The Break-Up Diet: A Memoir

by Annette Fix

  Steven pulled away from the embrace and held my shoulders to look into my eyes. “Someday I'll tell you to look up and then you'll know exactly how much I love you.”

  escape from the oc matrix

  Saturday, March 15

  As I packed my bags, I smiled at how it had all come about.

  “I have a surprise for you.” Steven led me to the couch and sat me down. He reached around to his jeans back pocket, removed a long envelope, and handed it to me.

  I pulled out two folded sheets of paper and noticed the word eTicket at the top of the pages. It was better than the best ride at Disneyland: it was two tickets to St. Barthelemy. I had no idea where that was, but it meant we were flying somewhere.

  Steven must've seen my perplexed expression. “It's in the French West Indies,” he said.

  I didn't have the heart to tell him I didn't really like Indian food.

  “St. Bart. The Caribbean,” he continued until he saw my light of recognition.

  When he said, “Caribbean,” I smiled broadly. “Okay, so geography wasn't my best subject.” I shrugged, a little embarrassed.

  Now, I knew exactly where it was. I had spent the week on the Internet looking up anything I could find about the tiny island paradise, and I couldn't wait to get there. It would be the first real vacation I'd ever had.

  Josh was far less excited. “Noooo. I don't want to go to Grandma's. It's boring as dirt out there. We never do anything or go anywhere.”

  “C'mon buddy, give me a break. At least you could be happy for me.”

  “I am happy for you,” he said. “I'd just be happier if I was going too.”

  I gave him a quick hug. “I need you to help me out and take care of the dogs for me.”

  Josh paced the living room. “Then why can't I stay home and do it? I can stay by myself, I'm four-teen! It's not like I'm gonna burn the house down.”

  “Are you nuts? I can't leave you alone for a week.” I stepped in front of him to stop his restless striding. “I trust you completely, but if Child Protective Services found out, they'd haul you away to a foster home so fast your socks would fly off. And I'd be arrested for abandoning you.”

  “That's just stupid. They don't need to find out.”

  I looked at him and shook my head.

  “Okaaay. I'll go to Grandma's. I just wish I could go on vacation with you guys.”

  “Next time.” I gave him a big hug then kissed his forehead.

  Once Josh and the dogs were settled at Mom's, I let out a sigh of relief. I couldn't believe I was actually going on a vacation. When the Lincoln town car dropped us at the airport, I practically ran to the terminal.

  Steven laughed at my excitement. “Hey, slow down or you'll arrive on the island before the plane.”

  dreadlocks and coconut oil

  Sunday, March 16

  I rolled onto my back and stretched, looking for a cool spot under the sheets. I looked up through the filmy mosquito netting draped around the bed and squinted until my eyes adjusted to the morning light. The ceiling fan beat a slow rhythm in the moist air. Faint lyrics of “Jamming” by Bob Marley drifted into the bedroom.

  Steven peeked through the doorway. “Hey, sleepy girl, you're finally awake. Come outside, I made breakfast and put on a little island music for you.”

  I wrapped a bright pink sarong around my body and pulled my hair into a ponytail. I padded barefoot out to the patio and saw Steven had set the table with glasses of orange juice, a plate of sliced watermelon, a fresh baguette, and brie. Tropical blooms in a water pitcher sat in the center of the table. I settled myself into a patio chair and Steven carried out the rest of our breakfast: scrambled eggs and sun-dried tomatoes wrapped in flour tortillas.

  When I looked up from the table, the turquoise ocean looked like a liquid jewel stretched all the way to the horizon. Gentle, rolling wave caps reflected the sunlight. It was all so beautiful. I could barely speak. I felt if I could choose my own heaven, I would want it to be here.

  “Think you can handle this for a whole week?” Steven said with a grin.

  Steven had rented a two-bedroom villa on St. Jean Beach. He arranged to have the refrigerator stocked and a maid come in daily.

  “This is amazing. You're amazing.” I leaned across the table and gave him a nibbling kiss.

