Chapter 23

Here’s the thing. It’s not easy. It never is. These conversations, while ultimately soul satisfying, made me exhausted in preparation.

My head felt like mango marmalade gone bad. At first, fresh and smooth, then slowly developing into a stale, sticky state of mind.

After days of lively debate with two of my selves, “Should I” and “Shouldn’t I”, and embedding the pros and cons of such a commitment in my journal, I had finally made a decision about Strawberry’s exclusivity offer. I was convinced my decision was the right thing to do, and now I had to report the verdict to the losing candidate. Joyless activity.

Rehearsal for this had gone rather well, I thought, at least the first ten times. Then it became, as I said, the jam that wouldn’t gel. At that point I called Claire and asked if she thought reading a scripted disclosure on his voicemail would be a cop-out. “Brilliant,” she said, “but lacking adulthood.” Right. 

So I wrote it out anyway and memorized it. I wondered if this was what some people do when they tell an unsuspecting spouse why they want a divorce. It’s scary stuff. Breaking up is hard to do.

And breaking up was what I was on my way to do right now. I had chosen IHOP for the location of our conversation. Lots of people around, no one could slug me and get away with it, and plus, I get energized after a big stack of pancakes.

I arrived early to guarantee a table of my favorite waitress, Tulip. Yes, it’s true. Whatever possessed her parents, I don’t know, but her name was Tulip. And Tulip always made me feel safe.

As I swung open the double doors to this iconic restaurant, founded in 1958, I saw her twinkling eyes bouncing back at me. Not more than 4’8” tall and just as round, she resembled a munchkin. Tulip grabbed me with one hand, while balancing a tray of French Toast with the other, and led me to her section. “Sit here,” she commanded. “I’ll be right back”.

“Everything ok? You look a little peaked,” Tulip said upon her return.

“Actually, I’m about to break off a relationship right here at IHOP,” I confided.

“Perfect,” she said, squeezing my hand. “People do that here all the time. You’ll be fine. Now, what you need is some courage.” Tulip winked and waddled away.

No sooner had I rehearsed my separation speech one last time, when she plopped a huge pile of strawberry pancakes in front of me. If she only knew…or maybe she did. Whatever, Tulip pointed her stubby finger at the pancakes and simply said, “Courage. Now eat up.”

And so I did, voraciously. Then I waited. And waited. And waited some more.

Where was he? Now that I had consumed gluttonous courage and added a blubber line to my rib cage, I was ready. All rehearsing had ceased. I was experiencing unexpected confidence and an odd sense of peace.

Suddenly my phone rang. It was him.

to be continued…

Chapter 22

Off we went, hand in hand, to the miniature golf course. I hadn’t played this game for nearly a century, and I figured he couldn’t possibly be any worse than he was at baseball. Perhaps he’d even win. Unlikely, but it was possible. Not that I was a star putter, but Strawberry seemed to have a DNA deficiency for gaming. 

We stood on the little green mound that marked the beginning point of Hole #1, both of us holding our clubs like a couple of professional putters. Suddenly Strawberry got very serious. “All right,” he said, “I’d like to wager a bet. If you win, I’ll buy you a whole cheesecake*. If I win, you have to consider the two of us being exclusive.”

Gulp.

I swiveled away from Strawberry, and stared at the drawbridge connecting the manicured mound and the big white castle in front of us. Did he say exclusive?

“OK, c’mon. There’s people waiting behind us,” he pressured. “What’s it gonna be?”

Uh oh, he wasn’t going to give me time to think about this.

“Deal or no deal?”

“Deal,” I must have mumbled.

“Good. You go first,” Strawberry said, taking control.

Following orders, I swung the club, and the ball plopped directly into the stream under the drawbridge, making a big splash. Way to go. I fished it out of the lime-looking water and completed my turn, scoring six on a par-three. I was confused. Was I suppose to win or lose? Strawberry or cheesecake?

He then very confidently laid his ball down, eyed the path to its final destination and swung. I watched as it went over the drawbridge, through the castle, down the steps, across the garden and into the little round cup. Hole in one.

I was gobsmacked.

“You didn’t tell me you were good at golf,” I said astonished.

“I wanted to surprise you,” he quickly responded. “Ready for the next hole?”

Why that sneaky Strawberry. Turns out not only did he play semi-pro golf right after college, but then he moved on to the putt-putt golf circuit and won the Tri-state championship five years in a row. The things they forget to tell you.

I needed to take a nice deep breath. Even though we’d been dating several months I had no clue this new deal was coming. But nothing stays the same, and the only constant is change. I know. I know.

I was wild about Strawberry, adored Charlie, and Natalie had moved clear to Kentucky for a new job raising rabbits. Just kidding. But she did temporarily relocate to Kentucky to work on some big tort case where she could continue to hone her maverick skills. Thank you, Kentucky.

