Breakup Boot Camp

by Beth Merlin

  “Maybe I’m more over my ex than I realized,” I teased. “What about you? Up for some Shakespeare?”

  “Nah, it’s not really my thing.”

  “Theater, or Romeo and Juliet specifically?”

  “Romeo and Juliet were, what, like fourteen when they met? High schoolers? If you ask me, that’s way too young to know what love really is, let alone go to pieces over.”

  I looked down. “I met my ex in high school my freshman year. I was around fourteen.”

  He gently tipped up my chin. “I hope you know I’m not judging you for being at the Boot Camp,” he said.

  “I’m judging me, so I wouldn’t blame you one bit.”

  He rubbed the scruff on his face and locked into my gaze. “Nah, not my style.”

  God, he had beautiful eyes. Like the Atlantic Ocean off Topsail, they were iridescent and flecked with every shade of blue. They were the kind of eyes you could get lost in, and for just a moment, I did.

  Todd pointed down the cobblestone street. “Want to check out the farmers market? It’s just a little bit farther down that way.”

  “Umm, sure, I guess. I have a little more time.”

  We approached the Topsail Farmers Market, which put even the Los Angeles Farmers Market to shame. Spread out across a huge fairway were carts and stands with farm fresh corn, organic berries, heirloom tomatoes, purple carrots, fields of greens, lettuce, broccoli, and kale. There were local merchants selling fresh eggs, local honey, pickles, handmade artisan goat cheese, fresh bread, homemade jam, and fresh fish and seafood.

  Todd took my hand and guided me to a stand on the far side of the market. “Oh, good, my favorite vendor’s here. You have to taste this woman’s melons.” He let go of my hand. “Sorry, I’m just realizing how bad that sounded.”

  I laughed for the first time in what seemed like months, and it felt wonderful.

  He escorted me around to his usual stands and introduced me to the merchants he liked to buy from. I tasted my way through the market, savoring new foods and flavors, while Todd worked out the dinner menu for the hotel.

  He picked up large seedless watermelons and fresh mint from the herb stand for a chilled watermelon soup and zucchini blossoms for an Asian tempura-inspired appetizer. We made our way over to the seafood tents, where the fishmongers had their different catches of the day strewn out over trays of crushed ice.

  “I’ll take six pounds of the striped bass,” Todd said to the merchant.

  “Striped bass? Isn’t that what you were catching off the jetty?” I asked.

  “Mine were piddly little guys. Daniel over here,” he said, patting the back of a tall guy with a backwards cap and bright yellow men’s fishing waders, “knows where to catch the big boys.”

  Daniel laughed and turned to face me. He had a handsome face that was slightly weather-worn, giving him a more rugged appearance than Todd. “I keep telling him he’s not using the right bait.”

  “My bait’s outstanding. What I don’t have is a deep-sea fishing boat. I asked Retreat House for one, but I don’t think it’s in the budget.”

  “Well, you’re welcome on my boat anytime. You too, pretty lady,” Daniel said, winking at me.

  My cheeks heated up.

  “Do you work over at the Retreat House with Todd?” he asked.

  “I’m a guest there.”

  Daniel glanced over at Todd. “So now that you’re done sleeping your way through the staff, you’re hitting on the guests?” Daniel handed me a flower from the table display. “Don’t let his nice-guy persona fool you, pretty lady. This guy’s a cad of the first order.”

  I don’t know why I was surprised by Daniel’s comment. Todd was a handsome, charming, world-renowned chef living in seaside resort town, of course he’d have his fun. But, I didn’t intend to be another notch in his bedpost. According to Emmy, a meaningless fling was the surest way to get over an ex. There was a part of me that desperately wanted to test her hypothesis, to see if I could erase the last fifteen years with Sam in a single night. But, I didn’t know how to separate lust from love, feelings from fever. For me, with Sam, those things had always been one and the same.

  “Dan, how much do I owe you for the bass?” Todd asked, his voice now a bit more on edge.

