Breakup Boot Camp

by Beth Merlin

  “We can put a rush on it,” Sylvia answered, “but we’ll do our best to get it to match, I’m sure it’s very sentimental for you.”

  “It’s fine either way,” I said.

  Alec suddenly let out a piercing wail.

  “Merri, we’re way past his naptime,” Naomi said, taking him out of the carriage and bouncing him up and down on her knee.

  “Go back to the hotel with the baby and get him down. It’s gonna take me a few minutes to wiggle out of this dress, and then I still have to go settle the final payment.”

  “You sure?” Merritt asked.

  “Yeah, of course. Sam and I will meet you at dinner later, like we planned.”

  Merritt leaned down and kissed me on the forehead. “Thank you for inviting us to be a part of today.”

  Sylvia motioned to the curtain. “Come, let me help you get changed. I don’t want you getting stuck by a dozen pins trying to get out of the dress.”

  I waved Merritt and Naomi off and followed Sylvia back to a changing room, where she painstakingly helped me out of the gown.

  “Don’t take what your sister said to heart,” Sylvia said, slipping the dress back onto the hanger. “It’s a spectacular gown, and once we finish all of the alterations, you will look absolutely phenomenal in it.”

  My phone was vibrating from inside my bag.

  Sylvia handed me a yellow receipt. “I’ll leave you to get dressed. When you’re ready, you can pay the balance in the office adjacent to the reception desk.”

  I smiled, reached into the pocket, and pulled out my phone to find a text message from Sam.

  Please don’t kill me, but I can’t make dinner tonight. Trying to tie up the last of the loose ends on this deal, so we can have our yes date tomorrow. Have fun with Merritt. I love you.

  I typed out a text telling him how disappointed I was that he still hadn’t met Alec and how hurt I thought Merritt and Naomi would be by his excuses . . . and then deleted every word. Sam was doing all of this for us and our future, and how could I be angry at him for that? I texted back a simple, I love you too and put my phone away.

  The next morning, I woke up to a large bouquet of yellow teacup roses, and Sam humming away in the kitchen while making us coffee.

  “Rise and shine, kid,” he called from the other room. “We’re already behind the yes date schedule.”

  I sat up, kicked the blanket off my legs, and looked at the clock. It was 9:00. We weren’t a little behind, we were a lot behind. I jumped out of bed and pulled on my jeans.

  “Why didn’t you wake me?” I yelled back to him.

  He walked in carrying two steaming mugs of coffee and passed me one.

  “You’ve been so crazy with the wedding Boot Camp, I couldn’t even remember the last time you slept in. You looked so peaceful, I didn’t have the heart to wake you.”

  “We missed pancakes and strawberry picking. The next activity isn’t until 11:00.”

  He set the coffee down on the nightstand and pulled me into his arms. “I have a couple ideas on how to fill the time. What do you say?”

  “Hey, Mister, this is my yes date remember, what do you say?”

  He lifted me up and carried me back to bed. “Yes, yes, and yes.” And just like that, our dry spell was broken.

  Chapter Six

  Sam hated Candytopia as much as I’d expected, but, the iron-clad provisions of our yes date agreement required he be completely game for whatever activity I proposed. I, on the other hand, loved Candytopia. I loved everything, from the Wonka-esque gates that welcome visitors to the dreamy gallery where all the art was made from candy and all the exhibits were edible. When we arrived at the pool of marshmallows you could jump into and swim around in, Sam stopped dead in his tracks. When I suggested we take a “dip” he looked at me like I was absolutely insane.

  “Do you know how many kids have had their mouths on those marshmallows?” he asked.

  I sat down to untie my shoes and patted the ground beside me. “The sign says no shoes.”

  “You’re really going to make me go in there?”

  I stopped untying my shoe and looked up at him. “Samuel Calver, are you going to force me to recite the formally agreed upon stipulations of the yes date contract?”

