Page 32 of The Delivery

“Okay, what? We’ll break up or find therapy?” Dale is annoyed. He’s crossing his arms. This isn’t something you just agree to without hours of analysis, not something you shrug at and stifle a yawn.

“You said yourself last time we went through this you and I were living together like strangers.”

“What are you going to do? Try to find a new place?”

“I haven’t gotten that far yet, Dale. You just asked me two seconds ago.”

“Why the sudden acquiescence? You were always the one who refused to budge.”

Because every time I come into contact with Mozey Cruz I suddenly wake up.

“Because you’re right. I’m just stubborn and scared. It’s not worth it anymore to torture you with my reluctance. I bring apathy to this relationship. I know I’m guilty.”

Dale just nods at me and purses his lips. He’s probably trying like hell not to grab the closest box and throw all of my shit in it. To the left, Lana. To the left, to the left.

“This doesn’t have anything to do with you seeing that old client of yours in jail, does it?”

I take the last sip of wine from my mug and set it and the phone down on the kitchen table before I answer.

“It has everything and nothing to do with it. And he’s in detention, not jail.”

“You’re such a bad liar. That’s illegal, you know. You could lose your license.”

“For going to visit an ex-client in detention who needs a little advice. I highly doubt it. You’re searching for reasons.”

I feel like he wants to fight and that’s not where I’m going with this. I don’t have a drop of malice for this man who’s been an amazing friend and companion.

“Listen, Dale you’re right, it’s time. I love your filmmaking, and your passion for people. Your homemade brew even when it turns out sour and your impeccable green thumb. I love your Carbonara from your grandma’s recipe and all those nights we spent eating takeout and watching old movies. But you’re the one who always says we could never get married. It’s you who thinks we’re just killing time in this relationship.”

Dale just walks into the living room without saying anything. And that’s when I know for sure its due time and this isn’t a mistake. After two years, Dale and I are over, and I didn’t even hear either one of our hearts break.

I spend the next four days moving everything I own into storage, and holy crap, it’s cathartic. Had I known how good it could feel to get rid of all your shit, I’d have hauled it to the dump ages ago. I’m light and free and full of creative ideas.

I sit in the bedroom with the balcony door wide open and watch random passersby survey my pile of goods I’ve left on the sidewalk. They peruse my books and my vinyl records with care as if they’re shopping at a real store. I crack myself up by popping up and shouting down to tell them they’ll like it.

Some people look up, shield their eyes from the sun and say thanks. Others drop whatever they’re holding like a hot potato and run away with the fear that they’ve been caught red handed. As the day dawdles on and I’ve eaten four peanut butter and banana sandwiches, my pile slowly walks away, each part of it holding hands with a new stranger. I spoon out the very last slug of peanut butter from the jar. For some reason I’m being mean because I’ve got the burn to finish it all and leave the empty jar in the cabinet. Dale never kept track of when we were running out of things, but when they turned up empty it was always my fault. Congratulations, Dale! Here’s to your new life with no toilet paper.

I’m sorting through my clothes when I decide to call Lexi. I often call him on his lunch and we chat for a minute. I put him on speakerphone, and he answers with a garbled, “Hello.”

“Why the hell you answer with a full mouth, bruh, first fucking chew and then swallow.”

Lex snorts at my rudeness and smacks his lips.

I pick up my coffee cup and slurp as loud as possible.

Then we’re both laughing, and Lex asks, “What’s up?”

“I broke up with Dale. I’m moving out tomorrow.”

“Really? Where are you moving? Did you find a new job?”

“Not yet, but don’t worry, Lex. I’m feeling really good about this.”

“So weird, because you know, I just spoke with Mozey last night, and he said he saw you. Said that you were in a committed relationship. That you wouldn’t really talk to him.”

Oh the truth hurts like a bitch. Especially when it surprise socks you in the face. A swift kick to the gut just to illustrate how mean you come off when you’re trying to protect yourself.

“He said that? When did you talk to him? I wasn’t that mean. I told him I would try to help him.”

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