by Annette Fix
Oh, shit. It's Ryan. And he brought flowers.
He rang the doorbell again.
I stood quietly, trying to will him away. Just go. I'm not here. Just go.
“Annette, open the door. I know you're in there, your car is in the driveway,” Ryan called out.
“What if I'm really not here?” I said through the door.
“Open the door. I have something for you.”
I wonder if this is the part in my pathetic life story where I open the door and Ryan shoots me right on my porch after saying something about how if he can't have me no one can, and then it's on the eleven o'clock news, and Kevin sees it and decides he was wrong, but it's too late because I'm dead, and he realizes we could've been happy together forever if he hadn't broken up with me and ruined everything, because then, none of this would have ever happened with Ryan, and I wouldn't be lying here dead.
“Annette, are you going to open the door or just leave me standing out here forever?”
I unlocked the deadbolt and let him inside.
He walked past me into the kitchen, pulled a vase out of my cabinet, filled it with water, and arranged the flowers. While I watched him, he avoided my gaze. Then he turned to me. “Before you say anything, I just want to tell you why I came by.”
I leaned against the handle of the refrigerator with my arms crossed.
He set the flowers in the middle of the breakfast table and stepped close to me. I had to look up the length of his six-foot frame to reach his serious blue eyes.
Funny, I never seemed to venture far from type. They were always tall, always blonde, always blue-eyed.
“I want to thank you,” he said.
His words brought me back from my objective analysis. You what? I'm sure my face showed my obvious puzzlement. “What are you talking about? Thank me for what?” I said.
Ryan reached into his pocket and withdrew a black velvet box.
Oh God, don't do it. Do not ask me to marry you! My instantaneous wish for the tile floor to open up and swallow me was unfortunately not granted. Where do you find a genie when you really need one?
“I want to thank you for being honest with me and I want you to have this.” He held out his hand for me to take the box.
“I can't accept that.” I stepped back. “I said what I said because it's how I feel, not because I'm playing some kind of game.”
He stepped forward, the box still in his outstretched hand. “I want you to have this because I appreciate your total honesty. It was hard to hear what you told me yesterday, but I respect it.”
I held up a hand to stop him. “I just—”
“Don't interrupt. Let me finish,” he said. “I don't think I've ever met a woman who was so honest. That's one of the main things that makes you so special to me.”
Ryan opened the box and turned it to show me a gold necklace with a pendant of a bold, trillion-shaped opal resting in a gold cradle setting.
“Don't say you can't take it. I want you to have it.” He lifted the necklace from the box and unhooked the clasp. “Turn around, I want to put it on you.”
As far as I could tell, the chain was too delicate for him to choke me with it.
I let Ryan step behind me and lift the open necklace above my head. His fingers fumbled a moment trying to secure the lobster claw clasp.
“I know this doesn't change anything. I just want you to know I love you and I'll always be here for you, no matter what.” His heavy hands rested on my shoulders.
Ryan turned and walked to the door. Wordlessly, he kissed the tips of two fingers, lifted them in salute, and closed the door behind him.
Okay, so the Mars/Venus lesson to learn here is that to get a guy to buy you jewelry, you have to tell him you love someone else?
And men think we are hard to understand?
he's not heavy, he's my stalker
Sunday, October 6
I stepped out of the gym and climbed into my car. I checked the clock in the dash. Enough time to head home, shower, make dinner, and relax for a little while before going to work. I pulled my cell phone from the glove box. Five missed calls. I pressed the button to listen to my voicemail.
Ryan called to say hello. Next message—Ryan, asked me to call him back. Ryan again, called to ask where I am. Ryan—called to say he was going to drive by my house. Last message, Ryan said he was in my driveway waiting for me. Irritation made me squint behind my sunglasses.
When I arrived home, I expected to find his truck in front of the house. Instead, I saw a note tucked into the frame of the front door.
Annette,
Was in the area and thought I'd drop by to see you.
R~
I unlocked the door, went in, and set my purse on the kitchen counter. The answering machine flashed. I pushed the play button. Ryan. Ryan. Ryan. Ryan again. Ryan. Ryan. Ryan. Seven messages. And three hang-ups; I could only speculate who it was.
I snatched my cell phone out of my purse and autodialed his cell phone.
“Hi Baby,” he answered, obviously checking the Caller ID.
“What are you doing?” I shouted into the phone. “Why did you call me fifteen times?”
There was a second of silence on the line.
“I thought maybe you were taking a nap and didn't hear the phone,” he said.
“So, you drove by my house?” I couldn't fathom what he must've been thinking. “Don't you think that if I were taking a nap, I might not want to answer the phone because I was sleeping?”
“But I didn't see your car.”
“That's not the point! I was at the gym!”
“Oh.”
Exasperated, I switched gears. “What are you doing tonight?”
“Nothing,” he said.
“Why don't you come over.” It wasn't a question; it was a statement.
“Okay, I'll be—”
I hung up before he finished his sentence.
