The Journal of Mortifying Moments

by Robyn Harding

  Since Tiffany’s letter, I’ve become increasingly reflective. I can see how her mother thought Tiffany should have stayed and faced her problems, but on the other hand, wiping the slate clean and starting over makes a lot of sense, too. That course of action is really very appealing to me. Of course, I’m not a teenager with no responsibilities who can just drop everything and leave town, but I can’t help but admire Tiffany for taking that step. Sometimes, things are beyond fixing and are better left behind.

  “Hey . . .” Sam sits on the arm of the sofa beside me, interrupting my reverie. “Spiced apple cider?” He holds a steaming mug out to me.

  “Thanks.” I smile up at him then take a sip. Ugh. Hot apple juice has never been my thing.

  “Are you okay?” Sam asks quietly.

  “Yeah, I’m just not a real fan of apple cider.”

  “That’s not what I mean.”

  “Oh. Well . . . I’ve just been thinking. Can we take a walk?”

  We stroll down the street to Elliott Bay Park. The day is cool and crisp, and we are bundled up appropriately, one of us in a plethora of hemp yarn. The icy spray of the ocean mists us lightly, the salt air clearing our heads after so many days cooped up in my mom’s condo without meat or wheat or white sugar.

  “So?” Sam finally says, filling the long silence between us. “What’s going on, Kerry? You’ve been quiet the entire holiday.”

  I am tempted to launch into an excuse about spending Christmas with my mom and Darrel causing me anxiety attacks, but I know the time has come. I look up at him, and my eyes fill with tears.

  “What?” he says, his handsome face full of concern. “Tell me.”

  “Sam . . . I . . . I don’t think this is working anymore.”

  “Sorry?”

  I take him by his mittened hand and lead him to a picnic bench along the path. When we’re seated, I speak again. “I just . . . I don’t feel that . . . I’m sorry, Sam.”

  “What are you talking about?” He is quietly angry.

  “Well . . .,” I begin, but my voice trails off. I really should have rehearsed what I was going to say, but I hadn’t realized this would happen so soon. How do I explain? Should I divulge the fact that I’ve been seeing a therapist for over a year, largely due to the effect our relationship has had on me? And do I really want to reveal that I’ve been keeping a diary of all my negative relationship experiences in which he plays a supporting, but pivotal role?

  I can’t help but feel like the journal of mortifying moments was integral in bringing me to this decision. By rereading all my journal entries, my therapist and I were able to discern a pattern to my past disasters. The majority of them were just flukes, coincidences, bad choices, or bad luck. If the objective of this diary was to absolve myself of blame, then in most cases, it worked like a charm. I now realize that I couldn’t help it if an eleven-year-old foreigner was too frightened to neck with me behind the kissing bush. And I could hardly stop my nose from bleeding if it wanted to, could I? As for making out with a thief and my cousin—I’d say those were a combination of bad luck and bad choices. If gauzy scarves were treated with some kind of flame retardant, that mortifying moment would never have happened! As for the tape on the forehead—well, that was just plain forgetfulness.

  There were only three entries that I actually had to accept responsibility for: the disastrous attempt at devirgining in high school, Hugh’s diving instructor orgy, and Sam’s unceremonious dumping of me. And here’s where the real pattern emerged. In every relationship, I had been trying desperately to be someone that I wasn’t.

  In high school, I had wanted to be the girlfriend of the cool guy, the future NBA star (which, of course, never came to fruition). God, I don’t think Brent and I ever had a meaningful conversation, and yet I wasted a year of my young life with him! The demise of that relationship was inevitable.

  And in retrospect, I knew Hugh wasn’t the right guy for me, I knew that relationship wasn’t working. But at the time I thought, “He’s a doctor—a brilliant, handsome saver of lives who will one day be very wealthy.” So instead of being strong enough to end it, I tried to change myself to better suit him. I molded myself into the perfect “doctor’s girlfriend,” planning an extravagant white wedding. I even wore pearls for a while! I shouldn’t have been surprised that Hugh cheated on me. I wasn’t being true to myself, so how could I expect him to be?