  “I’ll take one forty even.”

  Todd pulled a wad of cash out of his pocket and counted out the bills before passing them over. Daniel took the money, stuffed it into his money pouch, and passed over the wrapped fish.

  “Be sure to stop by the table tomorrow. I’m taking the boat over to Stump Sound for oysters.”

  “Where’s that?” I asked.

  “The backside of Topsail Island’s north end, near enough to the Atlantic to create a salty oyster, but sheltered from strong currents, making them easy to farm. You should come with me and check it out,” Daniel said.

  “I’ll text you in the morning if I can make it,” Todd said.

  Daniel turned to me. “What about you?”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah, want to try your hand at oyster harvesting? Low tide’s around 11:00. That’s the best time to go.”

  “I don’t know. I’d have to see what I have going on tomorrow.”

  “Joanna’s staying at the Retreat House for a Breakup Boot Camp,” Todd said flatly.

  I did a double take. For someone who, less than an hour ago, told me he didn’t judge me for taking part in the Boot Camp, his tone certainly sounded disapproving.

  Some local shoppers started to crowd the tent. The guys working at the stand were tossing wrapped fish back and forth like I’d seen the fishmongers do at the Pike Place Fish Market in Seattle.

  “Breakup camp, so, you’re single then?” Daniel said with a twinkle in his eye.

  I was momentarily mesmerized by the flying fish. “What? Oh, right. I guess I am single.”

  “I should get back to the hotel to start prepping dinner. Your ankle must be pretty sore. Can I give you a ride back on my bike?” Todd asked.

  “That’s okay. I was gonna walk. There are a few more places I want to check out in town before heading back.” I reached into my backpack and pulled out the book from the pirate shop. “But, before I forget, this is for you.”

  “What’s this?”

  “Something to thank you for helping me off the rocks.”

  Todd took the package and held it to his chest.

  “So, tomorrow? The oysters?” Daniel asked again.

  “Sure, man, I’ll join you,” Todd answered, “but only if Joanna agrees to come.”

  “I’ll tell you what, I’ll go oyster harvesting if you’ll see Romeo and Juliet with me.”

  “Deal.”

  Chapter Twenty

  The next morning, I woke up at 5:00, threw back a couple of Advil just in case my ankle started to act up again, and joined Emmy at the surf school. The crew at the whitewashed shed with the words Happiness Comes in Waves spray-painted across the front door, fitted us with wet suits and boards and sent us down the beach to join the rest of the class. The session lasted about two hours, with the instructors giving a short introduction of the surf spot, going through the safety rules, and presenting the surfing equipment. We did a warm-up on land, followed by instruction on how to position our bodies on the board, how to pop up, and basic steering maneuvers.

  Afterward, we moved into the white water, the part of the wave that has already broken. Austin, the head of the surf school, explained that the white water is the most forgiving part of the wave, as it doesn’t have much speed or power and is the best place to practice the basic techniques, starting with paddling.

  “Use the crawl stroke in order to maintain a constant speed, all the while controlling your breathing, just as you would when jogging,” Austin yelled from his board.

  We all followed suit, paddling farther into the white water. Austin turned his board around to face us.

  “After you’ve gotten comfortable with lying on your surfboard and paddling, it’s time for th
e pop up. You want to start out in a low-balance position and then extend the legs and recover your balance like this.” Austin placed his hands on the front end of the surfboard, then, like a jungle cat perusing prey, he sprang up from his knees to a full stance.

  I tried to mimic Austin’s motions, my wobbly knees almost giving way. I pushed all my weight down into my throbbing ankles, sucked in my core, threw my arms open for balance, and somehow managed to stay upright. Emmy looked over at me, giving me two large thumbs-up.

  After another twenty minutes, when we began to show some mastery of the pop up, Austin led us from the white water to unbroken waves, also known as green waves, to play with our speed and learn to turn in both directions.

