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…
