Charming Falls Apart

by Angela Terry

  I open my top dresser drawer and dig through my other accessories to find the Tiffany box. When I spot it, I can feel my chest tighten as my hand clamps around it. I take a deep breath and pull it out. I open up the box and a wave of sadness hits me. The platinum looks a little dull and while the stone is still sparkly in the light, I can’t stand to look at it. I hurriedly close the box and shut it back in the drawer. Nope! That ring is not going back on my finger. If Eric asks, the stone is being reset.

  I turn away from the dresser and walk into my closet. I look at my nice work clothes hanging idly in my closet, but they seem inappropriate. “Soon, my loves,” I say, stroking a Theory pencil skirt and petting a colorful DVF wrap dress, “I will have a new job and wear you again.” But I also realize that these clothes are a costume for the Allison who worked in the big PR firm. Lately it’s been nice to live in my workout clothes, sundresses, and T-shirts and jeans that have all been in heavy rotation these last few weeks. I may have also gone more than a few days without bothering to blow out my hair since a ponytail or messy bun is easier. I realize that not too long ago I felt completely differently about these things and wonder if this is the slippery slope I was worried about. So while a sundress will suffice today, I’ll take the time to blow out my hair and remove my nail polish since it has started to chip (another first).

  While I’m doing my hair, I notice that my mousy brown roots are starting to show, and I’m overdue for a touch up. Although my stylist is expensive, I want to stay interview ready and should probably make an appointment. I’ve canceled my weekly manicures, though, since I can easily paint my nails myself, or not at all, like today. I just need to look presentable and not worry so much about trying to look so perfect.

  Not so perfect. Huh.

  I put down my blow dryer and reflect on that. Maybe it’s not that I’m on a slippery slope; maybe it’s that I’m onto a life-changing realization. I was being “perfect”—or I thought I was by trying to do everything perfectly—but everything I’d created still came crashing down around me. I give my damp hair a shake and decide to let it air dry. My face still has some color from my morning run, so rather than my usual heavy-duty makeup application, I simply apply a little mascara and lip gloss. I’m expecting Eric to be in jeans and a T-shirt (since that’s what I see him in every day), so it’s best to match his casual vibe and not look like I tried too hard. Though I’m not sure what I’m trying too hard at. The fact that he’s a good-looking guy hasn’t escaped my notice, but I can’t even imagine dating in my current state. So I notice his attractiveness the same way I admire a nice pair of heels at Nordstrom—nice to look at, but something I just can’t afford right now.

  I ARRIVE AT the restaurant five minutes early, but he’s already inside sitting at the bar talking to the bartender. Just as I predicted, he’s wearing a short-sleeve gray T-shirt and faded jeans. The bartender notices me approaching, looks at Eric, and Eric turns around.

  “Hey, Allison.” Eric stands and then hugs me.

  We’ve never hugged before. I like his big, friendly vibe—the same as at The Cauldron. The book on friendship is making me hyper-aware of trying to read others, but rather than giving me the insight I needed, I feel I’ve gained a bad case of utter paranoia and skepticism. Ah, the days when ignorance was bliss.

  When we pull away, Eric says, “Jonah, this is my friend Allison.”

  Jonah reaches across the bar to shake my hand. “Hey, Allison. What can I get you?”

  “Nice to meet you, Jonah.” I sneak a peek at Eric’s drink of choice, which is an afternoon beer. “I’ll have a glass of sauvignon blanc.”

  “You got it.”

  While Jonah gets my glass, Eric asks, “Should we get a table?”

  The restaurant is rather crowded but we’re the only people sitting at the bar.

  “Sure. Or we could eat here?”

  When Jonah sets my wine in front of me, Eric says, “Can we also have menus?”

  “Sure thing, man.” Jonah hands us two menus, and I idly notice his muscular forearms. Feeling caught, I look up. Jonah smiles at me and says, “Let me know what you’d like.”

  I nod and, feeling a blush coming on, quickly bury my nose in my menu.

  Eric, noticing the exchange, hits Jonah with his menu. “Hey! Stop staring at my friend. She’s already taken.” While he says this, I notice that he glances at my left hand, and now I sort of wish I’d had worn my ring.

