The Discount Life: Step Five - Inventory Yourself

The next time I saw Christian I spotted him first. We agreed, via text, to meet on Wednesday night for dinner since our Thursday night class would be preempted by Thanksgiving. He was standing at the bar, one forearm resting on the dark mahogany counter, his stance accentuated by the curve of his sloping back. He was chatting with the bar tender, a notably beautiful young girl who seemed to have swallowed his consciousness whole. He was laughing. She reached over, touching his arm as she spoke. He laughed some more. With Stanley, I might have thought he was flirting. Stanley so rarely made social exchanges with others it would have been a stand out for him to laugh with a girl behind the bar. With Christian, all I saw was a passionately beautiful man, who turned completely on his heels, open armed and eager when he saw me.


“Chloe!” His hug was engulfing but in contrast to Andrews, gentle. He chose me, I wanted to say to the girl behind the bar. But Christian’s actions made the statement unnecessary. He was unafraid to make himself clear. He kissed me like a man coming home from war – tender but intense, a ravenous hunger hidden just below his equanimity. “I can’t believe its been almost a week!” He smiled. Wide. Completely mischievous. “I’m tempted to skip dinner entirely, “ he said.

“I wouldn’t mind that, “ I said.

“But I don’t want to do that half way thing again,” he led me to a spot in the back corner of the restaurant. There was a roaring fire – candles lit at the center of the table. Was this guy magic or what? “I want to give you an all the way date.” He pulled back the chair for me and said, “We’ll talk, we’ll eat and then I’ll take you home.” He was so confident. His aura a cocoon of assuredness. You felt, in his presence, that for him anything was possible and so for you, by transference. It’s astounding what imagined invincibility can do for mood. We chattered as new couples often do – about nothing, about everything. The evening passed in a wine induced blink; not a lull to be had, not a thought left unspoken. Of course Mr. Handsome wasn’t bad to look at but the breadth of conversation he inspired was a mental stimuli that carried us from dinner , to check please, to home. His home. I, ashamedly, was still living at Mel’s apartment. An arrangement that would need to be addressed soon but one that seemed to suit us both so well we’d been ignoring it.

“I’m glad we get to do this right,” Christian said. He came from the kitchen carrying two glasses of wine. Handing one to me he said, “If we’d done it last time it wouldn’t have been spectacular.” So we didn’t have sex. Truth is power but in this case the truth brought on waves of panic. So this time it was going to happen for real. And I would be aware and responsible. I was choosing this. Choosing him. I. Was. Terrified.

But he turned on music, lover’s music and reached for me. He pulled me near with his free hand and danced, his hips pressed up against mine, moving in rhythm to the music. I relaxed instantly. It almost felt rehearsed. Like a standard set of motions he exercised in the presence of all the woman he seduced. A routine where the only change was the woman. Me. But when he said, “I have to tell you something” and followed with, “I haven’t danced this much since I took Trisha Blanton to prom,” all evidence triggering doubt vanished, leaving in its place a genuine delight. I threw my head back and laughed. “I’m serious,” he said. “I’m not really a dancing kind of guy.”

“I noticed,” I said. And he stopped, pulling me to him so close and so firmly I almost couldn’t breathe. Our lips were separated by the thinnest bit of space and he said, “I’m trying to impress you. Is it working?” I twisted my face as if to say well, let me think and then I kissed him.

“Yes,” I said.” And the rest, as they say, is history.

This time I would not wake up in want of memory. To this day I remember every detail – the way he moved. The way he felt. The way his eyes sought out mine just before he called my name and smiled. Memories like these are the reasons they say no regrets, live like you’re dying, carpe diem. They’re brief and intense, like a flash of light so enamor ant it blinds you. You don’t think, you don’t analyze, you can’t. You’re living. They’re the kind you analyze later – imploringly, deploringly or both. But when I woke that Thursday morning to a charmingly drooling Mr. Handsome and the feeling of déjà vu, I didn’t have to check under the covers for confirmation. In fact, if we’re frank, I knew exactly where I had thrown his boxers the night before.

I spent the better part of Thanksgiving morning grinning from ear to ear. It was the kind of exuberance you can’t hide from the people around you. Mel & Jack stared at me all morning with the knowing expression of a couple who’ve been together so long they can smell newness like hounds on a fox. Mel asked if it was worth it. I responded, “I think so.” She said good, and even though she smiled I couldn’t erase the motherly tone with which she’d said it; like a parent watching their words so as not to cross the line and push their child into further mischief.