  He motioned for me to go ahead. I cleared my throat and started, “Clause One states, the planner of the yes date may request any activity whereas the attendee must comply with all said requests. Heretofore, the attendee is under strict obligation to participate in all said activities and do so with a smile on his or her face. Clause Two stipulates the word ‘yes’ is the only acceptable response to any question asked on the aforementioned date.”

  “Heretofore? Aforementioned?” He rolled his eyes, took off his coat, and sat down on the ground to slip off his loafers. “I am only doing this because I love you.”

  I got up from the ground and pulled my socks up over my ankles. “That’s a good enough reason for me. Ready?”

  He mumbled something vaguely resembling the word sure.

  I crossed my arms over my chest and threw him my most winning smile. “Sam. Yes date. Are you ready?”

  “Yes!” he yelled and hurled his body into the pool. He emerged from under a pile of marshmallows with a huge grin on his face. “What are you waiting for, Jo? Water’s great!”

  I opened my arms and pushed off the edge, sinking into the tank. Sam was there, waiting to catch me.

  “See, is this so terrible?” I asked.

  “I can definitely check swimming in a pool of marshmallows off my bucket list now.”

  “I didn’t know it was on your bucket list.”

  “I have to have a few secrets, right? So, what’s next on the hit parade? Scuba diving in Jell-O?”

  “I have a feeling the next activity will be a little more your speed.”

  His smile gave way to a sexy grin. “Either way, what choice do I really have?”

  “Well, look at that, someone is finally getting the concept of the yes date.”

  We pretended to do different swimming strokes in the pool, both of us finally landing on our backs, floating atop the airy marshmallow pillows.

  I turned to him. “You know what we need? Some chocolate and graham crackers.”

  He pulled me close and kissed me hard. A few minutes later a dozen or so toddlers, all guests at the same birthday party, came sprinting toward the pool.

  Sam stood up and wrestled his way over to the ladder. “Come on, kid, what do you say we get out of here before we’re wading through a pond of marshmallow fluff.”

  I nodded and followed him out of the pool, where he pretended to towel off. I loved the more playful side of Sam. I didn’t know if it was the pressures that came along with his job or a general maturing, but in the last few years he’d lost a little of his silliness and spontaneity. Lately, it seemed he was more into keeping up with the Joneses, or in his case, the associates and partners of his firm.

  Sam grew up in Moreno County, California, about an hour outside Orange County. His good grades and musical talent got him a full scholarship to our high school. Sam’s dad was a mechanic, who owned a small garage, and his mother was a preschool teacher. While he loved and respected his parents, it wasn’t hard to see he was impressed with the big houses and even bigger wallets of our classmates.

  I remembered the first time he came to pick me up for a date. He borrowed his dad’s prized possession, an electric blue 1964 Mustang convertible he’d practically built from the ground up. My father was one of the top plastic surgeons in Orange County, and we lived in a beautiful home with expansive ocean views that spanned all the way to Palos Verdes. I waited for Sam on the paved circular driveway, hoping I could help him avoid an awkward first meeting with my parents. The minute he pulled up, I could see his entire demeanor change. He must’ve assumed I was well off, since most of the kids at Oakridge Prep were, but now he knew for certain.

  My father came out of the house to meet Sam, who immediately starte
d rattling off a list of academic accomplishments and life goals. He told my father all about his scholarship to Columbia and plans to work in finance after he graduated, but none of that mattered to me. Sam didn’t just have good grades, he was also editor of the school’s newspaper, president of the student council, and drum major of the marching band. He was that guy. The guy every girl wanted to be with, and he liked me.

  Maybe because of how I grew up, Sam felt he had to impress me with things like a big engagement ring and an apartment in Tribeca. No matter how many times I told him I didn’t care about materialistic things, he didn’t believe me. Even our wedding was slightly more his speed than mine. After touring dozens of places, we settled on The Pierre Hotel.

  The Pierre was a beautiful venue but not quite what I had in mind. Growing up, I couldn’t imagine a more perfect place to get married than my very own backyard. Our house sat on the highest point of Crystal Cove enclave in Newport Coast with breathtaking views of the Pacific Ocean and SoCal Mountains. The house and gardens were my mother’s pride and joy. She spent hours clipping hedges and tending to the roses, and I just knew that was where I would eventually say ‘I do.’ But that dream was one that would never come true. My father couldn’t bear to be in the big, empty house without her. He put it on the market less than six months after she died and moved to a small condo in Marina Del Rey.