  Jonah laughs and gives a cocky shrug. “Relax, Caulder. Just doing my job,” he says and then winks at me.

  Though Jonah’s flirting is a nice boost to my shaky self-esteem, the whole exchange makes me squirm in my chair. At some point, which is probably sometime soon, I need to admit to Eric that I’m no longer engaged. But now is not that time. Why ruin the good mood with my depressing breakup story? Anyway, not being ready to date is the same as being taken since they each produce the same result—me not dating.

  Once we’ve ordered, I ask Eric, “So are you a regular here?”

  “I’ve been here before, but I wouldn’t say regularly.”

  “You seem to know Jonah well. Is there a bartender slash barista meetup that you all go to?”

  “That guy?” Eric says it in a loud joking voice so that Jonah can overhear. “We used to do CrossFit together, but with the new coffeehouse, my hours have changed so now I go at different times.”

  “Nice. It’s the community thing you talked about, in action.” This also explains why I’ve been admiring both men’s physiques.

  “I also know most of the people at my box since I jump around a lot and then see my kids on Thursdays.”

  “Your kids?” Eric has a past. This could be interesting. Maybe there’s an ex-wife. Maybe quitting finance was less about his mother than about an early midlife crisis following a messy divorce.

  “I coach CrossFit kids once a week.”

  Or not. Though I was anticipating a juicy story, I breathe a mental sigh of relief that Eric doesn’t have a murky romantic past.

  “So, you’re a business owner and a CrossFit coach? Wow!” I lean back and look at him in awe. “How do you do this? Don’t you have to be certified?”

  “Yes and yes. But it’s only once a week, and it’s a volunteer program for at-risk youth. A lot of schools have cut PE classes, and kids can’t be at a desk all day. But more than that, it gives these kids a sense of discipline and an interest in sports and being healthy. They know what it’s like to strive and work hard and do so in a supportive community. And hopefully this helps keep them out of serious trouble, like drugs, gangs, pregnancy, until they make it to adulthood and hopefully become happy and healthy citizens.” His eyes twinkle as he says this, and I can’t help but think that he looks like the “poster child” for a happy, healthy, high-functioning adult.

  “That’s amazing! Good for you,” I say, all the while wondering how he finds the energy to accomplish so much and give back. Maybe the secret’s in his coffee. I also feel guilty that I’ve let my volunteer days dwindle over the last couple of years.

  “It’s fun. I’m going to work out anyway, and I probably get more out of it than they do.” He shrugs. “Or is that the douchebag thing to say when you’re trying to be modest? Did I just humblebrag?”

  Jonah sets down my chopped salad and Eric’s burger. Overhearing our conversation he interjects, “Definitely the douchebag thing to say. When a gorgeous woman tells you you’re amazing, you just say ‘Thank you.’ Learn to take a compliment.”

  Eric laughs. “You’re right, Jonah.” He pauses and turns to me. “Allison, thank you for the compliment.”

  I grin. “Anytime. But I do appreciate your modesty.”

  After we’ve had a chance to take our first bites of food, I say, “So I wanted to ask you about your genesis from finance guy to coffee guy, but now I’m also intrigued about your volunteer coaching. It’s not often one sees an eligible bachelor voluntarily volunteering his time for kids.”

  “What makes
you think I’m single and eligible?” He gives me a look.

  “Actually, I don’t. What’s the saying about assuming things … something about a donkey?” I cringe, wishing I could undo my “eligible bachelor” remark. My subconscious was fishing on his relationship status, and as Miss-Pretending-To-Be-Engaged, it needs to shut up.

  He laughs. “I’m just giving you a hard time.” He interlaces his fingers and stretches them out away from his chest and then turns serious. “So both the coffee business and CrossFit coaching came about pretty organically. I had more time on my hands once my mom’s health was stable, and I’d been working out more. So I figured, why not get certified?”

  “Most people wouldn’t figure that.” Like me. “I take it you’re a type A personality?”

  “I don’t like to think like that. It’s more about just living my best life and trying to realize my potential.”