Her tone replayed in my head all the way to my parent’s house and half way through the preparations for dinner. They all: the aunts and uncles, my parents, analyzed my every move between salutations. No one asked about Stanley. There was a quiet in the room that had so much energy it could have run a space shuttle the moon. When they thought I wasn’t paying attention, they tossed each other looks that held an entire conversation. I wasn’t fooled but I let it all pass. I was in too good a mood.

“You’re very giddy today,” my mother said, between placing the sweet potatoes and the mashed potatoes on the table. Her plump figure was tied tightly into a red apron. Her auburn hair a slightly frizzy pile on top of her head. Her statement was a question, even if she didn’t end it with upward intonation.

“I am,” I said. “I’ve had a good week.” I went around laying out the silverware, her gaze following me.

“Oh? “ she said. “Did you find an apartment?”

“No.”

“Did you learn a new song on the violin?”

“Uhhh,…no. Not really. I’ve been practicing the old songs.”

“Did you run your marathon?” Okay. I could see where she was going with this. No need to drag it out.

“Mom. Enough. I’m working on it.”

She came up and put her hands on my shoulders. “Are you?” She hugged me and unlike Christian and unlike Andrew and unlike any man who’d ever touched me, the feeling of her arms wrapped around my body catalyzed peace and absolution. She pulled back and stared up at my eyes. My mother, a whole five inches shorter than myself. “I want you to be happy. Okay? Just make sure what you’re doing is going to get you to those goals you’re always talking about. That’s all.”

“I am.” She raised her eyebrows at me then turned to work on separating some more silverware. Her back to me she said, “Great sex is wonderful honey. But it can cause a lot of confusion. Seems to me your whole Discount Life theory is about ridding yourself of confusion,” she turned around with a butter knife in her hand. Pointing it at me and she said, “You might want to think about that before you go getting too involved.”

“Mom!,” I whispered, indignantly. “ Who said I’m having great sex. You can’t jump from I had a good week to I had great sex…” she put her hand up to stop me. It’s amazing how even as a grown woman, that still works when it comes from your mother. I folded my arms across my chest.

“I was not born yesterday,” she said. “You’re glowing.” She put the last of the serving ware out on the table and called that dinner was just about ready. “And be careful there. That kind of love is fleeting.”

“So you think I should go back to steady but loveless?” She came up to me again. Close enough that she could have kissed my nose if she were tall enough.

“I think you’ve lost your balance kid. Loveless? No. I don’t want you there. But don’t go from one extreme to another. Find your balance.”

“I’m happy. He makes me feel…”

“Exactly. He makes you feel…and what do you feel when you’re not with him?” I didn’t respond. “There’s your discount.” She put her hands on both sides of my face and pulled my cheek down to her level. She kissed me there and said, “You want to be happy? Go run your marathon” just before releasing me and going to check on my father. I tried to rub off the dark pink lipstick marks she’d left on my cheek but they had discolored my skin like a stain. Her mark, undeniably, planted. Her wisdom, involuntarily laid.

Of course she was right, which is a thing no girl wants to admit of her mother. But I was happy. Christian made me feel alive. Tingling and vibrant – like the whole world had been set on fire. But that was her point – perhaps that made it too hot to touch for long. On a deeper level, the happiness I felt was not inherent to me but instead based solely on the feelings he gave me. Remove him and I still had not completed any of the things I’d set out to accomplish – for me. Chapter 5: Inventory Yourself. Do I place my value outside myself? According to Get Some Manners I had placed my value in the hands of Mr. Handsome. Let’s be clear, they are very skilled hands under which I would be thrilled to find myself again. But the truth is still the truth, isn’t it? I had placed my value in Stanley before him, and in him before me. Inventorying yourself, as it turns out, is not so excruciating as it is challenging. Once the awareness is there you can’t go back.

I watched my parents throughout dinner. I listened to mom say she was thankful we were a family. Thankful we could all be together. Thankful for me and my father. I was thankful that my first formal dinner without Stanley did not require a place card. That it was with my family – the one outside source from which it is healthy to derive value, though, even so, not entirely. I was thankful that even if I’d side stepped from being true to myself, I had the support of people around me to help put me back on track. I was thankful that Mel had not said a word about Christian. I began to understand, sitting there at the table –the football game in the background, Uncle Sal stealing glances around the door frame and screaming at the ref like they were old solider buddies in a fight, that the goals on my list were not just there to make me feel accomplished but also to help me find me – alone. That these people, my family, my very best friends, were the ones in whom I should be putting stock. For as much as they would deplete me, they would also take the time to refill me. And that with them, even in aloneness, I would not be alone.

