He smiled at me, a slightly lopsided smile that made him seem more human. “Do you guys want to follow me down or will you be okay? Can’t get lost if you just keep going this way.” He sounded friendlier now. Warmer.
“We’ll be fine.” Long-Distance Boy jumped in before I could say anything. Then he scrambled up and said, “Thanks very much for your help, though.” I was glad he was speaking, though he didn’t look Self-Sufficient Guy in the eye. Personally, I was mortified to be caught getting lost on Tiger Mountain, but I was not as embarrassed as he was. After all, I was used to getting lost and asking for help. As Long-Distance Boy put his pack on, he was still shivering. The rain had stopped.
“Yes, thank you!” In my deranged enthusiasm, I sounded like I’d just been released from the mental hospital. I would have preferred to follow him down, but whatever. All that mattered was we weren’t going to die out here after all!
“No problem.” The guy took off his pack, opened up the top, and fished around for something. He pulled out a headlamp. His pack looked like it weighed only about half a pound. He himself didn’t appear to be cold, though he was wearing only a single layer atop a pair of running shorts. In the light of my headlamp, his face looked slightly craggy. He had deep dimples that ran all up and down the side of his face. God, he looked familiar. Where did I know him from? “You guys take care,” he said. Then he jogged off down the trail.
Long-Distance Boy and I walked in silence for a while, with me in front so I could shine my headlamp on the trail. I debated a few opening lines. I wanted to poke fun at the situation, but I sensed he wasn’t in a lighthearted mood.
Finally he said, “So, that was fun.”
I laughed, though I couldn’t quite tell if that was the appropriate response. “It was, up until you got us lost.”
“Yeah.” He snorted a little. “Sorry about that. I feel like a real idiot.”
Well, that was a good sign. A man admitting fault! I was about to say something about how I was responsible too when he added, “My wife never even had to read a map to get anywhere. She always knew right where she was. I, on the other hand, am directionally impaired.”
HER again! “Your EX-wife, you mean?” I said in a frosty voice before I could stop myself.
Silence. The darkness gathered around us. Luckily, the trail here was wide and easy to follow. My headlamp made a mere prick of light in the middle of the trail.
Trying unsuccessfully to lighten my tone, I said, “I thought she didn’t like to hike,” though what I felt like saying was, “I thought she was too FAT to hike.”
“No, she didn’t.” He sounded distinctly morose now. “I just meant when we were driving around and all that.”
God, what was my problem? I didn’t need to get all bent out of shape about the ex-wife just because she looked like a freaking model and he still talked about her all the time.
Suddenly we were at the parking lot. I turned to him. I wanted to make everything better. To remind him how much I liked him and how happy I was to be down here with him instead of freezing somewhere on top of Tiger Mountain.
“You know,” he said, his expression sheepish, “I wouldn’t be mad if you wanted to run off with that guy. He actually seems to know what he’s doing, unlike me. I must seem very unmanly to you now.” He looked down at the ground.
“Well,” I said, feeling grateful to him for acknowledging his embarrassment, “I think you’re very manly for admitting you feel unmanly.” I knew it wasn’t an easy thing for him to do.
Long-Distance Boy looked up at me and smiled a little. I felt a rush of affection for him. I threw my arms around him. It now seemed like days since I’d hugged him.
“Let’s go somewhere and just forget about it,” I whispered in his ear.
Then we went back to my place and had s*x five times within twelve hours. So I think we forgot about it!
E-mail Breakup Babe | Comments 5
Phew! That had been a long entry. I looked at the clock on my computer. My God, it was 10:30! I’d been writing for three hours! I wasn’t quite satisfied with this ending. There was still more to say, but I had to get to work.
Ugh. Work.