  With Sam . . . well, all this time I’d been thinking that there must be something wrong with me. I’m so lucky to be with him, so . . . why am I not happy? Sam is perfect! He’s successful and charming! He drives a Mercedes! He’s a cross between Patrick Dempsey and JFK Jr., for heaven’s sake! What girl wouldn’t want to be with him?

  Of course, I had come to the conclusion that all our problems must be my fault (a theory I’m sure my mother would wholeheartedly support, but I’m not about to ask her). So, I’d been trying to morph myself into “the fiancée of an extraordinarily good-looking, ridiculously successful property developer.” Unfortunately, the transformation was accompanied by overwhelming jealousy, debilitating insecurity, and warped body image.

  So that’s what I learned: If you are not being true to yourself in a relationship, then it is not meant to be. And at the risk of sounding like Dr. Rainbow Hashwarma, if a relationship is not meant to be, it will end itself. And in my case anyway, relationships end themselves in really horrific and humiliating scenarios. It’s better to beat them to the punch.

  Unfortunately, articulating all this to Sam would be a little more difficult.

  “Well . . . I’ve learned a lot about myself over the past year.”

  “Okay?”

  “I’ve learned that I really, really need to be true to myself and with you . . . I’m different.”

  “Different how?” His voice is cold; his anger contained just under the surface.

  “Look,” I say with a heavy sigh. “I know I’m far from perfect: I can be clumsy, I have consistently poor judgment, I cry too easily and eat too much icing without the cake. . . .”

  He is looking at me like I left “I’m a babbling idiot” off the list.

  “But that’s who I am, Sam,” I continue. “And despite all my flaws, I think I’m a pretty good person. But when I’m in a relationship with you, I try to be something that I’m not. I try to be poised and perfect and beautiful.”

  “But you are, Kerry!”

  “I’m not!” I say, and I can feel small tears spilling from my eyes. “And that’s okay with me. But I’m not sure it’s okay with you. I don’t think you love the real me; you love the act I’ve been putting on for you. I’m not sure you even know the real me. And I want to be in a relationship where I feel like the real me is enough.”

  “Well.” He stands up angrily. “If I don’t even know you, then whose fault is that? I’m not the one who’s been putting on an act, Kerry. How am I supposed to know the real you if you hide her away from me?”

  “I know!” I say, standing to join him. “I know. And I’ve tried, twice, to be more genuine with you, but . . . I think this is one of those problems that’s just beyond fixing.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying I need to be in a relationship where I can feel good about being myself.” I twist the ring off my finger and offer it to him. “I’m sorry, Sam. It’s over.” The diamond catches a sliver of sunshine peeking through the cloud cover, and I marvel, for one last time, at its beauty.

  “Keep it,” he says quietly, staring out at the horizon. “What am I going to do with it?”

  “I can’t keep it, Sam.” I slip the ring into his coat pocket and do up the zipper. We turn and walk silently back toward my mother’s neighborhood.

  When we reach Sam’s car parked a block from the condo, I am suddenly filled with panic. For the entire walk, I’ve been embroiled in a rigorous internal battle. Yes, I’ve learned a lot in therapy and by keeping my journal of mortifying moments, but come on! I can’t become this strong, “do
the right thing” kind of woman just like that, can I? Am I being too hasty? Am I letting the best guy ever to walk the face of the planet get away from me? Am I? Am I?

  Sam unlocks the driver’s side door with a small be-bleep. He opens it, but before getting in, he turns to me. His face is cold and impassive, but I can see the pain in his eyes. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out, Kerry,” he says coldly. “I thought . . . I thought we were right together.”

  “I’m sorry, too, Sam,” I say, biting my lip to keep from sobbing. My doubts suddenly overwhelm me, and I’m terrified by the finality of what I’ve just done. “But you know . . .,” I blurt. “If you wanted to continue to see each other casually . . . you know, like once in a while . . .” Sam looks at me like I’m making some kind of retaliatory joke.