Sitting around the table, chatting about the future, I knew, in the deepest recesses of my heart, that Christian was an in the moment kind of guy. That the bartender at the restaurant last night, though not a problem that evening, might become one in the future. If not her, someone else. I knew, like I knew that I couldn’t be with Stanley and I couldn’t live with Mel, that the chances of finding lasting contentment in him were slim. I was willing to accept that, even though I wasn't willing to stop seeing him yet.  And as I stood to clear my plate and shake the thought from my head, mom said, “And Chloe’s going to have an exciting year next year. She’s going to run a marathon and….go skydiving is it?”

I glared at her with equal parts love and anger. “I think I’ve decided on hiking. Andrew and I are going to plan a trip to hike Grandfather Mountain.” Although, truth be told, we hadn't talked about it in months. 

“Who’s Andrew?” whispered Aunt Betsy to Uncle Sal. “I don’t know” he whispered back. I let it go. No need to explain male/female friendships that were just that. Older people never understood that kind of relationship.

“Well either way, “ Mom said over the chatter,” I can’t wait to see what she’ll do.”

When I got to Mel’s that night I stayed up until 2 am on the computer. Just before I closed my eyes for sleep, I took the plunge, clicked the submit button and signed up for my first marathon. 

The Discount LIfe: Step Four and Half

“So,” I said clearing my throat,” does anyone have any stories about Step Four?”


“Luv, I think most’ve us here are brand new to the brilliant idea of the Discount Life. I myself am only on Step one,” said Agnes. “When I started to clear out my life I decided I really liked a lot of that shit. What do I do about that?” She took a swig of her Irish crème coffee and made a disgusted face.

Lizzie answered with, “The point is to sort through what you like and what you like that will help you achieve your goals. So you set a goal and then you ask yourself, is keeping this going to help me or keep me from reaching this goal. If not, chuck it.”

 "I’ve been getting rid of stuff most of my life. I have no goals. Just living day by day. And getting to my next drink.” She smiled slyly.

“Well then it sounds like you need a goals list. Tucker, share yours, will you? That might help Agnes, “ I said. He reached in his pocket and pulled out a crinkled piece of paper. As he worked to uncrease the folds I couldn’t help but see that his fingers were noticeably cleaner since the last time I saw him. Even clean fingers could be a milestone in a discount life.

“My first goal was to find a place to sleep. I did that. My second goal was to stop drinking and go to my AA meetings. I’m working on that. State of Process if you will," he smiled at me.

“Tucker’s gone to an AA meeting every week since he started the DLA,” Lizzie said.

“Yeah but I haven’t totally quit drinking. So I can’t cross that off.”

“No but you know you’re working on it. That’s half the battle,” I said.

“My next goal’s going to be to get a job. But I’m not pushing myself on that one. The 17th Street shelter is bad enough. All their rules. A job might just send me over the edge.”

Andrew piped up. “I have a list. It’s small but I have one,” he said, looking up at me. “To get promoted at work. To settle down – find someone,” he looked at Marie and I had to tell myself to keep breathing. “Maybe go to Scotland. That’s a place I’ve always wanted to go.” And then the reverse effect took place. Our shared goal restored my faith in him, however unfair the foundation of its lapse.

“I never knew you wanted to go to Scotland,” Mel said to Andrew, then glanced at me.

“Yep,” he said.

“I’ve been to Scotland,” Agnes said. “Right next door to England, course. So it wasn’t hard. It’s okay. Food’s terrible.”

“So if not Scotland, what would be on your list?” Mel asked.

“Look. I’ve traveled the world,” Agnes said. “I have more money than George Bush Senior and George W combined. I’ve had three husbands, and several careers and two children that I see pretty regularly. I’m definitely a drunkard but it hasn’t hurt me any- ‘cept for I’ve put on a stone or two, “ she raised her mug like a cheer, “getting older may come with wisdom but it makes you quite a bit fatter as well.”

“Amen to that,” Lizzie said. “I ate half a bagel last week and now I can barely button my pants!”

“I saw you eat a whole bagel last week,” Tucker said, mockingly.

