Romance Impossible

by Melanie Marchande

  Wait, wait, wait. What was I doing? Was I even thinking about the possibility of...

  No. It was just a few drinks, for old time's sake. Eric was a nice guy, after all. Fun to hang out with. Always had been. One night of booze and conversation wasn't going to send me into a tailspin, I was stronger than that now.

  ***

  The candles on the bar flickered gently as I waited for my vodka cranberry. It was a drink I hadn't tasted since Eric left. More specifically, since our fifth anniversary. The second night.

  Not that I was dwelling on my memories, or anything like that.

  It was a drink I never thought I'd order again, as simple and innocuous as it seemed. Things were easier, I found, when I eliminated any tastes, smells, sights or sounds that reminded me of my life with him. But now that we were sitting side by side, in a Los Angeles sushi bar that I suspected was going to be even more expensive than it looked, I figured it was time to get a little nostalgic.

  "This is nice," Eric said, smiling at me. It was that warm, disarming smile that I remembered. So that was one thing that hadn't changed. He was still every bit as cute as the day we met, but I couldn't imagine him igniting the same fire that Max did. Back then, I'd been happy with our mild, comfortable, unchallenging brand of love. It was nice. Everything was nice. But now...I could never got back to something like that.

  "Yeah," I said, as the bartender pushed my drink across the polished wood. "It is pretty nice."

  "This your first time in L.A.?"

  The strangeness of the question - him casually asking me about my life, like we were strangers, lodged an uncomfortable feeling in my stomach. "Yeah," I said. "Just for the filming. I haven't really had any time to look around, though."

  "Oh, that's too bad. You're leaving tomorrow?" He sipped his gin and tonic.

  "Yeah."

  "You should really hike out in Runyon Canyon if you get a chance. It's beautiful. But hey, you'll probably be coming back sometime, right? Working for a world-famous chef and all that. I never told you congratulations, did I?"

  I shook my head. When would he have? And more importantly, since when did he hike?

  "Congratulations," he said, lifting his glass. As he took a sip, his face changed a little. "Listen, Jill, I just want to have fun tonight. And I guess you do too, or you wouldn't have agreed to come out with me. So I'm not going to bring up anything unpleasant. But I just want to say, you know, again - I'm sorry.

  "I know there's nothing I can say that really makes a difference, but I want to try anyway. I'm so sorry, and if there's ever a way for me to make it up to you, I will. I never should have done what I did. I was childish, and stupid, and selfish. I knew all that back then, but it didn't sink in at first. It took a long time. I've missed you every day, and even though I know we can't repair what we used to have, I want to have you in my life. Even if we're just friends."

  I swallowed. My throat was suddenly dry. My drink didn't look too appetizing, but I took a sip anyway, enough so that I could talk. "Okay," I said.

  "I'm sorry." He raised his palms in a gesture of surrender. "I'm sorry, really, I won't bring it up again. At least not tonight. But if there's anything you want to talk about, anything you want to know, just ask."

  A million questions swirled around in my head, but I knew better than to think he'd have any answers. Even if his attitude had changed, his excuses hadn't. I was stupid. I was selfish. I just wanted to do what would make me happy.

  I was tired of hearing them, but I knew he didn't have anything else to say to me. What could possibly justify what he did? He hadn't had a nervous breakdown, he wasn't a raging alcoholic, he hadn't been abducted by aliens or possessed by a demon. He was just being a human being, doing what humans do.

  Selfish. That was the word.

  Eric swirled his drink. "Penny for your thoughts," he said.

  I smiled. "I dunno," I said. "Nothing, really. Just letting my mind wander."

  "Well, come back down to earth," he said. "Tell me about your life lately. Tell me what you've been up to. How'd you end up working for Chef Dylan, anyway? I thought you used to hate that guy."