  “I don’t think so,” he says. Then he hops in his car and with a squeal of tires, disappears. They are the last words he will ever speak to me.

  But the worst is yet to come. I still have to tell my mother.

  “What?” she gasps, her mouth gaping open in shock. “Just like that, you ended it? After all you went through to finally get him, you just ended it? Just like that? Just now?”

  “I don’t expect you to understand,” I begin.

  “You’re right. I don’t understand. For years you wanted him to make a commitment to you, and then when he does, you end it. I just hope you don’t wind up regretting this decision for the rest of your life.”

  “But, Mom!” I say in the voice of a whining teenager. “I . . . I wasn’t being . . . I wasn’t being . . . true . . .” And then, all the pent-up emotion bursts forth, and I dissolve into tears.

  “Oh . . . Come here,” she says almost grudgingly, but when she wraps her arms around me, they are tender and comforting. “It’s okay . . .,” she murmurs consolingly. “You’ll be okay. . . . We’ll be okay.”

  Chapter 32

  As hard as it was to end my relationship with Sam, I can feel that the slate of my life is cleaner already. But there is one more major step I need to take. And this one will be much less painful.

  On the first day back to work after the holidays, I march into Sonja’s office and hand her my letter of resignation.

  “Kerry, I’m shocked!” she says, her face paling under her impeccable makeup. “I hope this doesn’t have anything to do with the Christmas party.”

  “Well, not really . . .”

  “Because I’ll admit that it was childish of the staff to speculate on the validity of your engagement and the existence of your fiancé. I really have no explanation for their behavior other than alcohol consumption and group contagion . . . but that’s all been cleared up now, hasn’t it?”

  “It has?” I ask with mild interest.

  “Well, of course! Dave put that rumor to rest when he returned from witnessing your reunion with Sam in the lobby. And then he had a terrible fight with his girlfriend over his feelings for you, and she left angry. He had a complete meltdown, even throwing a table over. Trust me, Kerry,” she says, fixing me with her steady gaze. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about.”

  “I know I don’t, Sonja,” I say with a smile. “It’s really not about the Christmas party. I think I have developed an ethical issue with the whole concept of advertising.”

  “Oh, really?” she snorts. “Well, far be it from me to try to influence your ethics, but I hope you realize that without advertising, the booming economy of the western world would come to a screeching halt!”

  “Well, be that as it may, I’d still rather not be a part of it.”

  “Well, then,” she says curtly, standing behind her desk. “I suggest you make today your last day in the office. I’m sure Gavin will have no problem assuming your responsibilities. I’ll notify your clients this afternoon.”

  The next morning, I wake up with a mild hangover after the good-bye drinks Trevor and Shelley had organized for me. I roll over languidly to look at the clock. It is 9:17—long past the time my alarm would have gone off if I still had a job to go to. I breathe a sigh of relief. I’ve done it. The slate of my life is clean. I can now start fresh. I have no boyfriend and no job. . . . I am free! Free to . . .

  Oh, God! I sit bolt upright. I have no boyfriend and no job! Why am I so impulsive? So irresponsible? I have no other prospects, no opportunities lined up, and no one to love me! But the panic attack is temporary. As I head to the shower, I somehow know it was the right thing to do.

  I give myself two days to unwind. I get my hair cut. I meet Val for coffee. I actually go to a real yoga class (not at my mother’s yoga studio as I haven’t quite brought myself to tell her I’m unemployed as well as unengaged). Then, it is time to get serious about the next chapter of my life.

  But first, I have to visit the Shooting Star offices to discuss Tiffany’s relocation. I’m feeling a bit choked up as I sit with Theresa and Meg, the athletic-looking program director I’d seen speak at the aquarium.

  “We’re still in touch by e-mail,” I say, biting my lip to keep from falling apart. “But I miss her.”

  “Well I think you made great progress with Tiffany,” Theresa says kindly. “We e-mailed her an evaluation form, and she raved about the mentoring program—and especially about you.”

  “Really?” I say. Uh-oh. The tears began to spill over.