“Alright, maybe it was more like three bagels last week but I’m just saying! I can’t eat what I used to.” They bantered this way for several minutes and though my eyes followed the conversation, dipping from face to face, my thoughts were on Lizzie’s unintentional half truth. When she thought her secret was safe she was content to let us, and thereby herself, believe she’d only eaten half a bagel, when in reality, she knew, she’d really had three. Why would a woman as in control and successful and content as Lizzie lie to herself about a bagel? The answer was uncomplicated and universal. An elementary philosophy whose emotion was simultaneously releasing and shaming, and it wielded power over all its students: admitting to anyone, least of yourself, the truth of any given situation made you vulnerable. And vulnerability is like weakness. Life has a way of training vulnerability out of us. We build walls, we make jokes, and we shackle the scary beast of the unknown to the floor by selling ourselves and our compatriots on half truths. Be it a bagel or a betrothed.

“Chloe – we’ve lost you,” Andrew was waiving his hand in front of my eyes.

“Sorry, I was thinking…”

“She has so much trouble with that, “ he said looking at the others and pointing a finger at me. They laughed. Marie buried her smile in her mug but I could see that she enjoyed their laughter more than politeness should allow.

“I was thinking,” I paused to make sure I had their attention, “about half truths. I really think they’re the worst kind. Like Lizzie and the bagels. Or me and, well, lots of things. Being honest with yourself is so hard.”

“That’s coz it hurts, “said Agnes. “Like hell. Most of us don’t want to upset ourselves with what’s really in the mirror.”

“I don’t look in mirrors,” Tucker said. “I think it’s better that way.”

“But maybe if you did –" Jack chimed in. Mel slapped him on the shoulder. “I’m just kidding. Just kidding..” Jack put up his hands in surrender.

“Hey, I’m working on it,” Tucker said.

“I think lying to yourself is for young people,” Agnes said. “They still feel like they’ve got something to lose.” She drank from her mug and made a face again. She could just stop drinking it. Really. “Take me for example. I’m old. I’ve survived my past. I am what I am. I don’t lie to myself coz I’ve got nothing left to lose really. It’s all happened already. But young people – everything’s a first. First love lost. First move, first friendship broken. The disappointments all seem so hard because it’s all new. It’s terrifying to think of losing what you have – Right now. Because most people haven’t the faintest how they’ll go on after that.  But you learn.” She stopped and we were all quiet. Jack, whose arm was around Mel’s shoulders, pulled her closer to him. Andrew, whose arm was around Marie, withdrew his appendage and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“I’ll tell you something else,” Agnes said. “Things is only hard once. After that you know what to expect, so the pains easier to manage. Lying to yourself – it just isn’t worth it.” Lizzie leaned over to the center of the table and sifted through the pastries on a plate there. She picked up a bagel and said, “I’m going to eat this. The whole thing and its going to make my pants tight and I don’t care.” Her interjection was timed perfectly and we all laughed.

“I need a drink,” Agnes said. “That’s enough serious talk for today.”

“No Agnes,” Tucker said. “You’ll only regret it.”

“I’d only regret it if I wanted to change,” she said, standing up and working her way out from her chair. “Nice to meet you all.” She gathered her coat and headed for the door. “See you next time,” she said cheerfully. We chattered on for a bit but Agnes’s words hung in the air like humidity just before a thunderstorm. Her departure disbanded our focus and we all began to make our goodbyes.

As we headed out, I placed myself in close proximity to Jack and Mel, as if they were my pack. Safety in numbers. Andrew left Marie by the door and came over to us.

“So thanks for inviting us,” he said. I wanted to say that his being my DL partner was important to me and that her presence somehow diminished the value of that partnership. Our partnership. But that wasn’t fair, nor was it completely true. So instead I said, “Yeah. Thanks for coming. It means a lot.”

“So see you next week?”

“Two weeks,” I said.

“Two weeks.” He leaned over and gave me a hug. His hugs were completely engulfing. They swallowed you whole in their embrace. He always squeezed a little too tight, a charming after effect of his enthusiasm. “Bye,” he said.

“Bye,” Marie said, tossing the word out and waving from her stance by the doors. “Nice meeting you.”

“Bye, “ I responded. I watched them walk away briefly before deciding that I did not need to bare witness to their partnership and busied myself with checking my phone. No messages. Missed call: Mom.


I called her when we got home. She wanted to talk about Thanksgiving. She did most of the talking. Detailing the plans: dinner at her house, close friends and family. Then finally she said, “Honey, what’s wrong?” There were so many things she didn’t know about. Where would I even begin? “Chloe?”

“Mom. I’m not coming with Stanley this year,” I blurted it out like a surprise we should all be happy about. “We broke up.” Half truth. I left him but that was too hard to say out loud.

“Okay.” That was all she said. Okay. A simple word that ate up all the unanswered questions.

“Okay, “ I said. “So it will just be me.”