As I scrambled to gather my stuff, I prayed Jake wouldn’t get upset at reading my thoughts about his ex-wife. I wasn’t saying anything bad about him, after all; I was criticizing my own pettiness! By the time we got back to the trailhead on Saturday night, I really was wondering if we’d be able to get past the whole Lost in the Wilderness/Talking About the Ex-Wife episodes. But afterward, over beer, Jake had recovered quickly. His sense of humor had come back and he’d poked endless fun at himself. Not everyone could laugh at themselves that way. I’d relaxed about the whole ex-wife thing, too, especially when he showered me with affection all night long.
In any case, it appeared that our budding new relationship had survived. At least, I thought it had, limping slightly as I headed toward the door, judging from the copious amounts of sex we’d had.
That thought cheered me up as I steeled myself to face work again. I still felt exhausted and rough around the edges, especially when I noticed Beret Chick at a table by the door, looking particularly chic in a dusky pink cashmere sweater set with a silk scarf tied jauntily around her neck. Her long tresses cascaded out from under her stupid gray beret, gleaming and soft. I felt, in comparison, like a coffee-stained oaf in the outfit I’d pulled on at 4:30 this morning—my diaperesque thrift store jeans and boring black turtleneck. My hair was in messy pigtails, the only style in which it looked halfway decent when I didn’t have time to spend five hours washing and blow-drying it. Hmmph.
I bet you haven’t had sex five times in twelve hours, I said to myself as I passed her table, and walked outside into the pale winter sunshine.
POST A COMMENT
Did you get the name of the jogger guy who rescued you? He sounds hot!
GenieG | Homepage | 1/20/03–12:33 P.M.
Well, sounds like you guys went through a lot together. I agree that it’s great he was able to admit his mistakes. Of course it’s typical for a guy to think he knows where he’s going and get lost!
Little Princess | Homepage | 1/20/03–2:54 P.M.
I wonder how he’ll like to read all this stuff about himself?
Nate | 1/20/03–9:19 P.M.
Boy, you had me on the edge of my seat with this one. I hope it’s going in the book. I had a boyfriend once who was really reckless. He almost got us killed whitewater rafting once, because he convinced me he knew what he was doing and he didn’t. Both of us fell off the raft and swam in the freezing cold river for nearly half a mile! Why do men think they’re invincible, anyway? When you hear about people dying in the wilderness, it’s usually men.
Tabitha | 1/21/3—10:44 A.M.
Someone who’s a worse navigator than you? Sounds like a dangerous combination.
Li’l Sis | 1/21/03–12:15 P.M.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Three days later, I’d received exactly one e-mail from Jake and no phone calls. My meeting with HR was in four hours. It was not as if the one e-mail had been so full of love and support that it could carry me through, either. No. It was one of the most unsatisfying pieces of e-mail ever written. I took a sip of my Americano and reread the maddening little missive, which had come just this morning.
To: Rachel
From: Jake
Rachel—
Sorry I’ve been incommunicado. Work has eaten up all my time and energy these last few days. The legal stuff has been getting nasty, too, and I haven’t wanted to bore you with it. I hope you’re doing well. Things should clear up in a couple of days or so, and I’ll try to give you a call. Good luck with the meeting.
“Good luck with the meeting?” “A couple of days?!” That’s all he could fucking manage? I happened to know that Jake’s oh-so-busy work schedule kept him glued to his computer screen. If he was away from that, he always had a cell phone, a laptop, or an e-mail-enabled PDA. So he had no excuse for not
being in contact. Work had taken up all his time when we’d first started corresponding, too, but back then he’d managed at least three e-mails a day. What the hell was going on?
As for his comment about the “legal stuff,” I wasn’t sure how to decipher that. Why would he think that it would “bore” me to talk about it? Hadn’t I been a good listener when he’d talked about it during our visit? He’d been so supportive of me, through my HR trials and tribulations, so he should know that I wanted to reciprocate. I wasn’t exactly thrilled to talk about his ex-wife, but I cared about him and I would do it if he needed me to!
Well, shit. I was worried that maybe I’d offended him by blogging about our misadventures. But he had told me I could be honest about everything. I knew, as I was writing it, that some of the details I chose to convey made him sound less than manly. I thought I made up for it by exclaiming about his virility at the end! I’d never gone in and added the part about how well he handled himself afterward. I wished now that I had.