  Shrugging, I looked down at the bar for a moment, blinking a few times to clear my head of all the ugly thoughts and memories. "He just called me out of the blue one day. I had applications in all over town, and I guess somebody passed mine along to him. I never would have gone out for it on purpose, but I needed a job and he liked me."

  "Course he did." Eric grinned, gesturing to the bartender. "You want another? Looks like you're taking your time on that one."

  "Yeah, no, I'm okay. Just pacing myself." The menu didn't even have prices for mixed drinks, so I knew I was in trouble. Eric would almost certainly offer to pay, but there was no way I'd accept. And even though I could afford to drink anywhere I wanted now, the penny-pinching mindset of my long unemployment was hard to shake.

  "Don't worry about the check," said Eric, practically reading my thoughts like he always used to. "It's my treat."

  "No, no, that's all right," I said. "I'll pay for myself, thanks."

  He raised his eyebrows a little, and I could tell he was taken aback. "Okay, all right. I'm just offering."

  I sipped my drink. "So, where are you living now?"

  He cleared his throat. "I've been around a little bit," he said. "I was in Scottsdale for a while, and then I stayed in Virginia for a little bit. Now I'm in Portland."

  "Oh, so it wasn't too long of a trip here."

  "Nope." He rotated his glass on the bar. "Not too bad at all."

  Eric was the sort of guy who liked to settle down in one place and stay there for as long as possible. When we met, he'd lived in Framingham his whole life. I tried to picture him moving three times in two years, and came up blank.

  "Look at you," I said, shooting him a smile for what might have been the first time that night. "Moving all over the country, hiking the canyons. You really have changed."

  Shrugging, he stirred his new drink. "I told you," he said. "The whole situation really woke me up. I knew I had to make some changes."

  He was talking about it like I'd been the one to break up with him.

  "Sure," I said. "Same with me." It wasn't really true, was it? Well, I might not have changed outwardly that much, aside from working for a celebrity. And that didn't really have much to do with Eric. But inside, I was a completely different person.

  Wasn't I?

  There was a time when I would have said I'd never willingly sit in the same room as Eric, let alone go on a date with him. But just seeing his face was apparently enough to change my mind. What else might change, if I let myself spend any more time with him?

  Come on, Jillian. Don't be cruel. He's apologized, he knows he did wrong. It's been two years. Give him a chance.

  We chatted for a long time, about nothing, and I kept on nursing my drink and wondering what the hell I was doing. I wondered if Max knew, or suspected, who I was with - and if he was judging me.

  He almost certainly was.

  Suddenly, a shrill voice rang out through the restaurant.

  "ERIC!"

  I almost jumped out of my skin, and Eric did too. As we both whirled around on our stools, I saw a young woman stalking towards us from across the room.

  Her face looked strangely familiar to me, in a way that I couldn't quite place, at least not consciously. But my stomach and my heart clenched simultaneously. As she drew closer, I realized where I'd seen her before.

  In a little profile picture, on Eric's Facebook chat log.

  My gaze shifted to the man himself, whose face had completely drained of all color. A moment later, his hands started shaking.

  "What the hell, Eric?" She stopped inches from him, her mouth quivering with barely-suppressed rage. "What is this?"

  He swallowed compulsively a few times. "I...you...Mindy, what are you..." His hands were shaking even harder now, just like they did back then. When it was me with my nostrils flaring, and tears stream
ing down my face, instead of her.

  I wanted to cover my face and scream. I wanted to jump up and run out of the room. I wanted to burst into flames. But all I could do was sit still and watch this twisted version of my own past play out in front of me. Voices raised higher and higher, until people were staring, until a manager came and made us all leave. Looking back, I can't even remember if he asked me to leave specifically, if I was somehow a part of the ruckus without even realizing, or if I just followed them because I didn't know what else to do.

  Out in the street, she kept on screaming. He didn't speak unless she asked him a direct question, and even then, his voice was quiet and trembling, and the only thing he said was "I don't know."

  Over and over again. "I don't know. I don't know."