“That’s always okay with me and your father. You are plenty.” I smiled. “If you want to talk about it, I’m here.”

“I just couldn’t live with myself anymore. Always pretending like what we had was all I ever wanted. It wasn’t real, mom. And it wasn’t enough.”

She was quiet for a moment and then she said, “Well, whatever anything is, it should start with being real. And you know….”was all I got before the line went dead.

“Mom? Hello?” Nothing. She must have hit the end button with her cheek again. She was always doing that. I hit the end button myself and set the phone down on the bed, waiting for her to call back. I massaged my temples and my eyebrows, the beginnings of a tension headache was creeping up into my sinus. The ringing of the phone, despite the fact that I was prepared for it, felt like a shrieking cat in my ears. I grabbed it and hit talk without looking. Please stop that racket.

“Mom, I didn’t hear the last thing you said..” I trailed off.

“It’s Stanley.” I pulled the phone away from my ear and checked the screen, like I needed confirmation to believe it. Indeed. The phone read Stanley in big letters across the top of the screen.

“Hi,” I said lamely.

“Hi,” he said. “I haven’t heard from you in almost two weeks.”

“No you haven’t. I’m sorry about that. I….I didn’t know what to do. So I just left.”

“I don’t get it. Why? What’s wrong?” How do you explain to someone exactly what’s wrong? What’s wrong is you don’t see me? Don’t try to see me. You don’t get off the couch for me. You won’t go to a cooking class with me. You don’t want me. That’s the truth. “We didn’t even have a fight or anything,” he said.

“We never fight because you won’t fight with me.”

“Well, I don’t like to fight,” he said. “But we can talk about it.”

“We have talked about it. You just don’t seem to hear me. I say what I’m thinking and you listen but you don’t hear me. And then we don’t fight and then its over. And we just go about our days like nothing happened.”

“What are you talking about? Chloe. Come on. Come home. This is just…you just need to talk.”

“Let’s talk about it right now.”

He stammered. “Well okay, let’s talk. What do you want to say?” Ahhhh! I wanted to say, right there that’s what I’m talking about! Circles.

“I just said what I wanted to say,” I said. “I guess you missed it.” There was a harshness in my voice that I didn’t like. The hurt in me trying its best to turn vulnerability into anger.

“Chloe…”

I worked patience into my tone and said “Why didn’t you go to the cooking class with me?”

“Is that what this is about? I thought you were okay with my not going.”

“Could you answer the question please.”

“I didn’t go because …I don’t know. It just seemed like a lot.”

“You didn’t want to go. Just say that.”

“It’s not that I didn’t want to go. I mean, I guess I didn’t want to go but I just thought you were okay with that.” I didn’t respond. “Apparently not.” Then he was silent too. We were both doing what we’d always done – letting nothing pass into complacency.

“You don’t kiss me either,” I said. “Not really. Not like I should be kissed. Why?”

“I kiss you all the time. Hello, good bye.”

“You kiss me because you have to. But you don’t look at me and kiss me like you just wanted to. It’s always like you’re… kissing me out of regular obligation. There’s no passion there though…it’s a peck here, a peck there…”

“I…I don’t understand. I kiss you.” Silence again. How do you say that the reason it isn’t working is because it was never two people working together but always one person running in circles to keep the ‘we’ afloat.

“I want a partner,” I said. “I don’t want to go to cooking classes alone when I have someone who supposedly loves me at home. And I want to go to Scotland…someday.  And I don’t want the person who loves me most in the world to make me feel like I’m stupid for thinking I’ll get there …eventually.”

“Okay. We’ll go to Scotland. Come home and we’ll talk about it. Plan a trip.” And right then I lost all my steam. I didn’t have the energy to argue an argument in circles. I could not circle another minute.

“Stanley. I have to go. Thanks for calling.”

“Wait, did I say something wrong? If you want to go to Scotland. We’ll go. That’s what you want right?”

“Someday,” I said. “But not like this. Bye Stanley.” And I hung up. I don’t think I’d ever hung up on a living soul before. It crushed me to think of him sitting on the other end of the phone, staring at it in disbelief and not because of the idea of him in pain but because of the idea that his pain was caused by me. Because of what it said about me. That I was bad for making other people feel bad. But was it bad to take care of yourself? Are you bad if you are doing what you have to do to save yourself?

My phone received a text message. It was from Christian. Perfect timing. Of course. “Thinking about you” was all it said. Was it bad to be wanted? To want someone’s actions to demonstrate that they wanted you instead of you always having to instigate that want?