So things were good. Yeah, they were good…just the way they were. Exclusivity with him certainly had its appeal, but I knew it meant relinquishing some freedoms, including my dalliance with Colin. No more tail-twirling or wandering around in the pasture.

Was I going to have to choose?

Evidently. Because Strawberry won with the best putt-putt score this place ever had. Stand by.

to be continued...

*Check out the divine White Chocolate Cheesecake recipe on the Recipes page.      

                                                                                                        

Chapter 21

Strawberry swung. And missed. He swung again. And missed again. Well, that’s okay. He still looked good in the red helmet.

Another ball. Another swing. Another miss. Well a miss hit, actually. He tipped it. 

“Almost,” I encouraged from the bench.

He failed to acknowledge my comment. In silent prayer, I asked the universe for slugger intervention. I even offered to give up chocolate for a week if he could just hit the ball. I thought that was a pretty good deal.

I was concerned. He now had only 27 more opportunities from the ball machine to make contact. I watched with great apprehension. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to come to the batting cages after all.

When we arrived at the park, I had volunteered to go first. Being a decent batter, I hit all 30 pitches that came barreling my way, and fouled only once. The foul popped up, came straight down, and bounced twice off my head. Thank God for that purple sparkly headgear.

Now there he was, taking his turn like a real trooper. My Mr. Strawberry, standing there with such earnestness, such commitment, struggling to connect. Who knew he would suck at baseball?

He did hit ball number 13. Not far, but he did hit it. “Atta boy,” I cheered. This time he turned and winked. At least he hadn’t lost his sense of humor.

By the time it was over, Strawberry connected with a total of five balls. Probably a record of some sort. But he didn’t seem too bothered by his lack of aptitude with a stick and an orb. Instead he took it like a man, dropping his bat and planting a virile kiss upon my lips. He might not be good at baseball, but he was a good sport and a darn good kisser.

“Now let’s hit the putt-putt range,” Strawberry whispered in my ear.

Imagine my shock at this suggestion. He had to be kidding. My heart couldn’t bear it, how could his?

“Ah, no need. Let’s just go get a slice of cheesecake and call it a day,” I said running my hands through his thick, red hair.

“No, let’s give it a go. Are you game?” he asked, gently tapping my tush.

“Well,” I said, a little distracted by the tapping, “I’m a game kind of girl, so yes, let’s go putt-putt.”

He was up to something but I wasn’t sure what.

to be continued...

Chapter 20

 

I knew I was avoiding the topic. They’d say I’m nuts about even entertaining the possibility of dating him again, which I wasn’t. I don’t think. And nothing (much) was really happening anyway. Was it?

So why stir it up? Except...truth is the slope might be getting so slippery that I could actually fall. Again. Maybe I did need additional input from the gang. And Claire’s eyebrow lift was so severe, that I decided to fess up and keep it honest.

“Oh, and Colin called me a few months ago,” I dropped casually.

They stared at me incredulously.

Finally Kate spoke, though briefly.

“And?”

“And I’ve seen him a couple of times,” I reluctantly continued.

“Are you nuts?” Maggie blurted.

 See, told ya.

“Let me finish,” I tried to explain. “He called out of the blue and left a message. That night I dreamt he was at my door with a shrunken torso, a schmushed head and twirling a long thin tail. I woke up in a terrible sweat. And the next day he actually showed up uninvited, with flowers, begging forgiveness, again. No more lost and lonely Lola. He’s changed. So he says. And I’ve had a few lunches with him. OK, and maybe a few dinners. But that’s all. He’s being patient, but persistent. There. That’s it.”

Then the quizzing began. How could I talk to him again? But since I did, what did he say? Where has he been? Where did we go for lunch? How did I feel? Was I out of my mind? What about Strawberry?

Lenny’s only question was—could Colin come to game night again? The women jabbed him with their eyes. Colin, unlike Strawberry, was an excellent game player.

“This reminds me of when I was interrogated while working undercover in Nicaragua,” I said deflecting.

“You worked undercover in Nicaragua?” Kate asked, cupping her chin.

“Maybe,” I teased.

Maggie piped in. “We have a right to protest, you know. We don’t want you hurt again. That big fat cheater.”

“I know.”

Long dissenting pause.

“But, hypothetically, what if it’s suppose to be?” I wondered.

“Hypothetically,” Maggie responded, “What if there was an oversized bull headed your way, would you stand there contemplating if the universe wanted you to take him for a stroll through the pasture, or would you run like hell?”

“Good point.”

I needed a nap.

to be continued…

Chapter 19

“Lemontini please,” I said to the nice waitress with an extra large earring in her nose. I was dying to ask if it hurt, if it ever got infected and what possessed her, but I was exhausted from too much information for one day already and withheld questioning.

It had been a long day and I was looking forward to this evening with my friends. We hadn’t seen each other for a while, and the gathering was overdue. These were my game night people and comrades to count on, Maggie, Kate, Claire and our token male, Lenny.