  After Candytopia, we headed back home to freshen up and change for drinks at the Carlyle Hotel. I left Sam for an hour to go get a blowout at the Drybar across the street from our apartment. With working out at Benji’s Boot Camp almost every morning, I couldn’t be bothered to style my hair and had been pulling it into a simple ponytail after showering. Lately, it seemed Sam was either seeing me in workout clothes heading out to the gym in the morning or in pajamas asleep, after he got in from work late at night. Tonight, I wanted to step it up a notch.

  Last week, I had spotted a little black sequined cocktail dress in the window of a boutique on Prince Street. It was short, super fitted, and glittery from head to toe. Even after living in the city for close to a decade, my style was still more California than Manhattan. I preferred loose, button-down shirts, peasanty tunics, sundresses, and ripped jeans. This dress was a serious departure from my usual look. It took two salespeople and a random shopper to convince me to put it on, but once I did, I knew I had to have the dress for our yes date.

  I finished putting on my makeup in the bathroom and changed into the dress. When I came out, Sam was lying across the bed, checking his work email on his phone. I cleared my throat a few times to get his attention.

  “One sec, Jo, let me send out this one…last…thing. Okay, done. I’m all yours.” He lifted his eyes from the phone, and they practically fell out of his head. He sat upright. “You look sensational. What’s this dress?”

  I spun around. “I got it for tonight. You like?”

  He stood up. “I love.”

  I handed him his coat from the dresser. “Ready for the second half of the yes date?”

  “I don’t know how you’re going to top a pool made entirely of marshmallows, but I’m game to see you try.”

  Chapter Seven

  Next on the hit parade was the Café Carlyle, a kind of supper club that showcased Broadway and jazz musicians. We sipped on vodka martinis while waiting to listen to the vocal stylings of famed Broadway soprano Audra McDonald, set to perform that night. The room could only seat about ninety or so people, giving it a truly intimate feel. The space was a real throwback, with brightly painted murals and small banquets that put you so close to the stage you could practically touch it. Stephen was kind enough to pull a few strings to get me the tickets to an otherwise sold-out run. He’d cast Audra in one of her very first Broadway shows, and they’d maintained a nice friendship all these years later.

  The server came by to ask if we wanted anything to snack on. Since he wasn’t sure what was up next on the yes date agenda, Sam motioned to me to take the lead. I ordered us a few appetizers, a half dozen East Coast Oysters, Jumbo Shrimp Cocktail, and Steak Tartare. I passed the menus to the server, and Sam took my hands into his own.

  “I’m having a wonderful time,” he said.

  “I thought I might have to make up some ground after Candytopia.”

  “That’s why we’re so great together, Jo. I know sometimes I’m too serious, but I want to provide you with the kind of life you deserve. It’s why I work so hard.”

  I put my hand over his. “I keep telling you, I don’t need anything but you.”

  I meant it. When my mother died, my father was practically paralyzed with grief. Sam and Merritt took over, handling all the details of the funeral. Sam made calls, ordered flowers, and arranged all the cars to and from the service. He stepped up in a way I could never have imagined. We weren’t even engaged yet, and he was acting like a member of the family. If I wasn’t already head over heels for him, those few months gave me even more reason.

  The server brought out our food and set it on the table. Sam ordered us another round of drinks, picked up an oyster, drenched it in cocktail sauce, and quickly slurped it down.

  “Good?”

  He put an oyster on a plate and slid it toward me. “Try one.”

  I scrunched up my nose. “You know oysters aren’t really my thing.”

  “You don’t know what you’re missing,” Sam said, picking up the shell and throwing the oyster down like a shot. He smiled and wiped the sides of his mouth with a napkin before placing it back into his lap. “How many days ’til the wedding now?”

