The Groundbreaking Part

Friday morning

“Please direct your attention to our latest subject. Jessica Johnson, age 29, a computer programmer, who lives alone. It appears that she has been in a romantic comedy vortex for the past couple of days. This sadly is not an isolated incident. Her mother/the person funding this case, Mae Johnson, says that Jessica has been telling her she’s dedicating time to herself” snickered the newest Director of the Should’ve Been Married Already department of Those in Need Inc. “Let’s not laugh, people. I know it is a comical and common excuse, but let’s get back to work. This poor woman is running out of time.”

I laughed along with palpable guilt. Here I was, single for the longest time I had ever been in my life, age 31, no kids, and working for a company that only employs people in “happy, progressing” relationships. I, Della Ford, am a fraud. Yes, I spoke in third person because I want you to grasp the disgust, I feel for myself.

Work drudged on and my performance intensified. First, Dina asked what venue Quincy and I were going to use for the wedding. I smiled with a lump in the back of my throat. My body temperature elevating past the functional level. Showing off pictures, vision boards, color palettes, and flower arrangements to sell my excitement for the pending nuptials. After being debriefed on all our new clients, the daily romance conversations and debates I used to thrive on, commenced. I made several 10-minute visits to the restroom. Instead of eating lunch in the communal room, I walked outside. It started to drizzle, and I was hoping that the puddles I stepped into would pull me under, so I would not have to return to my job. I have never been a recipient of good luck, so I was forced to return to work after my hour break. To justify walking in the rain, I had to tell my co-workers that I had an appointment to put the finishing touches on my gift to my soon-to-be-husband.

Now it is the end of the day and somehow my heart is still beating. My legs are carrying me to my Uber. I’m checking the license plate and then my intrusive supervisor screams out my name. My eyes could not have gone further into the back of my head but when my face met hers, I presented her with my gleeful sincere look. I have been practicing, so it did not come off disingenuous.

“I want to have a dinner with you and your fiancé. Quincy is the only significant other I have not meant. Everyone has stellar reviews on him. I have been told without inquiry that the connection between the two of you is electric and I must witness that energy in person.”

“Oh, that is so sweet. It really fuels your pride in your relationship when people can feel the trueness of your love. Let’s do this Sunday!” I said being as unfathomably pretentious and robotic as she was. Almost slamming my left leg in the car door trying to get away from her.

“Stupendous! I’ll text with the rundown” she screamed into the foggy grey air. I chipped my nail rolling up the window to shut out the echo of her voice. To block out the wave of stupidity that must have washed over me to agree to dinner.”

Sometime Saturday, who cares what time of day I woke up. Who knows what time my brain succumbed to silence last night?

“Hello! Hello! Hello! Daughter! Child of mine! I know you heard the bell, the knocks, and I’m pretty sure you’ve declined my last 3 phone calls, though I can’t prove it. Open the door, now! I will call the police for a wellness check and you'll be so embarrassed. They’ll find you in the corner of living room, naked with ratty blankets on you, unbathed, teeth not brushed.”

“Ma, I must have been in the shower with the music too loud again. So sorry! I didn’t hear the door or your calls” I said pulling her into my arms and into the apartment quickly. I figured the longer I held her close, the more time I would have to avoid her judgmental and disappointed glare. To be honest it had been a while since I had embraced someone who loved me and I them.

“I know you’re lying but I’m not even mad anymore. Just feels so good to be hugging you.”

We finally had to let go and I was preparing to wear the same disguise I had been masquerading around with at work. My moms' eyes would not allow it though. My head was so heavy it just laid itself right on her lap, my feet curled up to my butt and I felt like this was the only place I could be myself. We sat there, savoring an interaction we had not had in years. My mom broke the silence as moms' do.

“I needed to see you in person. I’ve been thinking that this is the first time you’ve been single for more than 3 months since you were about 10. I know it must be overwhelming with the type of job you have and with the expectations you have for your life. Let’s stop putting a timeline on our happiness. I have been guilty of it in my life, and I’ve projected that onto you. You don’t want to be a 60-year-old widow unsure of who you are and how you got to this point in your life.”

I deposited so much snot and tears on my mom’s cloud textured skirt. Eventually the emotional exhaustion escalated past management and I fell asleep. When I awoke, all the beautiful aromas of spring were parading through my apartment. Sadness must formulate unpleasant odor particles though because I had to press my arms and legs together, waddling to the tub to contain the smells oozing from my skin.

