The Break-Up Diet: A Memoir (27 page)

Steven was quiet while he mentally reviewed the contents of my Pandora's Box. After an awkward silence, he said, “Are you trying to talk me out of wanting to date you?”

I shifted in the seat to face him. “No. Not exactly.” When I dumped my basket of issues into his lap, I stared out the front windshield. Now, I looked at him and tried to gauge his reaction.

“Then why did you tell me all that?” he asked.

“Because I figured it was better to tell you up front every bad thing I could think of about myself so, if you wanted to leave, you would do it before I got too attached.” I looked solidly into his eyes and lifted my chin slightly.

I waited for the axe to fall. No guy wants to sign up for a relationship with someone who has such obvious baggage and issues. The complete tally: all liabilities, no assets.

The light over the parking space illuminated the interior with an indirect glow. I could see Steven weighing my words.

Finally, he spoke. “I don't care about any of that. It doesn't mean anything. I feel good when I'm with you, you're smart, you make me laugh, and I feel like I could talk to you forever. That's more important to me.”

I let out the breath I didn't realize I was holding. He didn't seem bothered by everything I had disclosed. He said he wasn't. I could only hope he was being honest and that it was really true.

With my relationship disclaimer out of the way, our conversation moved seamlessly from one topic to another. Politics. Religion. Social psychology. Travel. It was amazing. Just like our first date, the hours flew by. My head began to buzz and my eyelids suddenly felt very heavy. I looked at the digital clock on the dash: 4:17 a.m.

“You're not allowed to take me out on any more dinner dates,” I said. “Look at what time it is! I'm surprised I haven't fallen flat on my face already.”

Steven smiled and leaned over the center console for a kiss and said, “Is it over already? I just can't get enough of you.”

landscaping and other acts of foreplay

Tuesday, November 26

The house phone rang. I picked it up in the kitchen and peeked out the slider to the backyard.

“Hey, let's meet for lunch.” I could hear Valerie shuffling papers in the background.

“I can't. I have company,” I said.

“Who?”

“A new guy. You don't know him.” Through the glass, I watched Steven re-pot my rubber tree, his bare hands tamping down the soil around the base.

“And you didn't even tell me?” Valerie's irritation was clear. “I thought you weren't dating anymore.”

“This one's different. He's sweet, he's funny, and he even brought me grass,” I whispered.

“Marijuana? He bought you mara-wanna? You've never done drugs in your life! Who
is
he?” Her curiosity spiked the volume of her voice.

“His name is Steven. He's thirty-six, he's Danish, he speaks four languages, he's got an MBA, he owns a construction company, and he's beautiful.”

Val didn't miss a beat. “Bring him to Thanksgiving.” Her statement was less an invitation than a demand. I knew she would spend the evening dissecting him like a lab frog. It was always like that with any new guy.

“I don't know if he has other plans, but I'll ask. I gotta go. I'll call you later.” I hung up.

The day was unseasonably warm. I carried two glasses of lemonade into the backyard and stopped to watch Steven show Josh how to fit the strips of sod against each other so the grass would grow together.

I lingered near the doorway behind them. Their first meeting was going well. Josh had always been so easy-going. And it was obvious Steven liked kids. They laughed and talked without any sign of awkwardness.

I overheard them planning Josh's fourteenth birthday—laser tag, go-carts, batting cages, and rock climbing at Boomers, a local fun center. I liked seeing them together; Josh needed this. I needed this.

After taking a quick shower, Steven leaned against my bedroom doorway. I stood, sorting clean clothes from the basket. He glanced around the room and his eyes came to rest on the neat stacks of papers on my desk.

“Do you mind if I read this?” He lifted a clear report binder from the top of my inbox. The title, in seventy-two-point font and all caps, read: MY FIVE-YEAR PLAN.

“Go ahead. But you have to promise not to laugh at my lists. It's my OCD thing,” I said, continuing to fold the pile of laundry on my bed.

“I won't laugh,” he said as he peeled back the cover. His eyebrows rose when he saw the interior. “Wow, each page in a sheet protector too?”

“You promised.” I flashed him a mock scolding look.

“I'm not laughing,” he said with a huge smile stretched across his face. He sat in my desk chair and began to read. Steven turned the pages slowly.

I peeked up from the clothes to study his expression. I saw him turn back a few pages to reread something.

When he finished, he set the folder on my desk. “I have two questions for you.” Steven leaned back in the chair and looked at me intently. “Why don't you have anything listed that includes having a relationship? And are you really planning to move to Fiji in five years?”

“When I wrote that, I planned to be single for the rest of my life.” I didn't mention that until I met him, the only person who I thought could change my plan was Kevin.

“I don't see how you could possibly think that way, but now what about Fiji?” he asked.

“Fiji? Fiji was a symbol more than an actual place. I planned to escape to an island somewhere if I failed at everything else in those five years.”

“I see.” He rose from the chair and stepped close to me. “What are you going to do if you find someone who wants to change your five-year plan?”

“I don't have a plan for that.” I looked down at my bare toes curling in the plush carpet.

Steven gently turned my face up to his. “Good. Don't make one.”

the wishbone is connected to the guy bone

Thanksgiving
Thursday, November 28

“Knock knock…” I pushed open the door of Valerie's house, juggling a plate of pumpkin bread and my purse. Josh squeezed past me and ran up the stairs to find the rest of the kids.

“In here!” Valerie called out.

Steven paused to balance the bowl of salad in the crook of his arm and close the door. I walked into the kitchen and watched Valerie hoist the turkey pan from the oven.

She looked up just as Steven entered and set the salad on the counter. “Oh m'god!” she said under her breath. She lifted the turkey onto a serving platter. When I moved across the kitchen, Valerie leaned over and hissed in my ear, “You're sick! He looks just like Kevin!”

