, I am glad to hear that. I’ve been trying to give you some time, but we really do need to work out the details of this thing.” Right here? In the middle of The Lift, she wanted to talk about my divorce?

I flashed back to the last time that I’d seen her. We were at a luncheon for the Stanford board of Trustees. Louise and Tripp, both members, were gliding around the Palo Alto Polo Club lounge, schmoozing and strategizing with effortless poise and charm. I’d tried to stay by Tripp’s elbow but grew tired of being invisible. So I took my chardonnay and wandered off, looking at oil paintings and contemplating how I might win Louise over.
Find a cure for cancer? Start a jewelry line? Or maybe I should apply for a Stanford MBA, too?
I’d hated thinking like such a sellout, especially since I couldn’t stand the woman, but deep down, I’d desperately wanted her approval. At least I didn’t need to worry about that anymore.

“Can we talk about it another time, Louise? I’m here with a friend.”

Louise looked around.

“Oh, on a social call are you? I assumed you’d be out looking for a job. Or have you already found one?”

“Yes, Louise, didn’t you hear? I’m the new CFO of Oracle.”

She cocked her head. “Humor, Alex, can only get you so far, as I imagine you are beginning to realize. I’ll be by the house to continue this conversation. In the meantime, no need to contact us. Please let Luz know if you need anything. You must be feeling very alone so far from home. Oh, and use the service line.” She repositioned her sunglasses, then turned to walk out, sealing me off from any further association with the Edwards Family. I was permitted to contact the housekeeper only.

“Alex? What happened?” Jenny stood next to me, looking out the window that Louise had just slithered past. “What are we staring at?”

“I just saw Louise.”

“Oh my God. Let’s get out of here. You need some air.” Outside, she untied Billy, and walked us both to the nearest park bench. Billy curled up quietly underneath us and rested his chin on my foot.

“Are you okay?” asked Jenny.

“Well . . . ” I stared into the sunlit plaza and said, “I think a pooper scooper at the Rodeo Day parade has more of a purpose than I do right now.”

Jenny covered her mouth and laughed. “Alex!”

I cracked a slight smile. “It’s true, Jenny. I mean, I have no idea why you’re so nice to me.”

She looked up, surprised. “Because you’re special, Alex. A real breath of fresh air around here.”

I winced. “You mean I don’t belong.”

“No, I mean that in a good way. You’re funny and real and smart, and honestly, I’d rather spend time with you than any of the other girls around here. You have perspective. You’re interesting.” She patted my hand. “Plus, I’d hope that if anything like this ever happened in my life, someone would be there for me, too.” We sat quietly for a moment.

“Where are you from, Jenny?” I asked, realizing how little I knew about her. Since moving here, I’d stuck only to Marin-sanctioned topics of conversation: wine, weather, holidays, etc.

“Tucker and I both grew up here, and he loves it. Otherwise, I’d move us in a heartbeat.” This shocked me; Jenny always seemed so content.

“Really? Where would you go?”

“Not far, probably just the city. Marin feels small sometimes.”

“Try Sisters, Oregon.”

“See, that sounds romantic to me,” she said.

“Tractors and Stetsons, real romantic.”

We both laughed. Then Jenny drew a deep breath.

“Okay, what did she say?”

“Who?”

“Louise.”

“Oh.” I reached down to pet Billy. “I can’t remember. She came in, stood in front of me, and froze me to the core with her Botox stare. Wait, I do remember. She said something like, ‘You must be terribly lonely so far from home.’”

“Like this isn’t your home? That wasn’t very nice.”

“Yeah, I think she was not-so-subtly suggesting that I’m a squatter in her house. And she’s right.”

Jenny turned to look at me.

“What?” I asked.

“I’ve met her.”

“Who, Louise?”

“No, Alex. Lauren. I’ve met her. Tripp introduced us to her at yoga.”

My ears started ringing and I couldn’t feel my arms. I stammered over a question that wouldn’t formulate. I knew
who
she was. I knew
what
she looked like. I knew
where
they met and
how
“they connected.” And then it came to me, a single word.

“Why?” I whispered.

Jenny shook her head and squinted into the distance.

“You know why, Alex? Tucker would kill me for saying this, but I think Tripp’s mother has completely ruined him. She’s way too involved, and always has been. You should be proud; you’re the only one who ever got close to helping him cut that cord.” She opened her beautiful purse and handed me a tissue.