  Meg pats my hand reassuringly and says, “Do you think you’d like to help another high- to medium-risk teen?”

  “Well, I would . . .,” I reply hesitantly. “But it’s probably not the best time to take on a new protégée. You see, I’ve recently undergone some major life changes.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. I’ve just resigned from my job at Ferris and Shannon Advertising.”

  “Oh?” Theresa and Meg exchange quick looks of concern.

  “My role as a mentor actually helped inspire me to move on,” I continue. “I decided that I want to do something that contributes to society—that has a positive impact on someone’s life. I just felt that advertising was so . . . soulless.”

  “Well . . .,” Meg says with the flicker of a smile. “I’ve got something you might be interested in.”

  I wait excitedly while Meg returns to her office to make a call. I can hardly allow myself to believe that she might have a job opportunity for me to pursue so soon. But you never know! Dr. Rainbow Hashwarma says that when you’re making the right choices in your life, things will just click into place.

  “Here.” Meg returns and hands me a slip of paper. “I’ve got you an interview for tomorrow morning.”

  I look down at the small white note in my hand. It reads:

  Sharon Talisman

  Director, Corporate Sponsorship & Charitable Giving

  Raincoast, Inc.

  9:00 AM

  “Thank you,” I say excitedly, taking Meg’s hand and pumping it up and down like a complete Jerry Lewis. “Thank you so much.”

  “Kerry?” My co-worker Leslie pops her head into my office. “I’m heading down to Starbucks to get a coffee. Do you want anything?”

  I swivel in my padded chair. “Thanks, Les, but I’m fine. I’m getting ready for the budget meeting at ten.”

  “Okay. I’ll see you at lunch, then?”

  “Sounds good!” I turn back to my computer, add a couple of items to the agenda I’ve been working on, and press print. There: finished with twenty minutes to spare. As I have done often over the past two months, I take this opportunity to gaze at the stunning view of Puget Sound that my new office affords, and reflect on the transformation my life has undergone.

  As you can likely deduce, I got the job. My new title is Manager, Corporate Sponsorship and Charitable Giving for Raincoast Shipping Incorporated. Although Sharon Talisman only vaguely recalled meeting me at the Christmas party with Nick, she hired me within the week. I’ve got a comfortable office, a comfortable salary, and more important, I actually care about what I’m doing. It’s such a refreshing change!

  With several minutes unt
il the budget meeting, I check my e-mail for any personal missives. (I haven’t changed completely!) Ah, there’s one from Trevor. I open it with the eagerness of a child at Christmas. Trevor has kept me in the loop and in stitches over the continued antics at the advertising agency.

  Name: Trevor Anderson

  Subject: NewsFlash!!

  Kerry!! Ohmigawd!!! So much has happened since we last e-mailed. Dave is leaving the agency! He’s getting married to Shannon and moving to Hong Kong! Can you believe it? The poor girl—she seemed sweet but obviously not the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree. I mean, who would be dumb enough to marry someone with his track record? Anyway, the good news is, he’s leaving! (Maybe you’d consider coming back now? LOL)

  Gavin was just promoted to supervisor and he is sitting in your old office. Isn’t that creepy? I think his infatuation with the bitch-devil from hell is starting to fade a bit. I took him for lunch and he went on and on about the recent lecture Sonja had given him on managing his timelines or budgets or something . . . I wasn’t really listening. You know, Gavin’s really filled out lately and is looking a lot cuter.

  Anyway, Kerr-Bear, can we have dinner soon? Joseph’s been working late all week and I’m just not sure if things are progressing the way I want them to. Love to talk to you about it over shrimp and pesto pizza at Veronique’s.

  Kisses,

  Trevor

  I e-mail back.

  Trevor,

  Thanks for the scoop. Glad to hear Dave is gone. And Gavin . . . well . . . he will always be an unattractive little wiener, no matter how much he “fills out,” okay?

  Would love to talk over pizza—just tell me when. You know I am just a Law & Order–loving spinster with no social life now.

  Kisses back,

  Kerry