The Break-Up Diet by Annette Fix

Author:Annette Fix
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Womyn Books
Published: 2011-11-14T18:58:41+00:00

waves of introspection

Monday, July 1

The sun sank into the horizon and colored the ocean with a tangerine glow. A breeze swept in off the water, carrying a salty mist and blowing strands of my hair across my face. Life went on around me. A couple jogged in the dark, spongy sand. A family of tourists ran from the tide along the water's edge, their pant legs soaked to the knees. Laguna Main Beach looked the same as always, but with sharper edges today.

It was over. The lease expired. I had the final walk-through with the landlord and returned the keys. The house was empty when we arrived. Kevin had moved out the last of his furniture and left a note for me next to the glass of wilted roses.

Annette,

Here's the key and garage door opener. Thank you for the gift (although a little hard to take). We'll talk soon. Take care of yourself and Josh.

Kevin

Leaving the house severed the final tangible tie. That last moment should've ended my torment. But I felt hollow.

I sat staring at the endless loop of crashing and receding waves, and felt insignificant and lost. The evening chill moved me from my perch in the cool sand. I strayed into the Marine Room, a tavern across from the beach, and asked for a cranberry juice, light ice, with a splash of water, and a squeeze of lime. Funny. I can even complicate something so simple as ordering juice.

With the coldness of the glass pressed wetly against my palm, I wandered over to the jukebox and stood mesmerized in the glow. The flipping pages made a tinny clap as I browsed the long list of songs.

I liked the atmosphere in the small bar. It was dim, quiet, and warm. Only five or six people in the room: a few shooting pool, an old guy at the bar watching the game, a couple sipping martinis and leaning close together, the bartender. And me. I chose a table in the darkest corner. A place to listen to music picked to suit my whims. Classic jukebox—Journey, Elton John, Pat Benatar.

I stared across the room, but the scene faded along with the music, and images of Kevin pushed their way into view.

The relationship was really over. He was gone.

It was hard living in that tomb of a house surrounded by his furniture and other things he had no use for. But cutting the final ties felt like starting the break-up all over again. It was square one. The pain was raw and fresh.

I reached to drink from my glass but found it warm and empty. Somehow, the juice and the ice were gone after only a single sip. I thought about ordering another drink. But I knew that if I did, it wouldn't be cranberry juice. And I didn't want to go down that road, so I tucked two dollars under the glass and rose to leave. When I pushed open the door, the marine layer, like a low-slung cloud, rolled inland along Ocean Avenue.

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