  I took my phone up out of my clutch, opened the wedding countdown app, and set it down on the table. “Fifty-two days, but who’s counting?”

  An announcer came over the intercom to say the show would be starting in a few minutes and asked everyone to please kindly turn off all cell phones. Sam took his phone out of his pocket, switched off the volume, and placed it beside mine. He leaned into the table and caressed the side of my face. “I know I’ve been a bit distracted, but I promise you, now that this deal is practically wrapped up, all my attention will be on the wedding.”

  I shifted in my seat.

  “I mean it. I know I’ve been a shit lately. How can I make things up to your sister?”

  “She’s in town one more day. Is there any way you can find some time to meet Alec tomorrow?”

  He leaned down, lifted my hand, and kissed the top of it. “Yes. I give you my word. I’ll make some time to see them all tomorrow before they fly out.”

  I smiled. “Thank you, Sam.”

  He peeked up at me from the table. “Now there’s that famous thousand-watt smile. I’ve been looking for it all day.” Sam looked down at his watch and grabbed his phone off the table. “My assistant should still be in the office, let me pop out and make a quick call to her to clear my morning schedule for Merritt.” He cupped my chin in his hands. “That smile better be waiting for me when I get back,” he teased.

  I forced an even larger grin on my face, and he laughed.

  He bent down and kissed my forehead. “You’re such a nut. I love you.”

  The server returned with the second round of drinks and placed them on the table. I took a few sips of the martini and noticed my phone vibrating on the table. I picked it up and realized it was Sam’s phone. He must’ve slipped mine into his pocket by mistake.

  “Sam, that’s my—”

  I turned to see if Sam was still within shouting distance, but he was already outside. I turned back and set the phone down, while the small band took to the stage and began tuning up. The phone rang again, and our server tapped me on the shoulder.

  “Miss, I have to ask you to please turn that off during the show.”

  “Yes, of course. I’m so sorry,” I whispered back.

  I picked the phone up and fumbled around for the off button, when a message popped up on the screen.

  Maybe I can tempt you with this.

  My fingers trembling, I typed what I thought was
Sam’s password into the keyboard. The phone didn’t open. The password used to be his birthday, he must have changed it? I tried a few more sets of numbers. Nothing. Then, I keyed in 1214 his parent’s address. It unlocked. A small number four hovered over his text message icon. I clicked it open, and three pictures of a woman wearing nothing but a pair of black lace garters and super high heels appeared on his phone. Her face was out of frame, but the rest of her was on full display. I clicked through the texts and read the last message.

  Sneak away from work when you can. I’ll be here waiting.

  I inhaled sharply and looked up from the screen. Sam was hurrying back into the room, waving my phone around in his hand.

  “I grabbed the wrong one,” he said, passing the phone back to me. “This is your phone.”

  A lump inched its way up my throat and settled firmly in the base. I tried coughing to clear it.

  Sam softened his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

  I moistened my lips and lifted his phone, the photo of the woman spread eagle across her white duvet opened up on the screen.

  Sam closed his eyes and sank down into his chair. “Fuck.”

  “Lucky for you, I think she’s completely game.”

  “Fuck,” Sam repeated.

  The lights dimmed, and Audra McDonald took to the small stage.

  I lowered my voice. “Are you having an affair?”

  Sam put his head in his hands, covering his eyes.

  “Sam, are you having an affair?” I asked again.

  He looked up from the ground, his face almost eye level to mine.

  I swallowed hard, tears streaming down my face. “Do I need to remind you, Clause Two stipulates the word ‘yes’ is the only—”

  “Yes,” he answered, his voice breaking with emotion. “Yes.”

  Chapter Eight

  Six months. That’s how long Sam had been seeing the girl in the photos. Six months. They met right after he proposed to me. She was manning the door at a club he and his work buddies liked to take clients to. Ironically, she was also a struggling actress, going out on auditions during the day and working bottle service at 1 OAK at night. Who knows, we may have even crossed paths a few times when she came into the Gerber Agency for this role or that one. I probably even gave her some words of encouragement or professional advice, something I liked to do for the actors just starting out.