  Austin sprang up on his board. “When choosing which wave to catch, you want to look at the horizon line, compare the skyline with the wave’s angle, identify the highest point of the wave, and then paddle toward it. Try to notice if the waves are organized with predictable peaks that begin to break in roughly the same place. If the peaks are shifty and erratic, steer clear. Another, more stable wave will come,” Austin said.

  Emmy paddled over to me and whispered, “Good advice for choosing a wave and a man.” She wasn’t wrong.

  We spent the next hour on the water working on different skills, while Austin and the other instructors circled around on their boards, sharing pointers, tips, and tricks. Maybe it was her extensive dance training or just pure ability, but Emmy already looked like a pro. She caught wave after wave, elegantly riding them to the shore before paddling back out to the break.

  Once I mastered the pop up and fully appreciated my center of gravity, I started to improve. By the end of the lesson I’d managed to wrangle a few waves, staying upright for at least half of them.

  Austin blew on his whistle and waved his hands in the air. “Come on everyone, let’s bring it on in.”

  I paddled back to the beach, dragging the board, which was still attached to my good ankle, back onto the sand.

  “What’d you think?” Austin asked.

  “Surfing is way more of a workout than I realized. Puts Benji’s Bridal Boot Camp to shame.”

  “Benji’s Bridal Boot Camp?”

  “A fitness class with a bit of a cult following in New York City.”

  “And you were one of its blind disciples?’

  I cracked a smile. “The blindest.”

  Emmy came up behind us. “How freakin’ amazing were those waves? That last set was sick.”

  “Sick,” Austin repeated, giving her a high five. “I know that look—you’re hooked, aren’t you?”

  “I already called my manager to start looking at houses on the beach in Malibu.”

  Austin shook his head, smiling before heading back to the shed.

  Emmy turned to me. “I’m gonna take a shower and then grab some green juice at the spa. What are you up to?”

  “I have a session with Dr. P at 9:00.”

  “Lucky you,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Want to meet up at the pool afterward?”

  Before I could answer, Todd came down the beach with his surfboard, his tight black wet suit emphasizing his fit body and muscular physique. He bent down at the shoreline, pooled some water in his hand, and used it to slick his sandy hair back and out of his eyes.

  Emmy pushed her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose. “Well, hellooooo, gorgeous,” she said, mimicking Barbara Streisand perfectly. “Who is he?”

  “The hotel chef, Todd Aldrich.”

  “That’s Todd Aldrich? No wonder Louisa’s keeping him locked away in the kitchen. You know, there’s a rumor she used to date someone on the staff. I wonder if it was him?”

  “You think he’s the breakup that pushed her over the edge?”

  “Oh yeah. You’d need to create a Boot Camp to get over that fine ass.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Dr. P handed the burn letter back to me. “You certainly didn’t pull any punches, did you?”

  “Wasn’t that the exact point of the burn letter?” I asked.

  “Oh yes, it’s just that some of my patients take the exercise more seriously than others, and you certainly took it seriously. I don’t think I’ve actually seen the f-word in print that many times . . . ever.”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “I was angry.”

  “I know, but the question remains, who is it, exactly, that you’re angry with?”

  I sat more upright. “Sam, of course.”

  Dr. P held out his hand and motioned his fingers toward his body. I passed him back the burn letter, and he flipped to the fourth page. “You know, you spend a good portion of this letter talking about your career.”

  “I wanted to be an actress, but instead, I work in casting.”

  “Let me repeat your statement back to you. You wanted to be an actress, but instead, you work in casting instead. I didn’t hear Sam’s name once in that sentence.”

  “I don’t know when it was, exactly, but at some point, my career took a back seat to his. Sam’s career was the one that was going to set us both up for the future, and I put all my stock in him. I understood that Sam’s career was for us, for our future, whereas my career was, I don’t know, it became more of a hobby.”

  “Didn’t you tell me Sam was the one who encouraged you to audition for NYU?”

  “What he really wanted was for me to audition for Julliard, but I didn’t think there was any chance I’d get in.”