The previous afternoon, Jane had advised me over IM.
Jane says: So tell me, is this guy really a good candidate? I mean, he’s hung up on his ex-wife, involved in a custody battle, and lives in Portland!
Rachel says: Well, when you put it like THAT…The thing is, he’s a really smart, funny, nice guy. Except for the getting lost part, we had a great time. It really felt like there was potential! Being with him was the first real inkling of romance I’ve had since I broke up with Loser.
Jane says: Uh-huh. But now you’ve only gotten one e-mail from him in three days.
Rachel says: Right.
Jane says: I dunno. He doesn’t sound that emotionally available to me. There’s gotta be a guy with less baggage who lives somewhere closer—say, Seattle?
This morning I’d been forced to come to Café Ladro on 15th because Victrola had been full. Full! They really should have reserved tables for patrons like me, who practically kept the place afloat with my Empire cash flow. I could have tried to share a table with another patron, but I really wasn’t up to sitting with Lightning Bolt Guy (who was once again alone and looking morose) or Beret Chick. There were always tables at this particular branch of Café Ladro because, despite their superior coffee, the atmosphere was nonexistent.
Even with the HR meeting looming in four hours, I was trying to write this morning. What was I supposed to do, just sit around and worry that I was going to get fired? Now that I was getting into the habit of writing every day, I found that it felt like exercise. Doing it in the morning set a good tone for the entire day, and if I missed it, I felt off. Like a run or a bike ride, a good writing session helped soothe my anxiety.
But I was not having a good writing session this morning. In fact, I was not having much of a writing session at all. For one, the baristas here were too loud. Café Ladro on 15th seemed to employ only cute girl baristas who had a personal relationship with every sentient being who walked in. The one at the cash register was busily greeting every single person, dog, and small child who entered the place with a high, squeaky, “Hiii, how are YOU?” I was certain that no great works of literature had ever been completed here.
Plus, I’d just gotten the e-mail from Jake, and was trying to decide how—or even whether—to respond. One part of me was relieved that he had finally e-mailed. It had been torture waiting to hear from him for two days. But now that he’d written, it didn’t seem like that big a deal. People in long-distance relationships probably went much longer without talking than two damn days. But still. This e-mail was so frustrating!
Trying to ignore the squeals of the barista, I decided to answer his e-mail now. I clearly was not going to get any work done on my writing assignment this morning.
I squirmed in my seat. Stared at his note. Put my fingers over the keyboard, then put them down again. I didn’t know what to say.
Should I even respond? How? It’s not like he had asked me a single question. It didn’t sound like he wanted a response. He didn’t give a shit how I was doing. It seemed like he was fulfilling a duty. If I wrote back to him, it would just give him one more thing to worry and feel guilty about and, God knows, with his oh-so-important work and legal battles, I didn’t want to do that to him!
I thought back to his visit. I remembered how much we’d laughed together, even after the Lost in the Wilderness episode, especially after the Lost in the Wilderness episode. The way he’d listened intently when I talked, as if what I was saying was the most important thing in the world. How excited I’d been when he suggested we do the Mount Rainier climb together this summer. Was it possible I’d finally found a guy (1) I was physically attracted to, (2) I was intellectually attracted to, and (3) who would push me to be the adventurous person I wanted to be?
It had certainly seemed so when he was here. But now that he was so gone—I had my doubts. Maybe Jane was right about him. Perhaps he had such serious issues that I should just back out now, before I got too involved.
No. Not yet. The relationship had too much potential. He deserved a chance. One chance at least. God, I wished he were here now. If he were here with me, I knew he’d be the same warm, loving Jake that he’d been before, that he’d hug me and kiss me and help me to feel confident and courageous before this meeting.
The best approach to answering this e-mail, I decided, was to be as straightforward as possible without jumping down his throat.