I curled up on the bed and rested my eyes. Oh lord. I was tired. The phone rang again. It was my mom. I couldn’t answer. I was down for the count. I spotted Get Some Manners on the nightstand and reached for it for the first time since Step Four. Chapter 5: Inventory Yourself. It’s important to take an honest evaluation of yourself. Where is your value? Have you been placing it outside yourself – in things, other people, your job? Oh bother…maybe I’d take a cue from Agnes and get a drink for this chapter. Taking inventory, a potentially excruciating endeavor, would be easier with a little something to take the edge off.  I got up on went to the kitchen.

The Discount Life: Step Four: Cont'd

I woke up disoriented with a splitting headache. I smelled men’s cologne before I opened my eyes and a flicker of lashes confirmed there was a tall, dark and handsome man laying next to me, completely asleep, mouth open, slight bit of drool chasing the pillow. He was adorable even when he slept like an old lady. So I’d done it. I’d slept with Mr. Handsome. I laid my head back on the pillow, closed my eyes and tried to recall the events of the previous evening. I remembered the bar, a cool urban loft like place with orange lighting and the smell of orchids everywhere. I remembered being handed more than my fair share of Manhattans. I remembered him opening the front door to his apartment, his arms around me, helping me in. I remember the feel of my face against his chest provoking the delightful feeling that I did not have to be in control. That I was engulfed by a big wide chest with muscles that poked through his tee shirt. I remembered I traced the outline of his pecks just before….come to think of it, I don’t remember anymore. How can I not remember the best night of my entire life?! I opened my eyes and checked to make sure Christian was real and not a hangover hallucination. He was definitely next to me. I just couldn't remember the getting into bed part, which was a crying shame considering he may be the sexiest man to ever lie beside me.


I needed confirmation. I rolled on my side and ever so deftly, lifted the sheet that hovered over his well muscled upper torso. Hmmm, boxers. No help. But I was delighted to see he had a little softness around his middle. He was toned but no washboard abs. He wasn’t perfect after all, which took some of the pressure off me. I took a glance at my own midsection. AHHH. I let him see that! I have to hit the gym.

I caught a glimpse of the clock – 6:30am. I was supposed to return to work today. Crap. And now I had to make it across town, dress at Mel’s and get to the office by 8:30. I had to hurry. I jumped out of bed and dressed quickly. As I slid on my high waisted pants, I smiled to myself. Guess they really were hot. Christian was oblivious to my noise and sleeping soundly with his arms and legs flailing out from the covers. I resisted the urge to wake him and instead left a scribbled note on his kitchen table:

Have to get to work. Had fun last night. Repeat soon? Chloe

Of course, I lamented my wording all the way through getting dressed and going to work. Repeat soon? What if he said no. What if he wanted to say no but felt obligated to say yes. What if…oh Chloe. Stop.

I made it to work at 8:33, no one seemed to notice my three minute liberty, but Joan, the office accountant noticed something. “I thought you were sick,” she said. “You don’t look sick. You look ….almost radiant.”

“Thanks? I wasn’t sick sick,” I said. “I just needed some personal time. That’s all. Better now. Thanks for asking.” I skirted by her as fast as I could and camped out at my desk for the morning. By 9:45 I started to worry that he hadn’t called. Insecurities burned a whole in my brain. Did I sleep with him? I must of. It must have been horrible. I was terribly drunk. I DEMAND a do over. I shuffled papers, I checked my email, I answered the phone but I caught myself frequently staring blankly at the wall, lost in thought. Was he not calling because I was that bad? No he was just a busy working guy. Was he not calling because now that it wasn’t forbidden, it wasn’t exciting? Yes. That was it. Working is just a ploy! Oh god. And I went on like this for hours, the good and evil scenarios weighing equally on my mind. For a moment I wished I was a man with the ability to turn off communication without a second thought. Andrew and Mel regularly neglected to return my phone calls. I didn’t stress out over them? But this was different.

And then, at 2:30, he called. “You ran out on me this morning.” Relief coursed through my veins.

“You were sound asleep. Didn’t want to wake you.”

“Wish you had. Mornings are my best hours, if you catch my drift.” I blushed. I had seen but I wasn’t going to mention it. I put my hand up to my cheek to hide my face and said, “Christian, I’m at work. I really can’t talk right now.”

“Okay. Just wanted to tell you, I had fun last night. Can’t wait to see you again.” I wanted to jump up and down and do a little touchdown dance. Instead, I stayed rooted in my uncomfortable office chair.

“Me too.”