  “How very Oprah, or in your case, how Tony Robbins of you.” I say, though I shouldn’t mock him since Oprah Winfrey and Tony Robbins are right in my wheelhouse at the moment.

  He laughs again, taking in my gentle ribbing. “Yes, well. I did a lot of soul-searching. I’d done what I thought I was supposed to do. Go to school. Work hard. Get a traditionally good job so I could support a family. And while there’s nothing wrong with that, I was miserable, and because I was miserable and working all the time, my relationships suffered. And you can’t really start a family when you can’t even keep a girlfriend.”

  Once again, he’s piqued my interest with his mention of relationships, but time is ticking and we’re here to talk about careers.

  “A bad career choice can really affect all areas of your life,” I say, quoting from the self-help book.

  “It’s true. Yet people stay in miserable jobs all the time, sometimes out of necessity, but a lot of the time I feel it’s because they don’t know what else to do. Since I didn’t have a wife and kids to support and had zero debt, I realized that I didn’t have any excuses for not taking a risk.”

  I also do not have the excuse for not taking a risk. I slowly spin the bottom of my half-full wine glass around as I contemplate this.

  “I guess my situation is a little different in that, even though I wasn’t exactly fulfilled, I also wasn’t miserable with where I landed. But, you’re right—I’d never spent much time thinking ‘what else?’ So I worked hard and just kept moving up the ladder like I was supposed to until I was let go.” I can’t say the word “fired.” It still sticks in my throat.

  Also, I decide not to mention that I was fired due to a rumor. There’s no reason to pour out all my troubles to Eric, but all these omissions are starting to add up, brick by brick, and I worry the wall I’m building is getting higher.

  “Sooo,” I say, shaking off that thought, “my reason for inviting you to lunch today is to learn how you went from finance to coffee.”

  “Then I think I let you take me to lunch under false pretenses, because the story isn’t that interesting.”

  “I doubt that.” I playfully hit his knee with my napkin. “So, spill.”

  “I already told you that I left so I could take care of my mom full-time. Before that I was living in a penthouse condo, wearing Tom Ford suits, and basically spending my money on shiny toys and living the typical bachelor lifestyle. But with my mom sick it seemed easier to move in with her, which I did for a year. And, let me tell you, an unemployed grown man living with his mother isn’t exactly a chick magnet.” He raises an eyebrow to underscore this point. “I rented out my place, stopped buying expensive clothes and gadgets, and wasn’t taking women out for expensive meals. So, financially I was solid and actually saving money, which gave me the freedom to think about what next. The only problem was I had no freakin’ idea.”

  “So how did you start?”

  “A lot like you, by reading books. Some were helpful, some weren’t. But the more time I spent sitting around and just thinking about it, nothing came to me and I was getting nervous. I got more into my hobbies, like working out. And I was trying to get my mom to eat better, so I was experimenting with her recipes to make them healthier to show her that eating healthy doesn’t mean eating tasteless food. She’d taught me how to cook when I was little, and while I used to enjoy messing around in the kitchen, with all this time off I really got into it. So I started researching what it would take to open a restaurant and started to think about partnering with someone or something. I wasn’t quite sure at that point.”

  He pauses to take a sip of his beer. “Then with my sister moving back to the area and my mom out of the danger zone, I felt more comfortable leaving her by herself. And, in fact, I think she was quite happy to have me leave her alone.”

  I laugh at the self-deprecating look on his face. I understand the parental dynamic.

  “So I decided to take a trip,” he says.

  “You got all Eat, Pray, Love?” I recycle Jordan’s joke.

  “Ha-ha. Believe it or not, I’ve seen the movie. Replace Italian food with my mom’s recipes, yoga with CrossFit, and I forgot … what was the other thing she did?”

  “Some more meditation in Bali?” I actually haven’t read the book, but saw the movie too, which is somewhat irresponsible, all things considered.

  “Yeah, something like that. And getting it on with that guy.” He winks at me and I laugh. “Replace meditation with running in the park since I get some of my best ideas that way. And as for getting it on … again, insert running in the park.”