  “When we finish breakfast, let's go for a swim. The water is great. I went in while you were still sleeping.” I saw tiny droplets of water still clung to his chest.

  I lingered over breakfast, soaking up the view from the patio. It seemed so surreal. The entire week stretched out in front of us with absolutely nothing we had to do. We could sleep all day. Stay up all night. Walk up the beach. Play in the surf. Lie on the sand. Six lazy days and seven quiet nights. It was an eternity. It was paradise.

  When I stepped off the patio, the sand pressed between my bare toes like powder. Steven and I ran across the beach and into the water. Steven struck out into the gentle swells with a strong crawl stroke. I waded in up to my waist and looked down through the water at my toes; I could see the frost-colored polish glittering like pearls emerging from the sandy bottom. I turned and floated onto my back, blinking in the bright sunlight.

  “You can take your top off if you want,” Steven called out as he swam back in my direction.

  I looked from one end of the beach to the other; it was deserted.

  “It doesn't matter if anyone comes around. It's a French- and Swedish-held island, and the women go topless on beaches in Europe all the time.” He smiled his encouragement.

  Well, it would keep me from getting tan lines… But with my luck, I'd end up with a tropical fish chomping on my little pink sinkers. Oh, what the hell, I'm on vacation.

  I reached behind my back and pulled the strings to free my top. The bright floral triangles of material floated for a moment and began to sink. I scooped the top into a ball and chucked it far up onto the beach while I held one arm across my chest. I ducked back into the water up to my chin and looked around again.

  It felt strange being topless in public. It was different at the club. That was a stage show, and in there, I was someone else.

  Steven swam up behind me and turned me around with his hands on my hips. “Look at you, island girl,” he said.

  I moved into his embrace and we shared a salty kiss.

  cheeseburger in paradise

  Monday, March 17

  “Let's take a walk to the marketplace and rent some scooters so we can explore the island,” Steven suggested. “How does that sound?”

  I rolled over in bed and snuggled against his bare shoulder. I didn't care what we did as long as we did it together.

  After breakfast, we prepared for the day's adventure.

  “If you could go anywhere in the world, where would it be?” Steven asked as he bent to buckle his basket-weave Mephisto sandals.

  I lifted the bottom of my long, gauzy skirt and stepped down the steep stairs of the patio. “Sicily. I'd love to go to Palermo where my grandparents lived. Just find a bench in the middle of town and sit with you, watching people go by.”

  We walked in the dirt along the narrow, rough-paved road toward town. Our hands swung slightly, matching our stride, fingers interlaced together.

  “So, you're not a sight-seer, tour bus type of girl?” Steven moved to my other side, separating me from the passing cars.

  “Nope. I would just want to find a little family restaurant, eat there at every meal, and try everything on the menu. I'd want to vacation there the same way I'd live there.”

  Steven smiled and brought my hand to his lips to kiss my fingertips.

  I was hot and sticky by the time we reached town. The sun beat down on our shoulders during the walk and it seemed that steam came right up out of the ground.

  While the lanky shop owner and Steven laughed and chatted in Swedish, I wandered between the rows of brightly painted motor scooters.

  I didn't feel confident about riding one of the small-whee
led machines. Ten years ago, I often rode my Kawasaki Ninja, lane-straddling in Newport Beach along Pacific Coast Highway at seventy-five miles an hour, wearing L.A. Gear high-tops and a thong, but that was a long time ago. A very long time ago. And these just didn't seem as stable. I grasped a handlebar and gave it a shake, making it rattle all the way down to the kickstand.

  “Are you ready to go?” Steven handed me the key to a sky blue scooter.

  “Sure. Let's do this.” I offered a big smile of false bravado. I started the engine and gave it a little gas—a little too much gas. It made a sound like an angry sewing machine and nearly shot right out from under me. I lifted the thumbs-up signal to Steven then death-gripped the handlebars.

  Pulling out of the driveway, I wobbled like a foal on new legs. Steven rode ahead and led the way over the hill into Gustavia.