Dear Jake,
You do sound busy! I have to admit, it’s been a little hard for me that you’ve been out of touch for so long. It makes me wonder if something is up. Maybe you’re having second thoughts? Or maybe what I wrote on my blog upset you? If so, I really apologize and I hope we can discuss it.
I’m also sorry that the legal stuff is getting “nasty,” and rest assured, you won’t “bore” me if you talk about it. You have been so supportive of me, I’d really like to return the favor.
As for me, I am holding up okay. Today at three I have my meeting with HR, and I have no idea what to expect (as you know). I really wish you were here to talk to and to hold me. You’re so good at making me feel stronger.
Anyway, I hope to hear from you soon.
R.
This short e-mail took half an hour to craft. I took out two sentences about how if something was “up,” he should tell me and not just keep it to himself, and about how I would “completely understand” if he was rethinking the long-distance thing. I hoped I didn’t come off as too guilt-inducing. I was, of course, trying to make him feel guilty for not calling me before my meeting, but I didn’t want it to seem obvious. I simply wanted to convey that I was not happy with the level of communication I was now experiencing with him, but that I hoped to discuss it in a mature, nonaccusatory way.
Phew. Writing that e-mail had been harder than writing a book. I wondered what my writing teacher would think of it.
“Oh, my gosh, your HAIR!” screamed the blond barista. I looked up and saw a middle-aged woman with a nondescript mousy brown bob walk in. “It looks GREAT!”
“Thanks,” said the woman, beaming, and touching the ends of her hair, then walking to the end of the line. I wondered how big her tip would be. It was true that if a food service person offered any endearment to me, or even just smiled at me, I was much more likely to tip. Hell, a compliment like that might set me back a whole fifty cents.
I looked at the clock on my computer: 9:30. Damn. I so did not want to go to work, so did not want to deal with what was about to happen. I felt the tears start to push against my eyes as I got ready to go. A thought struck me. Maybe Jake would call me before the meeting. When he got my e-mail and found out the meeting was at one, he would go, “Oh, RIGHT! Her meeting!” realize how much I needed his support, and give me a quick call.
I tried to quell that thought. But it left a lingering trace of hope. As I headed out the door, into a January day draped with threatening clouds, one of the squealy baristas cried out, “Oh, my gosh, I LOVE your coat!”
I turned,
half-smiling, to acknowledge the compliment, only to see her talking to a woman who’d just gotten to the register. She wore what looked like a pink poodle draped over her, with a tasseled hood that she had on her head. My heart fell just a little. Of course the barista wasn’t talking to me. All I had on was a boring black down jacket from Esprit ($60).
I stepped out into the cold, feeling more alone than I had in a long time.
For the next three hours, I attempted to sweat away my fear and loneliness at The Sports Club, Empire’s swanky gym. I psyched myself up for this meeting by listening to Green Day and fantasizing fiercely. I ran the treadmill as fast as I could go, imagining the brilliant career that awaited me should I, by chance, get booted out of Empire. I would immediately get asked onto the talk show circuit. There I would charm the world in a variety of stylish outfits as I defended my right to free speech. Random House would pick up my book, though I had only half a chapter written. And Wendii, once I’d exposed her on Oprah, would get fired by Rodney Rolands himself, who would roar at her (as he was known to do), “You mentally retarded cyborg bitch, how could you have fired her? She was a fucking genius!”
Then, as I pedaled on the stationary bike, legs burning, I imagined other things: myself at the top of Mount Rainier, sleek and strong, on the summit I’d coveted for so long, all of western Washington spread out behind me and sparkling in the sun. Instead of Jake, who was temporarily banned from my fantasies, there by my side would be a devastatingly hot guide, who would have fallen madly in love with me as he led me up the mountain. He would accompany me to my book launch party in New York, where the two of us would make a splash as we entered the room: a pair of wholesome yet glamorous Northwest deities, whose natural beauty would outshine all the overly made-up celebrities in attendance.
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