Starting in the kitchen, I collected things that belonged to Ryan. A box of lemon meringue pie mix he wanted me to bake for him, three tins of oysters, and a six-pack of Corona. From the bedroom closet, I pulled out his Quicksilver T-shirt and a black nightclub shirt with flaming dice on it. Off the nightstand: a Kodak envelope of pictures from his dad's wedding and a pack of gum. I stacked it all on the chair by the front door.
When Ryan arrived, I had already rehearsed what I was going to say. I answered the door and he aimed a kiss for my lips. I turned and he caught my cheek. He followed me into the kitchen and we sat at the table.
“So, did you want to watch a DVD or do you want me to take you out to dinner and a movie?” he asked.
“Actually, I just want to talk.” My intro made him shift positions in the chair. I took a quick breath and launched into my mini speech. “I think you're a great guy. You're loving, and thoughtful, and easy to be around. I know you'll make someone a wonderful husband someday…”
Ryan's eyes searched my face.
“But, it won't be me,” I finished softly.
“What do you mean by that? Are you breaking up with me?”
It came out in a near whisper. “Yeah.” I nodded slightly and pressed my lips together.
Ryan's brows furrowed and he looked pained. “If I'm so great, then why do you want to break up with me?”
I knew he'd ask. I'd asked myself the same question since we started dating and it finally became so clear. It just wasn't something I could live without. I would've been settling. And not even satisfactorily.
“We never have anything to talk about. Have you ever noticed that? We go places. We hang out. We have sex. But we never talk about anything.”
He shrugged and looked at the floor. “I'm a man of few words. I talk when I have something important to say.”
“I need more.” I rested my hand on his arm. “I just don't think we have an intellectual connection.”
“Are you saying I'm stupid?” His anger flared and he jerked his arm away.
My voice rose in pitch t
o match my feelings. “No, I'm saying I need to be able to talk freely, share ideas and thoughts and concepts with the person I'm in a relationship with.”
Ryan lifted his palms. “Okay, so what do you want to talk about?”
I shook my head. “It has to happen naturally because we both have something we want to share.”
Ryan looked at me like I was speaking in a Mongolian dialect.
“Maybe I'm not explaining it well, but what I mean is—I don't think we should see each other anymore. At all.”
“If that's the way you want it, fine.” He pushed back his chair from the table and walked across the room. “Have a nice life.” Ryan shut the front door firmly behind him.
dumpling
2 cups all-purpose resolve
1/2 tsp. disappointment
1/2 tsp. regret
3 Tbsp. short explanation
3/4 cup emotional concerns
Combine resolve, disappointment, and regret.
Cut in short explanation with two dull knives until consistency of complete understanding.
Pour in emotional concerns, stirring until softened. Turn out decision. No knead to reconsider.
Drop dumpling gently, but firmly. Serve warm.
Yield: Ability to move on.
Unlimited servings.
Nutritional Value: None.
No guaranteed weight loss.
You feel bad, but know it was the right thing to do.
booty challenge
Friday, October 11
I wove through the crowd and approached the bartender. I wanted to grab a quick glass of juice and continue trolling for private dances. The couches were busy—it was a good money night.
When I stepped around a tall guy in a football jersey, I saw Ryan leaning against the bar on one elbow. “What are you doing in here?” I asked. It had been almost a week since I'd broken up with him.
“Don't be mad at me. I just came in to get a beer and talk to you.”
“I don't have time. I'm working.” I couldn't keep him from coming in, but that didn't mean I had to stand around with him. I walked away and he followed me across the room.
I spun to face him. “Stop following me. I have to get back to work.” The music beat like a pulse in my head.
He reached for his wallet. “Look. I'll pay you for a private dance so we can talk.”
“I'm not going to take your money. Just tell me what you want to say.”
Ryan set his beer on the railing and reached for my hand. “When I told the guys at work we broke up, they said if I really wanted to be with you, I had to fight to get you back, so that's what I'm doing,” he said.
I shook my head, trying to make sense of that little nugget. When do a bunch of guys building concept cars have time to watch soap operas?
“Ryan…” I pulled my hand from his. “That's a nice idea, but it doesn't work that way.” I stepped aside while a guy lined up his shot on the pool table.
“So, you don't still like me, even just a little?” He grabbed his beer and took a swig.
“You're a great guy,” I began, wanting to be kind but also honest. “And I do like you…but all we really had was sex. You knew I was just coming out of a relationship, I never lied to you. I'm sorry I couldn't give you more than I did. I am. I'm really sorry.”
Ryan looked across the room and was quiet for a moment. The music blared, filling in what would have been an uncomfortable silence.
He picked at the label on the beer bottle. “If you only wanted me for sex, then why don't we just have sex?” His voice held a note of challenge. When he looked at me, his eyes grazed over me in a naked hunger. “What are you doing after work?”
I shook my head. “You won't be able to handle it.”
Ryan stepped close and leaned to whisper in my ear. “Try me.” His voice was low and sexual; it promised raw, barnyard sex.
A little voice in my head harped that it was not a good idea, but it was immediately squashed by the physical sensations that responded to Ryan's closeness. The warm musk of his cologne filled my senses and I could almost feel the force of him pressing roughly between my thighs.