For the first twenty minutes we discussed the audacious blemish that had crept onto Kate’s chin. Where did it come from? How to get rid of it? And why humans, no matter what age, have to put up with pimples? None of us had definitive answers, but Lenny told us “zit” in German is “pickel.” I’d been waiting my whole life to know that.

At some point during these nights, everybody gets a talking shift. We do a quick rotation on current events in our lives. My turn arrived in conjunction with the dessert menu. Though the ‘Death by Chocolate’ was devilishly tempting, I selected a berry bowl after another peek at Kate’s swelled chin.

I told them work was going well, that finally, after all these years, I’d found a bra that fit, and Strawberry was sweeter than ever.

Strawberry had attended a game night once, so they all knew him. It’s not that he’s bad at games, he’s just not good. Everybody liked him a lot but didn’t really want him on their team. Frankly, he didn’t seem to care much that he was so God-awful, and we laughed about it later.

After I told them about our romantic getaway to the mountains for Valentine’s day, Claire looked at me funny. She gave me the eyebrow lift, and I knew what it meant. Was I going to tell the others that Colin had reemerged?

To tell you the truth, I hadn’t planned on it.

to be continued…

Chapter 18

And so…that year Colin asked to celebrate an early Valentine’s Day. The next week he would be crazed and working late. So we did. Extraordinary evening. Very romantic, very smokey.

Valentine’s Day came and I received two dozen roses from Colin. Felt special. And was bringing in the love, friendship-style, with a gang of girls at an Italian bistro. Laughed, conversed and was served penne with pesto by a very entertaining waiter. Felt cheerful. While dabbing the corners of my mouth with my napkin, I casually gazed out the restaurant window. My jaw dropped, and a piece of penne followed. Colin was walking by, hand-in-hand, with Lola. Felt sick.

Losing my cool, I bludgeoned down the aisle and out the door, braced for battle. I was on fire. Liars and cheaters and bears. Oh my. But, I couldn’t see them anywhere. They’d vanished. I called his cell. He didn’t answer. I left a blasphemous message.

In some areas of the planet he might be stoned or maybe thrown off a cliff for his infidelity. But a more civilized form of revenge might be sending him Spanish Stoppers. You know, the flowers that smell like skunk.

So there I was standing in the middle of the road, absolutely seething, when suddenly my brain wattage went from dim to bright. I got it. This relationship was never going to work. The moment had come when you know. You just know.

Colin told me it was all very innocent. Begged forgiveness. Blah. Blah. Blah. I suppose he thought what I didn’t know wouldn’t matter. If a tree falls in the woods, does it make a sound? If I bake a cake and eat it all alone, does that mean the calories don’t count? Of course they count.

The truth was important to me and it had all become too hard. I was done. Finished. Twirl your tail in a different direction.

That was five years ago. I’d let go, yet never stopped caring. Now Colin has returned and is performing great acts of atonement. I’ve forgiven him (mostly). I’m still intrigued, but confused and wary of the truth/trust element. He says he’s changed, Lola is lost in his past, and he wants back into my life. In the moment, however, he remains the forbidden fruit. Strawberry has become the nectar.

So this Valentine’s Day, there’ll be no blubber bath for me. I’ll lather elsewhere. Colin is on his own, and Strawberry is taking me away to an undisclosed location.

to be continued...

Chapter 17

Uh oh. Valentine’s Day approaches.

For some, this is a good day. A day of love, to love and be loved. For others, they’d rather bolt the doors and bathe in a bowl of blubber than be out where couples contour the streets.

I was more in the blubber bath these past few years. Though I didn’t exactly soak in it, I consciously chose to avoid the lover’s assembly outside. And it was all Colin’s fault. He was such a feckless Tail-Twirler.

I sobbed in memoriam.

I was so in love with this guy, and he with me. Or so he said. When we were together, it was magic. Problem was, Colin was also under a commitment phobia spell. It’s the age-old story. You’ve heard it before. And though stale, it continues to mature.

Here’s how it went.

It took us (him) a while, but after a year and a half of dating, we agreed to see one another exclusively. His caveat was Lola. That’s right, Lo-la. Poor depressed Lola. She was an ex-girlfriend, worked at his production company and a woman who needed constant care. Trouble, indeed.

At first, I consented to the Lola component. I’m all for men having female friends. But it didn’t take an omniscient force to warn me that little Lola was unfulfilled just being Colin’s buddy. She’d cooed at him one too many times, and in my presence. Then I swear I heard Colin humming, “Whatever Lola wants, Lola gets.” That did it. Time to pull over and put the brakes on the Lola factor.

Colin wasn’t overly enthusiastic about the Lola boundaries request, but he promised to keep their relationship strictly about and at work. “Because you mean everything to me, babe” he said. Really, Tail-Twirler? Really?

to be continued...