I waited for the water to be just under hot and dropped the all-natural bath bomb in. Once I eased my body in, reality started rushing back into my psyche. My mom wasn't in my apartment earlier because she passed away over 5 years ago. I had no friends in this city because I moved across country with a man, I am not 100% sure ever loved me. How could he when I was handfeeding him the woman, I thought he wanted for 2 years? I was choosing to be a fraud at a job, he had found for me. My Joan Ford dream or hallucination was as potent as the woman herself always was.

Sunday morning

Let us speed through how Saturday night went because I want to get to the groundbreaking part. I tried to make a list of activities and places I really enjoyed. Had a bit of a breakdown because most of those things corralled around some guy I dated. Saw that my director had texted me twice about meeting up for the double date and I elected not to respond. I turned the radio up loud and screamed until my voice cracked. Compiled the scraps of food in my fridge and ate all of it. Boiled eggs, last bit of Haagen Dazs, cold shreds of a rotisserie chicken, and some crackers. Took a powerful poop. Started doodling on my bathroom wall (not with poop, obviously) and remembered that was something I used to do all the time. Something that was all mine.

The Groundbreaking Part

I have decided to take myself on a date for the first time ever. An all-day date. Not returning home until I was intoxicated from loving on myself. Hell, maybe I’d have a sip or two, too. All spontaneous destinations. Sparing no expense.

I threw on my baggiest sweatpants, a form fitting crop top, worn down running sneakers and headed out the door without a pre-determined expression on my face. After I walked in no particular direction for 20 minutes, the smell of caramel pulled me across the street so fast I almost tripped over the curb. I had these salted caramel stuffed pancakes with eggs over easy and Canadian bacon. The impulse to lick the plate was severe but I resisted. I thought it was classier to wipe the plate with my finger then clean my finger with my tongue.

I left there and the sun became more prominent. The trees stood proud with the light beaming off their greenery. I walked so far. Through parks, down crowded streets, through Hallmark movie-like neighborhoods. Rented a bike for about 2 hours and rode for the first time in years. I sped across some streets letting go of the handlebars when I was feeling in my element. My uncontrollable laughing confusing me and the people I passed. It hit me at my first red light in 10 blocks that I had spent about 4 hours with myself and I was the furthest from miserable I had been in a long time. Post-Quincy, during Quincy, and pre- Quincy. Then I attempted a simple trick, bust my ass, and promptly returned the bike. Made a note in my phone that buying a bike was a priority, though.

Saw what I figured was a county fair about an hour into my bike ride and chose to take an Uber back there. I rode on all the kiddie rides, which were a lot scarier than they appeared. I destroyed some kid in whack-a-mole. Lost an earring my second time on the Tilt-A-Whirl. Went on the Ferris Wheel and took pictures of what was above me and those that roamed beneath me. All at once I felt grander than everyone on the planet and like the world would go on rotating on its axis if I stayed on this ride forever. I wanted to stay frozen in time at the top of the Ferris Wheel and simultaneously jump down and start living my life for me. I was lowered down and when I placed my feet on the ground, I made the resolution to leave this no-name town, travel from city to city, state to state to locate the place where I could root myself.

I took an Uber to the closest mall and embarked on the acquisition of an outfit I could feel glamorous, sexy, and confident in.

…

The moonlight followed me like a spotlight on an empty stage. It was a cool night, but my skin was radiating from my changing aura. I smelled of butter from the cocoa bean itself. I paid for a full-face makeover and gave the artist free reign to create the look she saw fit. She killed it, brought out aspects of my face I never knew could be highlighted.

Every inch of brown skin felt cared for. Nurtured. Respected. The silk golden fabric caressed me. The dress draped from my right collar bone to my left elbow with a significant split at the bottom. It was cinched at the waist I forgot I had. My neck stayed perpendicular to the cobblestone ground reflecting my pride.

I went into the fanciest and least consumed restaurant I could find and requested a booth for one. I ordered a glass of the most expensive Merlot on their menu and sipped slowly, resting my back against the surprisingly cozy booth. Had to start lacing the warm bread with butter because I assumed my lobster tail and medium rare steak would take a while. The bread was nearing my mouth when I hesitated and took out my phone to send a text.

Hello Mrs. Peters, I should have responded to your text sooner. I also should not have been lying. My fiancé and I have been broken up for over 5 months. I am unable to continue my employment with Those in Need Inc for my own well-being. If I could give two weeks’ notice I would but I cannot step foot in that building again.

I put my phone back in my purse, closed my eyes, took a hefty breath in and with intention parted my lips to release the air.