Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Or maybe it's more the not thinking that does it. After all, thinking about relationships is typically overthinking about relationships. Too much introspection can turn even the best relationship into a source of pain. The same goes for relationships, vacations, life goals.
Obsessing over how we feel is a quick way to feel crappy. But ignoring it doesn't work either. We have to find a middle ground.
Maybe she knows something I don't. She and Romeo. Maybe we should do more and think less.
"I could say the same about you," I say.
"Ah, but I'm not a therapist. No one expects me to have my shit figured out."
As if. "Mer--"
"I know, I know. You're a hot mess." She pauses and takes a deep breath. Considering how to say something to me, maybe. That's not like her. "I know you've felt that way since your divorce. I know you felt that way when things were falling apart. But you never really showed it… I won't push you, either. You're a private person. And that's cool. Sharing secrets isn't the only way to deepen friendships, but it is hard… hearing how you're such a mess when I'm waking up in a different apartment every weekend."
"You're sexually liberated," I say.
"Yeah, sure, like Samantha Jones. That's how everyone remembers her. But she's using sex to cope, you know. She always goes for sex to avoid intimacy." There's a frustration in her voice. One I don't recognize.
"Is that why you're on a break?"
"Why else would I be on a break? Because I'm tired of having such great orgasms?" she asks.
I take a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Mer. I didn't realize."
"Because I didn't tell you. I get it. Neither of us is really great at sharing this way. But I wish we were. That we could. Because I love you and I want to be there for you. I do. And, fuck, I didn't want to go hard on the trials of the poor traveling upper middle-class woman. This isn't Eat, Pray, Fuck."
That’s the same joke Romeo made. Is my life really that much of a cliché or is it just that fun to reveal the subtext of the word love? "You always say Eat, Pray, Love is a really insightful book," I say.
"It is." She lets out a deep sigh. "It's so annoying how good it is. And how much it inspired me to go to this retreat."
"Hey, I'm the one loving after a divorce," I say. "You know. We actually talked about that."
"Love?"
"The book," I say. "He's read it."
"Really?" she asks. "No. I guess that would make sense. He's probably got a lot of women looking to reclaim their independence."
"Widows and divorcees," I say.
"You fit right in. But you're not distracting me." She perks. "Is it really good? The sex?"
"So good."
"Details!"
I give her the play by play of the afternoon. The words pour out of me. I don't feel embarrassed or shy. I want to share too much.
"Are you ready to record? We can do it now? Or… in the morning. But it will be ass-o-clock there, so maybe now."
"I don't know." It feels different, now that I'm here, now that his family is trusting me. "I don't have that long tonight. Can we do this tomorrow?"
"Okay. I'll text you my availability and set it up. Trust me, Ives. We need this. I need this. I don't have a book advance to pay for the rest of this trip."
Right.
She's counting on me.
And that comes first.
After we finish out chit-chat, I find the crew in the living room. For a moment, I watch all four of the Galantes, and soon to be Galantes, from my spot at the top of the stairs. The house is beautiful. Made for this kind of spying.
For someone to stay off, on the sidelines, while someone else delivers the action. That's what I've done forever, isn't it? I could step into things now. I could get messy, instead of stepping back, and asking how that makes people feel. Instead of hiding behind my ability to help other people figure their shit out.
My best friend is right. I am hiding. But, hey, right now I have a reason. This family thinks I'm someone I'm not.
Cynthia and Daniel aren't cozy, exactly, but they're not wearing the awkwardness of the afternoon either.
Maybe that's what Romeo is really good at. He keeps the peace with his family. He keeps the mood light. He keeps his cards close to the vest.
The way I do. The way I've done. But I don't want that anymore. Not with him. Not the same way.
I like him.
I really do.
And that's scary. Because the last person I liked was my ex-husband. And look how that turned out.
I know I shouldn't obsess over what happened or why. That's my brain, trying to pattern recognize, thinking If I just solve WHY this went bad, I'll never get hurt again. But it's not true.