True, there was some resemblance at first glance; I had made the same mistake myself. But the more time I spent with Steven, the more I realized they were like night and day.

“Woo-hoooo…helloooo…” Bonita's heels clicked on the slate entryway. She entered the kitchen with an ever-present bottle of Merlot and a tray of cheeses. Her sons made an appearance to drop off plates of deviled eggs, then slipped away to find the rest of the kids.

After the table prep was completed, everyone formed an assembly line, and soon the plates were filled for a Thanksgiving feast. My plate was the only one conspicuously missing turkey. Valerie, Bonita, Steven, and I sat in the formal dining room. The six teens went out and settled at a big table in the sunroom, squabbling like true siblings. Twelve years of being raised together made them feel like family.

I knew it wouldn't be long before the inquisition began. The girls were noticeably curious about why I'd been hiding him. They both studied Steven intently and hung on every word from the first moment he spoke. I felt both proud and a little wary of showing him off. I think I felt more uncomfortable about him being judged than he did.

Steven was engaging, kind, and funny. He carried the conversation, which was mostly one-sided from all the personal questions he fielded.

Yes, he loved doing custom construction. The best part was watching the reaction of his clients when he made their vague ideas come together in something solid and functional.

Traveling. Traveling was definitely his hobby, more of a passion really. He couldn't watch a plane fly overhead without wondering where it was going and wishing he were on it.

Denmark was a great place to grow up, but no, he would never go back, except to visit. The business opportunities were much greater in the U.S.

I watched Steven with the same admiration I always felt. He looked so relaxed, leaning slightly to rest his elbow on the arm of the chair while he talked, an occasional sip from his glass of wine.

“So have you ever been married?” Valerie knew the answer. I'd already told her, but she asked anyway.

“I was for ten years. We met at university in Boston.”

Without missing a beat, “What happened?” Bonita hunched forward like she was poised to dive into a pool of gory details.

“The divorce was mutual. We sat down one night and decided it wasn't the type of relationship we wanted anymore.”

Steven had so much class. I never heard him trash his ex-wife, but I knew he was the one who prompted the split. Her hyper-focus on her career and lack of effort to fit him into her schedule had turned them into strangers that were sharing a living space.

“So, how long have you been divorced?” Another question Valerie knew, but asked him directly.

“Two years. I just started dating again a few months ago. It surprised me to find someone I really liked so quickly.” He reached over and covered my hand with his.

“What about Angela?” I teased, pulling my hand from beneath his. I turned to Valerie and Bonita, “She was a twenty-three-year-old he dated right before me.”

Steven laughed, a joyous noise with an unusual tone that always prompted people to turn and look. “That girl would have killed me. All she wanted to do was go dancing at raves until the sun came up.”

“So, of course, he traded her in for a rickety old cow like me,” I said.

Steven smiled at my sarcasm and then became serious. “Actually, I had already sold my house in Laguna Niguel and shipped my car to a new condo I bought on the beach in Fort Lauderdale. It was supposed to be my last weekend in California when I met you.”

That was something I didn't know. It was weird finding that out in front of my friends. It felt like a private disclosure and a public declaration all at once.

Valerie and Bonita caught the exchange, looking from Steven to me, and back again.

He filled in the answer to everyone's unspoken question. “So, for now, I'm renting a room from a friend of mine. Until I see how things go.”

Steven smiled at me, and a warm feeling spread through my chest.

I guess we'd just have to see where things went.

real family fun

Saturday, December 14

I poked my head into Josh's room.”Wake up, belated-birthday boy.”

“Hey Mom.” Josh wiped at the corners of his eyes and arched his back in a waking stretch.

I hooked my thumb in the direction of the bathroom. “Hop in the shower and I'll start breakfast. Steven is on his way over for your Boomers day.”

Josh's birthday had fallen on Thursday, so we did the roll cake tradition that night after dinner, Josh ooh'd and ahh'd over his gift—a full weight bench and dumbbell set—and we planned the celebration for the weekend.

Once we reached the family fun center, we started with a round of mini golf. Josh launched a teasing competition, marked with verbal sparring and serious putting. Somewhere along the way, we accidentally switched courses and were playing on a different trail of colored flags.

As soon as we turned in our putters, Josh took off at a run toward the laser tag building, glancing behind to make sure Steven and I still followed.

Steven reached to capture my hand in his as we walked. “It's nice to see he's having a good time.”

“Thanks for taking us out for his birthday.” I pulled him to a stop and stood on tiptoe to deliver a quick kiss.

“Hurry! Come get in line,” Josh called out to us.

We had to wait until a group of ten gathered before being allowed to suit up. The activity coordinator, a freckled older teen with a shock of red hair, handed us each a vest with a hard plastic sensor on the chest, and our mock futuristic weapons.

We entered the multilevel maze and saw the room was illuminated by black light. Everyone scattered, ducking behind partitions, awaiting the signal to engage in laser combat. This was my kind of game. I hunted like a predator, low and stealth, until I rushed my target with what probably sounded like an absurdly PMS-driven battle cry. I saw Steven once in the fray. He nodded to me, smiled, and then ambushed a group of teens we didn't know.

The game ended with Josh protesting, “I got you first!” Which clearly wasn't the case, but I laughingly agreed with the birthday boy anyway.

I was still in commando mode, so when Josh pointed to the rock climbing wall, I was ready.

Steven, Josh, and I strapped into the diaper-style harnesses. Josh chose the most difficult face and climbed it like an Olympic monkey. Steven started up the intermediate face, and since I'd never climbed before, I positioned myself at the bottom of the beginner side. I stepped one foot after the other, reaching with the opposing hand for the next grasp. It was harder than it looked.