I stepped back and met his eyes directly. “I get off at two.”
“I'll be there.” He set his beer on the railing and walked out of the club.
On the drive home, I wondered if he would actually show up. I couldn't decide if I really wanted to have sex with him and chance falling back into that codependent relationship—at least, that's what my therapist called it.
As I turned the corner onto my street, I saw his lifted Chevy parked along the curb in front of the house. Ryan climbed out of the truck and wordlessly followed me inside. He walked ahead of me into my bedroom and I closed the door behind us—out of habit rather than necessity.
I was glad Josh went to a sleepover with Valerie's kids. If the encounter with Ryan turned out the way I hoped, we'd be lucky not to wake the dead.
The light above the backyard wall cast a soft illumination into the room through the sheers covering the sliding glass door. It was dim, but not dark. I studied Ryan in the half-light. Neither of us moved nor spoke.
Ryan closed the gap between us in two strides. He scooped me up with his hands cupped around the back of my thighs and crushed me against the door.
His body straddled between my legs, he kissed me full on the mouth. His tongue teased and probed. It was sexy as hell and I returned his kiss. I could feel his hardness pressing against me and my body automatically responded. He carried me over to the bed, my thighs wrapped around his waist.
Ryan pulled me off of him and threw me onto the bed. I stared up at him as he began un-belting his jeans.
He paused with his hand on his zipper. “Do you have any idea how much I love you?” he said.
Tires screeched to a halt inside my head. What a barnyard sex buzz kill.
I sat up and clicked on the nightstand lamp. “I knew you couldn't do this, this was a bad idea, I think you should go home.”
“I'm sorry. I won't say anything.” Ryan climbed onto the bed with me and reached to turn off the lamp.
I rolled off the other side of the bed and paced the room. “I'm serious. This was a totally stupid idea, I should've known it wouldn't work.”
I could've kicked myself for being such an idiot.
“Okay, here's the deal. It's almost three o'clock, so you have two choices. You can leave now, or you can sleep for a few hours and leave before the sun comes up,” I said, “But no sex.”
I hoped he'd choose to go. I only offered the second option because it was so late and I knew he'd been drinking.
“I want to spend one last night with you.” His eyes implored me to agree.
We climbed into the bed and Ryan moved close, wrapping his arm over my torso. He kissed my shoulder and spooned against my back. In a matter of minutes, I was asleep.
When I awoke in the morning, he was gone.
part four
finding
annette
the plan
Saturday, October 12
It's official: dating sucks. And I'm going to be single for the rest of my life. But I'm okay with that.
Now, it was time to plan my future around self-actualization, personal growth, enriching my life with exciting experiences, learning new skills and crafts, and taking up a hobby. My therapist said I should focus on something productive like that.
I could take a bellydancing class; I'd always wanted to try that. Handwriting analysis might be interesting. Or knitting.
I flipped through the community recreation brochure. The class title jumped off the page. Why didn't I think of it sooner? Golf lessons. Perfect.
Kevin always wanted me to learn to play. If I took golf lessons, I could turn pro. Join the LPGA Tour. And be in the perfect position to bump into Kevin at a tournament. Maybe he'd even see me on ESPN or the cover of Sports Illustrated. By then, enough time would have passed, we'd both be more settled, and it would be the perfect wa
y to get back together.
It was all so absolutely and completely perfect. I could go on with my life without obsessing about Kevin and then sometime—maybe ten or fifteen years from now, our separate futures would merge again.
I tore the registration sheet out of the catalog and began filling in the paperwork. The class was scheduled to start in a month. That would give me plenty of time to buy all the clubs and accessory crap I'd need.
Golf lessons. What a great idea.
the rise of a matriarchal society
Tuesday, October 15
We were all flopped across floor pillows on Valerie's living room carpet while the kids played video games in the adjoining family room. Bonita and Valerie nursed their glasses of Merlot.
“I think I'm going to fire my therapist.” I rattled the juice-tinted ice cubes in my glass. “Well, not really fire her. I just don't think I need to go there anymore.”
Bonita winced, making an air sucking sound through her teeth. “Do you really think that's a good idea?”
I shrugged. “She never really told me anything I didn't already know. So, why spend money talking to a stranger about random shit I can figure out for myself?”
Valerie peered over her glass. “I kinda like the idea of paying someone to listen to me talk. Then they don't have any choice, they have to.”
“If you're going to try dating again, don't you think it would be better to have a professional around to help you?” Bonita asked.
“I'm done dating—for a while anyway,” I said.
Valerie snorted. “Yeah, we'll see how long that lasts.”
“I'm serious,” I said. “Dating is such a pain in the ass. I think I'll just stay single for the rest of my life.”
“Then you can be queen of your own castle.” Bonita was rapidly approaching a full kosher pickling. She wandered out of the room to uncork another bottle.
“Yeah, queen.” I warmed to the idea. “If I were queen, I'd pass a law where every guy would have his penile dimensions tattooed on his forehead with ink that glows under the black lights in a nightclub.” I poured more cranberry juice into my glass from the pitcher on the coffee table.