“What about Lauren?” I blew my nose.

“I don’t understand this Lauren thing, but to be honest, we do think that yoga is the best thing for him.” Jenny said. I burst into tears all over again. Jenny looked panicked. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. This is about you, not him.” I didn’t want it to be about me, but I was so trapped in my own drama that I couldn’t find my way out.

For an hour we sat there, on a bench in the sun. Jenny consoled me ‘til I stopped crying, then made me laugh with unflattering stories about Tripp, like the time they’d all gone to Tahoe and he spent a whole hour “primping” for a casual Mexican dinner. I knew she was exaggerating, but I appreciated her determination. I could go to a yoga class with her. I
would
go to a yoga class with her.

“I’m really glad you’re coming tomorrow, Alex. You are so ready for it. And once you master yoga, we’ll start the meditation classes.”

“One thing at a time, please.”

She elbowed me. “I’ll pick you up at seven. No excuses.”

Here we go
.

***

I walked home slowly. “I surrender,” I thought. All I wanted was to lie in the sun. I trudged up the front steps, dropped my purse, and faced the closet where I’d buried Tripp’s mat. I pulled it out and tossed it on the bench by the door. At least I could get some use out of it.

I stripped off my clothes, left them in a pile, and walked out to the patio. I swam across the pool, crawled out, and fell onto the very chaise Tripp and I once shared. The day our patio furniture was delivered, his skin was warm against mine. He kissed me, and we made love . . . I felt my chest tighten. I concentrated on the warmth of the sun. The sun, the sun, the sun.

I managed to relax for about thirty seconds, but couldn’t get the parade of memories out of my head. I looked up and around, squinting at the trees, then twisted my neck to check out my butt. Light brown and soft. Like whole wheat bread dough. Not like Jenny’s or Nancy’s, for that matter. If tomorrow’s yoga class did nothing more than address the bread dough issue, I’d be happy.

No sooner had the image of Nancy’s lovely butt entered my mind than she popped her head over the garden wall and called, “Helloooooo, anybody home? Woo hoo! Look at you! Sunning like the stars!”

“Hi, Nancy. Here I am, exposed again.”

“Since you’re out here in all your glory, would you like me to shut your front door? It’s wide open.”

Did I really leave the door open? “Uh, yes. Thank you. And would you mind bringing me a towel from the laundry room?”

She emerged holding a plush paisley towel in one hand and Tripp’s yoga mat in the other. “And what is this?”

“Yes, Nancy,” I answered, wrapping myself up. “It is the tattoo of the occult. A yoga mat. If you can’t beat ‘em . . . ”

“Great Goddess! You, Alex, who doesn’t do yoga. Wonder of all wonders!” She sat on the chaise next to mine.

I shifted the towel around me and raised an eyebrow. “Yes. Well. Don’t get too excited, Nance. I’m trying one class. One.”

“I understand your reluctance, darling. But you are joining the collective consciousness. And I think you’ll find that it’s a loving and supportive place.”

I waved away an imaginary fly. “Eh, yeah. I’m sure you’re right.”

“It’s all about letting your guard down. Connecting with yourself and other people.” She peered at me meaningfully over her large Versace sunglasses. “Well, anyhoo, I’m just delighted. Aren’t you glad we came and dragged you out into the light of day? Now here you are, splendid as the day you were born! And when does your yoga journey begin?”

“My friend Jenny is picking me up really early for some class in the city.”

“Jenny, that sweet girl who enlisted me to excavate you from the rubble of your marriage?”

“Your poetry is disturbingly accurate, Nancy.”

She laughed and leaned back. “Darling, we build and break down countless times in our lives. Not to worry. I do hope it’s Galen’s class you’ll be attending?”

“I think so; is he the guy that teaches at the Club sometimes? Lines around the block, people in trances?”

“You tease all you want, but I could not have handpicked a more perfect guide. Galen is simply . . . well, divine. I try to never miss his class at the Club.” Then, like a dancer, Nancy swung both legs to the side of her chaise and stood up. She walked over to give me a hug before leaving. “Trust me, you will be enchanted.”

I didn’t need enchantment. I needed a new life and a new butt. Either that, or for my husband to come back.