  I gathered the story in bits and pieces - as if the details mattered. She thought he was on a business trip. They had been together this whole time. And me, stupid me, I'd never even considered the possibility that they'd still be a couple. Of all the questions I'd asked him during our long conversation, I'd never once thought to pose the question: "Do you have a girlfriend?"

  And that was it. Even after the desperation faded, after I'd decided I would never take him back, I always thought he'd come crawling back to me. Single. Alone. Pathetic.

  And it happened. Just not quite the way I'd imagined.

  Mindy was still shrieking. "Her? HER? You're coming back to HER? You were miserable! You were suffocating! I MADE YOU HAPPY FOR THE FIRST TIME IN YOUR LIFE!"

  Somehow, against all reason, her words didn't have the power to hurt me. I'd built such a heavy suit of armor around myself. And in that moment, in the midst of all the insanity, I felt...proud.

  "Get the fuck out - get AWAY from me!" Mindy was shoving him, still screaming, and he went. He cowered and ran from her. He ran from her, and from me.

  Mindy collapsed like all the air had been let out of her, crumpling down on the sidewalk and shrieking with grief. Her whole body was wracked with sobs.

  When the worst of it was over, she looked up at me. Her face was bright red and wet with tears.

  "I know..." she started to say, before a hiccup interrupted. She took a long, shaky breath, and started again. "I know you hate me..."

  I shook my head to silence her.

  "Hate you?" I said, my brow crinkling. "I don't think about you at all."

  In the ensuing silence, I turned and walked away, never pausing to look back.

  ***

  My eyes felt tired, sticky and scratchy from too much crying. Blinking took a special effort. I'd managed to hold myself together until we got home, spending the whole flight with my hands clasped in my lap, staring unseeingly at the little movie screen on the seat-back in front of me. When we parted at the airport, Max put a hand on my shoulder and said something, to which I just nodded. I couldn't remember what it was.

  At home, I washed my hands up to my elbows and unpacked mechanically. It wasn't until after everything was put away, and my first load of laundry was running, that I collapsed on the sofa and cried.

  Normally Heidi would have come running, but the kennel was closed for the day. I wouldn't be picking her up until tomorrow. So I cried and cried, perfectly alone in my perfectly silent apartment.

  I cried for my own stupidity, for having loved Eric so long. For almost giving him a second chance. But most of all, I cried for the man I loved now and could never have.

  There was no sense in pretending. Not anymore. Max might be a right bastard, as he'd put it, but I knew, knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he could never hurt me like Eric did. I would almost be willing to give him a chance, except...

  Except he was my boss. Except he was a celebrity and I hated attention. Except he didn't want me, or he could have had me by now.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Affiné

  Some things must be aged to reach their full potential. They need experience, if you will. Maturity. Once you've tasted a fully aged sharp cheddar, nothing else will do - and so affiné, the aging process, becomes one of the most important concepts in the kitchen.

  - Excerpted from Dylan: A Lifetime of Recipes

  ***

  Max

  ***

  Barbara called me one day, out of the blue.

  "I heard you're filming a new show," she said.

  "Just wrapped, actually."

  "Congratulations!" Her tone was...politely tolerant. Had she always sounded like this? How long had it been since we talked?

  How long had it been since I thought about her?

  "So," I said, after a long pause. "What have you been up to?"

  "Oh, all sorts of things." She sounded bored. Why had she called?

  "Well, I'm about to head out the door," I lied. "Busy busy, you know, as usual."

  "All right," she said. "Well, I'll talk to you soon, then."

  "Cheers."

  I tossed my phone down on the bed, wondering why I'd bothered to answer. There was a time, I could admit it now - there was a time when I was hanging on to the hope of Barbara coming around and realizing that she'd never find another man like me. There was a time when she was the unobtainable one.

  She'd been replaced.