“Talk to you soon.” He hung up and I had to go pour myself a cup of coffee that I had no intention of drinking just because I was too excited to sit still at the desk.



For the next two days Mel and I relived every detail I could recall from the events of Thursday and Friday. “Did he dance well?”

“No. But he danced.”

“Got to give him credit for that. How was his bathroom? Was it dirty? I hate a dirty bathroom.”

“Very clean bathroom. I was surprised actually. He doesn’t seem like a detail oriented guy. But his bathroom was clean.”

“Does he kiss well?” Ahh, the kiss. I remembered the first kiss. We’d left the bar. He hailed a cab to take us back to his apartment and just before we got in he turned me to him, put one hand at the small of my back and one hand on my cheek, pulled me to him and gave me a long, soft, parted lip kiss.

“I think I made gaga eyes at him, which is embarrassing. I don’t know why I can’t play these things cool.”

“And then what happened?”

“We got in the cab and went home. And I told you I don’t remember if we did it or not.”

“Has he called again?”

I sighed. “No. We ended with him saying “Talk to you soon.”

“Okay well don’t stress. When guys say soon they mean anywhere between tomorrow and three weeks from now. He’ll call. I can feel it.” I stopped myself from saying I hope so out loud.

Sunday morning came and I busied myself getting ready for the DLA meeting. I checked my phone. No messages. No bother. I’m completely busy and unable to chat anyway. I turned my extra energy into extra effort picking out my clothes and gathered our things for the meeting.

We’d moved the venue indoors at the same coffee shop that Christian and I sipped coffee on our first…well you couldn’t call it a date now could you? But on our more than just coffee get together. It was getting too cold for outdoor meetings. With Thanksgiving right around the corner, our fingers were going to freeze on the park bench. And today was the day we brought our DL partners. Andrew agreed to meet us there. I felt an anxiousness about his arrival that I couldn’t explain but did not share with anyone and brushed off.

Mel, Jack and I arrived on time. The coffee shop was nearly empty at this early hour and Mel and Jack went straight to the counter to order. I was stopped – assaulted, if you will, by Agnes, the joint DL partner of Lizzie and Tucker.

“You what they calls the ring leader ,eh?” she pronounced it lead-ah with a cockney sing song that almost made me laugh.

“I don’t know about ring leader,” I said, stressing the ‘r’ in leader. “But I did start the DLA.” She was dressed well in black slacks, a velvet throw. Her hair was immaculate and frozen in place. From appearances Agnes was a perfectly polished British transplant. It was the smell of scotch on her breath that gave her away.

“Wells' you might have guessed I’m an alcoholic. But it’s we low life’s that bring the most fun. What’s a gathering without a middle aged woman without a filter?” Her syllables were so crisp they had the effect of biting into an apple everytime she approached a ‘t’ or ‘d’.

“I suspect that’s why you’re here then, right?"

“Right ‘o. You’re going to fix the old bag up.” She slapped my shoulder and I laughed as she walked away to join Lizzie and Tucker.

We mingled while we ordered. Shot the breeze. Tucker said he’d been living at the 17th Street shelter, a place that he absolutely detested for its lack of lighting and the fact that it was “full of degenerates.” He neglected to include himself among them but who was I to judge. Everyone ran their marathon at their own pace. Lizzie regaled her youngest daughters performance in the Thanksgiving play at school while we stood at the pick up counter. “She was a cow. I had to find a cow costume. And, correct me if I’m wrong, but were there even cows at the first Thanksgiving?”

“I’ve never seen them but then again, Thanksgiving never really happened. So who’s to say?” said Jack. I listened to their gibber jabber for several minutes, scanning the door for Andrew. He wasn’t there. We took our seats and I was just about to pull out my notebook when he came strolling through the door, 12 minutes late and with baggage. A pixie like carry on, tiny as a toddler. “Hey Chloe,” he walked straight for me and leaned in for a hug. He searched my eyes for a minute and said, “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” I stiffened under his touch. I was uncomfortable with discount girl watching. And who said he could bring her? He was my discount partner. Now, what, we were going to share him?

“Good. Good.” He turned and put out a hand to usher Discount Girl to me. Chloe be nice. “Chloe, this is Marie.”