  My tires bounced on the uneven pavement. Thirty-five miles an hour seemed far too fast for the rickety little machine. I hoped I wasn't going to end up looking like a pink skid mark on the pocked asphalt.

  We rode through the small town along the harbor.

  The hull of an enormous, pristine white yacht gaped open, exposing racks of wave runners and a smaller boat inside. Kingston, South Africa was painted on the stern. I tried not to gawk at the opulence as I putted by, engulfed in belching puffs of exhaust. Each yacht was grander than the last. The small harbor looked like a yard sale for lifestyles of the rich and famous.

  We finally stopped off for lunch in a bright yellow café across from the original Cheeseburger in Paradise, the legendary burger joint in the Jimmy Buffet lyrics.

  The entire week passed and it was like listening to a new favorite song; it could play on the same loop over and over and I'd never get tired of it.

  When we returned to Orange County, Steven and I waited for our suitcases at the baggage carousel in the John Wayne Airport. I leaned against his side and thought about the paradise we'd left behind. Just being with Steven, wherever we were, I felt more at peace with my life than I ever had.

  contentment cookies

  1 amazing man

  1 woman in-love

  1 island paradise

  16 oz. quiet intimacy

  2 lbs. brie

  Pour man and woman into island paradise.

  Mix in quiet intimacy.

  Add brie and stir at languid pace. Drop into rounded spoonfuls onto a white sand beach.

  Bake under tropical sun until golden and rested.

  Serve with glass of fresh tranquility.

  Yield: Incredible sense of peace.

  Unlimited servings.

  Nutritional Value: None.

  Guaranteed 5 lb. weight GAIN.

  It's either the bliss or the cheese; I'm really not sure.

  sex toys r us

  Saturday, March 29

  I walked up the apartment steps carrying two trays of fruit. The invitation to Tawny's lingerie party had come as a surprise, but I decided to go anyway.

  I rang the bell and waited.

  Tawny threw open the door. “Hey, long time no see! Come in.”

  Her long dark hair had a new reddish tint in the thick curls. It suited her.

  I set the fruit on her bar counter and removed the foil covers. Steven had cut and assembled the platters while I was in the shower.

  The fruit was perfectly sliced and arranged on banana leaves and set in a herringbone pattern with the fruit fanned into color wheel designs on top: watermelon, cantaloupe, honeydew, strawberries, grapes, and bananas.

  “Wow! Did you do this?” Tawny looked at the platters with her mouth agape.

  “Are you kidding? If I made it, the fruit would be chunked and thrown into a bowl. My boyfriend, Steven, did it.”

  “Are you sure he's not gay? I can't believe a straight guy put this together,” she said.

  The women at the party gathered around the trays, murmuring their surprise.

  “Okay, ladies, I finally made it.” A chubby blonde with a Southern accent bustled into the room carrying a large suitcase. “Ladies, have a seat and we'll get started.”

  She cracked open the case and passed around clipboards laminated with cutouts of nude men. “Gather 'round and all y'all take one.”

  It was like preschool paper dolls, porn edition. One clipboard made the rounds and brought nothing but giggles as it passed from one woman to the next. It finally ended up in my hands. The naked man de jour was dressed in a fireman's hat, jacket, and boots. He was gorgeous, but sadly, the poor man was sans pants. I say sadly, because his hose wouldn't put out the flame on a campfire marshmallow. I clipped my order sheet so it covered his tragic little flaw.

  Ready to get the party started, Tawny dove her hand into the woman's suitcase and pulled out an enormous purple dildo.

  “I named mine Barney.” She held it up like the Olympic torch and then wiggled it to show its flexibility.

  Tawny was always ahead of her time. When it came to sexuality, she was a new millennium woman back in the 1980s.

  “This one's a top seller,” Sex Toy Lady said, lifting a neon blue phallic item out of her case and setting it on the coffee table. She stretched the electric cord to an outlet. Suddenly the mock penis swung into action and began hula dancing on the table. Ball bearings rotated under the surface of the blue rubber skin.