  “Ha-ha.” Though his getting-it-on comment makes my face feel hot, and, wait—is he saying he’s single right now? Ugh. Stop being so nosy, Allison! It doesn’t matter. I mentally shake my head again and change the topic back. “On your first point, I agree. I feel like I get my best ideas while running. Or whatever is bothering me that day—either I have a solution for it or at least feel better after running.”

  “It’s the endorphins, and running lets the subconscious work while you focus on getting one foot in front of the other. Sort of a metaphor for life in a way.”

  “You’re very wise. I knew you were my guy for inspiration.”

  Even though my compliment is sincere, Eric laughs. “As Jonah just schooled me, I need to learn how to say ‘thank you’ to compliments. But a lot of people have also told me that I’m full of shit.”

  “You may be that too.” I laugh back. “But overall, I think there’s some real wisdom there. Anyway, back to coffee.” I slap my hand on the counter.

  “Right.” Eric sits back, resting his palms on his thighs. “Since I had the time off, my friend who is a coffee taster asked me if I wanted to join him on a tasting trip. How great a job is that, by the way?”

  “Right up there with wine taster. It pays to have these kinds of friends.”

  “Yes, especially when they invite you to exotic locales. We toured a lot of places in South America and Latin America. He’d taste and explain the process to me, and in between we’d go sightseeing, though I think that was more for my benefit than his. We talked about how I was thinking of getting into the restaurant business, but I wasn’t exactly sure how and I wasn’t passionate about any one direction. But during this trip I got interested in coffee, and we started talking about what if I opened a café? It’d be a smaller operation, and I could afford the risk without outside investors. So I told myself I’d give it one year, and if it didn’t work out, I could always go back to finance. And trust me,” he says, emphatically, “that thought lit a fire in me.”

  “And now you own a place in the Gold Coast.”

  “And before that in Lincoln Park and Lakeview.”

  “Oh? Sorry those didn’t work out.” Okay, so, maybe changing paths isn’t as easy as he originally made it sound. “But your new place seems to be doing great.”

  Eric smiles at me. “The Gold Coast is my third location. The other two are still doing well.”

  I feel a flush spread across my cheeks at my second faux pas. Shame on me for doubting his success
. “Wow! That’s great. I just see you here all the time, so I assumed it was the only location.”

  “Yeah, I know. I need to work on my marketing. But so far so good and, knock on wood,” he knocks on the bar, “hopefully I won’t have to return to finance anytime soon. Marketing aside, it doesn’t hurt to have a little help from your friends. My friend keeps me in the loop on coffee news and helps me get great deals. The idea was to serve coffee that appeals to connoisseurs and the artisanal crowd, and to create a warm and welcoming atmosphere, like a living room, to encourage people to linger and order more coffee.”

  “I’m a fan. Clearly.” I tap my fingertips on the bar. “So that was it? It just kinda happened?”

  “That was it.” He puts his hands up. “I mean, there was a lot of waking up in a panic at three a.m. wondering if I was doing the right thing. What if I failed? Then what? Sure, I could go back to finance, but as the guy who failed at opening a business. But I’ve learned that sometimes you just have to trust the universe.” He pauses, before adding, “And work your ass off, of course. Now I only get the night sweats three nights a week rather than every single night.”

  I laugh. “That’s good to hear. Yeah, I have to admit reading and thinking about what to do next isn’t getting me very far. I’ve been job hunting for jobs that could use my skills, but aren’t the same exact position. Nothing’s exciting me though. And I’m okay with making less than I did before, but I’m not excited about doing it for something I’m not excited about. You know?”

  “Understandable.”

  “At the same time, my severance and savings won’t last forever, and I can’t afford to have an unexplainable gap on my resume.” I make a face.

  “What if you did some freelance or consulting work? It explains the gap and gives you some income and time to figure out the rest.”

  “I’ve thought of that.” Actually, I hadn’t. A little white lie since depression has clouded my imagination these days. “But I’ve never done it before and so I’d spend just as much time trying to find clients as job hunting. And taxes, health insurance …” I trail off, knowing that I’m making excuses.