Page 108 of Is This for Real?
“Oh, that’s good,” Zelda says, and then after a suspicious pause, asks, “Where are you?”
“I’m on the floor,” I say.
“Go write what you’re feeling,” she says. “C’mon. It always helps you to write it out. And if you get your happily ever after, you won’t remember this feeling.”
“I can’t. I’m too tired.”
“Try later, then,” Zelda says. “I’ll come home by five, and we can go to your walking group. I’ll join the running group. You’ve been after me to join the running group.”
“I was going to cancel.” My pillow is very fluffy and soft. The sky looks white outside the balcony sliding glass door. Not tempting at all.
“It’ll be good for you to get outside and do some exercise.”
Not really. But I do want Zelda to meet Kareem.
“Okay.” I get up and go to snuggle in the very warm, cozy comforter on my bed.
But my thoughts swirl and won’t let me rest. I shouldn’t have opened myself up to this heartache. Better to be safe. I don’t want to hurt like this again. And it’s so hard when there’s no guarantee. No guarantee that it will last forever. And if I put myself out there, open up emotionally, rejection hurts so much more. And I start to cry. I cry for Rory, but also for all my book rejections.
Because it’s been a lot.
And each time, I’ve just said “okay” and moved on—not allowing myself to wallow.
Each time, I’ve sat back down at my keyboard, revised, or continued writing because I believe in my book. And myself.
I can take this. I am stronger than I think.
I get out of bed, sit at the dining room table, power up my laptop, and write my feelings down, putting it all into theFake Dating Follybreakup scene. At least it’s free therapy.
I pour my heartache out onto the page. And then I stop, drained. I reread it and cry. And then I send it as this week’s chapter to my writing group. Now I’ll just lie down for a bit.
“Maybe Rory does just need some time to deal with his parents’ mess,” Zelda says. We’re walking at a fast pace to meet my walking group and Kareem’s running group. “How long did he suggest for the break?”
“We never got that far because I said it was a breakup.” So many couples are running in the park. There should be a singles-only section.
“Way to pour oil on the fire,” Zelda says.
“His mother said she was going on a break, and his dad is freaking out, so I don’t think I’m overreacting. A ‘break’ seems like a breakup to me.” My heartrate is accelerating as we pick up the pace. Zelda is in much better shape than me. She likes to run to work off stress from her law firm job. “And shouldn’t we be able to work this out together? Why is he pushing me away? We’re not going to last as a relationship if we take breaks every time one of us goes through something difficult.”
“Says the woman who never wants people to see her cry. Maybe he really is trying to protect your relationship if he realizes he’s wrongly lashing out at you.”
“I should have opened up to him more. Maybe I wasn’t there for him enough.” The dirt pathway under our sneakers gives slightly. We turn at the hot dog stand and pass by the Shakespeare in the Park theatre. The smell of pancakes from the vendor up ahead drifts down, reminding me of Rory and all our shared breakfasts. "But I think that this really is his issue with his parents."
She nods. “Really, listening is the most important thing. That’s what I learned with you.”
I stop and hug her. “It’s true. I think his parents going on a break is giving him an identity crisis, like he doesn’t trust himself anymore.”
“Divorce can be like a death; it’s still a loss of that family unit. And particularly for Rory, who is so close to his family.”
We skirt around the field and walk up the pathway toward the road that runs through Central Park.
“I know,” I say. “And his dad shouldn’t be using him as a confidante.”
“Did you tell him that?”
“I did. It didn’t go over well.” The Metropolitan Museum of Art is now in view. I can even see the roof deck where we saw the sculptures. Now, none of my balls are still in the air—except for my one outstanding pitch to Strawbundle Publishing. The school rejected me, too. I don’t have enough teaching experience.
“It’s better not to have regrets,” she says. “Like when you liked Jamie and I told you to tell him. Even though it didn’t work out, you did your best. And you can’t have any regrets about that.”