  I couldn't imagine how that could possibly be comfortable. It looked more like something Martha Stewart would use to mix cake batter than something I'd want to use for sex.

  The Lady held up another item—a dildo with a suction cup attached at the base. “This one's perfect if y'all ever wanna fuck Brad Pitt.” She licked the suction cup and stuck it wetly onto the television screen.

  Although I can't say I never thought about the prospect, a dildo stuck to the TV wouldn't exactly be my preferred method.

  The next item was a bottle of silicon lubricant. “It's amazin’,” Sex Lady said. “You can even screw in a hot tub and it won't warsh away.”

  “Oh, this is my favorite!” Tawny reached into the grab bag and withdrew a hot pink, rubber cylinder the size of a Twinkie.

  “It's perfect for giving guys hand jobs in movie theaters. If you grab it real tight on the end and pull it real fast, they blow their load instantly,” she said.

  I peeled my eyebrows out of my hairline. There are just some things I'd rather not know about my friends and their sex lives.

  Except maybe which theater seats not to sit in.

  After nearly two hours of sex toy show and tell, I turned to the lady and said, “When do we get to see the lingerie?”

  The roomful of women burst into laughter.

  Personally, I didn't think it was particularly funny. I actually wanted to buy something cute to wear for Steven and was pretty sure he'd prefer it wasn't a glow-in-the-dark strap-on.

  I guess the joke was on me. I realized the fact that “Lingerie Party” looks more acceptable on an invitation than writing: You're invited to my Wacky Dildo Party—where B.Y.O.B. means Bring Your Own Batteries.

  sunflower in a bucket of snow

  Easter

  Sunday, April 20

  The Easter Bunny was very good to me this year.

  He hopped into the bedroom of our rented mountainside condo with a tray of croissants, fresh berries, orange juice, and a little blue Tiffany & Co. box. I pounced on the box and pulled a tail of the white bow. It opened to a silver Return to Tiffany tag bracelet.

  A family snowboarding trip to Mammoth completed Steven's Easter present.

  We sat at the thick oak table in our room and watched the passing chairs of the ski lift from the window while we finished breakfast. After dressing for the day, Josh, Steven, and I stepped out of the lodge into the crisp morning air.

  “Mom, you look like a sleeping bag with arms and legs.” Josh laughed and shouldered his rented snowboard.

  “Anything less than seventy-five degrees is too cold.” Spring skiing, my ass. I'd rather be in St. Bart.

  “Are you sure you don't w
ant to try it?” Josh teased, stepping into the bindings.

  “No. I'm fine. I'll just wait here and take pictures when you guys come down,” I said.

  “Are you sure, honey?” Steven held my shoulders and looked into my eyes. “If you want, I'll hang out with you in the lodge.”

  “No, of course not. You guys go up and try not to kill yourselves. I'll just watch.”

  The ski lift scooped Josh and Steven onto the bench seat. I followed the cables with my eyes until their seat was a speck against the blue sky.

  I trudged carefully in the slush to the end of the run where they would eventually descend. Skiers and snowboarders whizzed by. I watched their movements as the skiers toed in to slow down and the snowboarders plowed their boards. It looked easy enough.

  A small boy, not possibly older than seven, carved down the hill on a board the size of a Popsicle stick.

  If that little guy could master it, I wouldn't have any problems; I'm pretty coordinated.

  Soon an older lady followed; the unruly curls of her gray hair sprung from underneath a knitted hat as she slid to a stop in the icy trenches of muddy snow leading to the lift.

  Okay, that did it. If a ninety-year-old woman could snowboard, I sure as hell could.

  I tromped to the ski shop and rented a snowboard and boots. It wasn't long before Steven and Josh came zipping down the hill. Josh's experience on his skateboard made it a quick and easy transition to the snow. Steven skied for years in Switzerland, so Mammoth was little effort once he adjusted to the snowboard.

  I stood holding the board and shuffled my boots in the slushy snow.

  “You're going to snowboard?” Josh laughed and covered his mouth with a gloved hand.

  “Are you sure you don't want to practice first?” Steven asked.