I hate her. “Nice to meet you,” I said holding out my hand. She accepted with a, “Nice to meet you” in return. I managed a smile, with the equivalent sentiment of a shrug, and motioned for them to sit at the last two seats available – located, unfortunately directly across from me. They surveyed their chairs, undid their coats, and during their inattention I took a moment to size her up. The thing was she wasn’t 8 feet tall or a Victoria’s Secret model. She was short and rail thin in that impish sort of way. She had poorly highlighted hair and carried the facial expressions of a mannequin. This was the no discounts girl? The one he was going to settle down with and buy new furniture for? Chloe, I admonished myself – You. Are. Not. Attached. Be nice. He’s happy.

“Thanks so much for letting me come,” Marie said. “I’ve been excited to meet you.” I wanted to say, I didn’t invite you but smiled instead and said, “I’ve heard a lot about you.” Half truth. I imagined a lot about her but actually knew very little. My dislike was based purely on principle – she was sitting on my porch, which wasn’t mine at all, and drinking my sangria, which …also…wasn’t really mine at all. Why did I hate her again?

Agnes leaned over, studying my face. The smell of scotch on her breath nauseated me as she said, “That one’s a wee bit of an elf, isn’t she?”

I stifled a laugh and said, “Agnes, do you need a coffee?”

“I like myself better on a cup ‘o gin but I’ll settle for coffee and Kahlua if you’re buying.”

“How about just coffee?”

“Well if you’re going to take all the bloody fun out if it then just forget the whole bloody thing.” She turned away from me dramatically. I motioned for the waiter to come over and ordered her a coffee with a shot of Irish crème flavoring. That would have to suffice.

“So,“ I said. “Let’s begin the meeting.” I counted the number people around our tables. “Eight members.”

“Nine,” said Andrew. He jerked his head in Marie’s direction.

“I’m not officially joining yet,” she said. “Eight is fine. Maybe nine next time.”

Alright enough. I swallowed hard and forced myself to smile genuinely. “Either way, eight or nine members, the more the merrier right? Can’t put a limit on self truth,“ I said. “So last time we left off with Step Four: Allowing a State of Process…..” Marie smiled at me with gratitude. Oh fine, I’ll do it. Here we go – let the gradual amity begin. She looked up at Andrew with her mannequin expression. Blank but loving. He smiled at her broadly as if to compensate for her lack of animation and darted his eyes in my direction. I had to look down to keep from betraying myself…...

*Next Time on the DLA - the meeting's resolution, Thanksgiving Dinner and a confrontation with Stanley leave Chloe finally ready for Step Five....

The Moment Just Before....

The moment just before – that’s the Holy Grail. A pocket of perfection; the only kind that exists. We learn, as we grow older, to temper our expectations. But human as we are, they sneak up on us anyway. In the moment just before, the world is simple. It’s the place where all the fairy tales exist. The minutes, the seconds, right before, when everything you dreamed is possible.


Take, for instance, the moment just before the party. The happy chatter heard from above before they know you’re there – listening. The reverberation of people’s joy in a moment you helped foster and all those expectations, those fairy tales, rise up inside you and make you smile at yourself in the mirror. This moment is pure joy, as of yet, untouched.

The moment right before is your heart’s truest. Reality is still what you hope, not yet what is. Uncomplicated. Like the seconds before the first kiss – too wet or too dry, makes no difference. It hasn’t happened yet and your kiss, still descending, can’t be anything short of miraculous.

Perhaps it’s the anticipation of the thing and not the thing itself that makes life so ephemeral. Like Christmas Day – a 35 day build up that’s over faster than you can say Kris Kringle. But it’s magic if you please. The gradual build up of cheer and love and joyous anticipation. The biggest moment just before of the year. When it’s over there’s always that twinge of sadness because the moment after breaks the fairy tale. The moment after makes you adult. The moment after is like a double edged sword – it might be just as magical or it might let you down. But in the moment just before it’s almost like living in a childhood Christmas tale. And the people you love, love you and they’re happy and fed and laughing. And the rooms fill with music, and the walls fill with scribbles and for a moment, just a moment – you’ve captured happiness in the palm of your hand.

I like to think there’s enough moments just before to carry us through another year, and another year - into a lifetime. We’ll make them, we’ll plan them and together, we’ll battle that all too familiar life call to “grow up” entirely. And it just so happens, I’m living a moment just before right now. With you. The moment just before I post this, I’ll be proud. Satisfied. Pleased. In my fairy tale this page is exactly everything I hoped. After, I’ll wonder if you read it. If you felt the same. If I made it too emotional or got carried away with my inner thesaurus. But for now, and theoretically, for always, this day, this party, this end of 2009 – is the moment just before the rest of our lives. It’s beautiful. The Holy Grail. Nothing short of miraculous. And it’s filled, by the grace of God, with all of you.