  “That doesn’t exactly sound like a non-supportive partner to me. What it sounds like is projection. Projection is a psychological defense mechanism by which individuals attribute characteristics they find unacceptable in themselves to another person. In your case, I wonder if you’ve managed to convince yourself that it was Sam who didn’t want you to pursue an acting career, when perhaps the real obstacle was your own fear of failure.”

  I could feel my jaw and neck muscles clenching up. I thought back to when Stephen presented me the full-time position with The Gerber Agency. Over take-out Chinese food on our beaten-up leather couch, Sam and I talked through the offer, Sam even going so far as to write out a pros/cons list. On the pro side, he was sure working side by side with the best casting director in the world would give me insight into the industry and a better understanding of what top directors were looking for. In the con column, he noted that the job might take time away from auditions and acting classes.

  In the end, Sam felt the networking opportunities I’d have working with someone like Stephen Gerber offset any negatives, but, if I was being honest with myself, he never pushed me one way or the other. Back then, my partying took precedent over my acting career. Fresh off a slew of missed auditions and harsh rejections, I was the one who made the final call, accepting the position and taking myself out of the acting game. For good.

  After that, with each promotion, Sam would remind me I’d made the right call. For him, advancement equaled success, and in his estimation, my achievements far outweighed any regrets I might have. But, as the years went by and I saw dozens of other actresses winning the roles I dreamed of playing, the resentment began to build. I viewed Sam’s encouragement to continue advancing with Stephen as proof positive he didn’t believe in my talent, and after a while, neither did I.

  I cleared my throat. “I’ve never looked at things that way before.”

  Dr. P uncrossed his legs and put down his notebook. “This process isn’t about placing blame. One of the problems with pointing fingers is that both parties are right, and both are wrong, but you can only change your part in the equation. Joanna, all of us have flaws and ways that we attempt to defend ourselves from hurt, disappointment, or even grief.”

  “Grief?”

  “You also mention your mother’s death in the letter.”

  “Aren’t these sessions supposed to be about Sam and our breakup?”

  “Our sessions can be about anything that helps you better understand your role in the place you now find yourself in your life.”

&n
bsp; “I don’t want to talk about her, my mother. I don’t see how she’s relevant.”

  “We don’t have to talk about your mother until you’re ready.”

  “And what if I’m never ready?”

  “Do you want my honest answer?”

  I nodded.

  “I think you’ll keep finding yourself back here. Not at the Boot Camp, that’s not what I mean, but in this same place, emotionally. As the saying goes, we are bound to repeat what we do not repair. It’s human nature.” Dr. P glanced down at his wristwatch. “This seems like a good place to stop for today.”

  “What time is it?”

  He stood up from the big leather armchair and tucked his notebook under the crook of his arm. “It’s 9:45. I hope you took my advice from the last session and signed up for some of the activities going on at the resort?”

  “Actually, I’m going oyster harvesting in Stump Sound at 11:00.”

  “Well, doesn’t that sound just incredible? I had no idea the hotel ran excursions to Stump Sound. Let’s hope you get lucky.”

  “Lucky?”

  “Oyster harvesting. You never know, you may end up finding a pearl.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  By the time I walked over to the dock from the hotel, Todd was already loading supplies onto a small motorboat.

  “You made it. I wasn’t sure if you would,” he said, flashing a wide smile.

  “We made a deal, didn’t we?” I passed him my backpack, and he set it down in the boat before helping me inside. “Where’s your friend from the fish stand? Daniel, right?”

  “Something came up, but since I’d already committed Oysters Rockefeller to the dinner menu, he let me borrow the boat for the day.”

  I eased down onto the boat’s small bench. “Do you even know how to harvest oysters?”

  “I’ve never done it before, but I watched a YouTube video this morning, so we should be good to go.”

  “Seriously?”

  He chuckled. “Nah, I’ve tagged along with Daniel dozens of times, so don’t worry, you’re in very capable hands.”