  I thought of Jill, her shell-shocked face when she sat across from the man who'd broken her heart. He looked like anyone else you might run into, at the grocery store or the laundromat. He was polite and friendly and he probably helped old ladies cross the street. But deep down inside, he was every bit as cruel and selfish as I'd often been accused of being.

  I had half-expected her to fall for him, all over again.

  And hell, maybe she did. But it didn't seem like it. I was dying to ask her, to just talk to her a little - to make sure she was all right. She had seemed hollow on the way home, exhausted and shell-shocked, and it made me wonder what the hell he had done to her.

  I'd smash his face into the pavement, if I thought it would make any difference. But the damage was done. And as for him - well, he already lived in some version of hell. I was certain of it.

  I hope you know you can do better, Jill. I hope you at least know that.

  ***

  Beckett was upset with me.

  This was not an unusual situation, but this time I was pretty sure he was overreacting.

  I told him about the situation with Jill and Eric, against my better judgment, because I couldn't help myself. He immediately went apoplectic. At least, that's how I remember it.

  "Do not get involved. Do I really have to tell you this?" He looked like he wanted to punch me in the mouth, and for once, I wasn't really sure why. "Look, I know people never see their own patterns, but are you actually blind?"

  "This isn't the same as Barbara," I muttered, slamming my desk drawer shut. "Jillian's over him, she just - she's just struggling, that's all."

  "Are you listening to yourself?"

  "Why do you always insist on giving advice in these situations? You know I'm just going to do what I want. Is it just for bragging rights? For the perverse pleasure of saying 'I told you so?'"

  Beckett sighed, stepping back. Deflated, though I wasn't sure why. "No," he said. "No, I actually just...genuinely don't want you to get hurt. God only knows why."

  What could I possibly say to that?

  "I'm not going to do anything stupid," I insisted. "And if I do, well, that's my fault. Not yours."

  "You really don't get it, do you?" He made a little chopping motion with his hand, along with every word, to emphasize his point. "Everything you do affects the people around you. What's going to happen to the restaurant if you have another breakdown, like last time?"

  I didn't remember that so-called "breakdown" exactly the way he did, but as usual, there was no point in arguing about it.

  "Last time we talked about this, you were practically carving me and Jill's names with a heart around them in your tree-house," I said. "I don't understand what your problem is now."

  "You're impossible," he said, throwing up
his hands before storming out of the office.

  Well, there's no need to be so dramatic.

  It was true - one time, I thought I'd come close to being Barbara's first choice. In hindsight I realized I never had been. I realized we weren't some tragic, romantic story of the love that could never be. We simply weren't. It didn't matter why. But back then, I thought I'd had a chance and lost it, and it was...

  I didn't like thinking about it now.

  But it wasn't like that with Jill. We were ill-fated for entirely different reasons, and I was willing to accept that reality. I was done fighting it.

  I was almost completely sure.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Persillade

  If a mirepoix ever becomes too pedestrian for your tastes, consider the persillade - shallots, garlic and parsley make a perfect addition to many dishes. But never discount the humble mirepoix and its simple, earthy flavors. It satisfies a need for the simpler things in life.

  - Excerpted from Dylan: A Lifetime of Recipes

  ***

  Jill

  ***

  People change all the time, and they seldom do you the courtesy of letting you know beforehand.

  I remember the day I woke up and realized I didn't love Eric anymore. I had an egg sandwich for breakfast, runny yolk, toasted English muffin, a slice of sharp white Vermont cheddar and a squirt of Sriracha. It's one of my favorite breakfasts, and for some reason it tasted particularly good that morning.

  I took Heidi for a long walk in the crisp autumn air, savoring the sound of the leaves crunching beneath my feet.

  It wasn't until my second cup of coffee that I realized I hadn't thought about Eric all morning.

  A little later, I realized that I would never take him back.

  I'd felt so fragile for such a long time, so focused on the ever-dwindling hope of his return, that this was a revelation. How strong I'd become in the past few months. And I hadn't even noticed until then.