Jason.
“It’s not that I don’t want to tell him. It’s just that … well, he thinks he hates you for robbing him of three years of his life and for being as nuts as his mother,” I explained delicately, using the skills I assumed I would have learned had I not dropped out of psychology grad school. “Look, I know in time he will realize his anger is misdirected and that you only represent a time when he felt trapped on a myriad of levels, you know?”
Baz looked at me, incredulous, then called me on my bullshit: “If your husband doesn’t want you seeing me, why are you doing it?”
I hesitated for a beat. The truth was, I didn’t have a good answer. I mean other than that I was an empty shell of a person desperate for love and attention. But I figured she already knew that.
“I guess I’m here because I’m a healer. I like to heal people. I’m a healer.”
For the next month, Baz and I continued seeing each other. The fact that she kept accepting my invitations to hang out, even after I admitted that Jason knew nothing about our relationship, told me she too was getting some sort of sick satisfaction out of the friendship. My assumption was that she liked knowing she had something on the guy who’d always had her by the balls. For me, it wasn’t so much that I enjoyed hanging out with Baz, but more like I’d witnessed a car accident, and I couldn’t not jump into the road and scream, “Clear the way, people! I’m a doctor’s daughter and you need my help!”
She and I were night and day—we shared none of the same interests, and had little or nothing to talk about other than my husband. But that was enough. I knew it couldn’t go on forever, and I justified my actions by constantly telling myself it was just a phase, something I needed to explore in order to put behind me. She started it, after all (except for the part that I started). If she hadn’t shown signs of obsession, I wouldn’t have been provoked. Besides, there was some good coming out of it. Every time I was around her, I felt great about myself! She helped me appreciate how good my life was.
I always paid for our meals and would joke whenever the check arrived that after putting up with Jason for three years, the least I could do was buy her lunch. Once, I found a box in the garage filled with things she gave Jason back during their breakup. The best part was that it was composed exclusively of gifts he bought her—as if forcing him to see the neon-colored trench coat and bedazzled Mousketeer ears was going to make him think better of his decision to leave her. I couldn’t help but think that if I’d been in her life earlier, I would never have let her send a box like this to anyone. That said, I loved the box, and once I’d tried every article of clothing on to make sure it fit me loosely, I started systematically gifting things back to her. You know, as like a little treat.
As she drove us to Sheila Kelley’s pole dancing class one afternoon, I whipped out a pair of Sam Edelman sandals and dangled them in front of her face.
“Remember these?”
Upon seeing the gnarled-up gladiators, Baz burst into tears. “I can’t do this anymore,” she whimpered as she slammed on the brakes and buried her face in the steering wheel.
Baz explained that the shoes represented to her the night Jason moved out. She’d lost her temper and kicked her foot through a skylight. Unsure how that was physically possible, I just nodded and held her hand in support.
“Maybe we’ve moved too fast with things,” I said with sadness. “Maybe you need some time before we can have a friendship that isn’t fraught with these kind of potholes.”
“Or maybe we just can’t be friends,” she said.
I paused, feeling the sting of her words. But I knew deep down she was right. For the first time in my life, I wasn’t doing the breaking up. And for the first time in my life, I was willing to accept the rejection. Baz had the courage to do the
“It’s not that I don’t want to tell him. It’s just that … well, he thinks he hates you for robbing him of three years of his life and for being as nuts as his mother,” I explained delicately, using the skills I assumed I would have learned had I not dropped out of psychology grad school. “Look, I know in time he will realize his anger is misdirected and that you only represent a time when he felt trapped on a myriad of levels, you know?”
Baz looked at me, incredulous, then called me on my bullshit: “If your husband doesn’t want you seeing me, why are you doing it?”
I hesitated for a beat. The truth was, I didn’t have a good answer. I mean other than that I was an empty shell of a person desperate for love and attention. But I figured she already knew that.
“I guess I’m here because I’m a healer. I like to heal people. I’m a healer.”
For the next month, Baz and I continued seeing each other. The fact that she kept accepting my invitations to hang out, even after I admitted that Jason knew nothing about our relationship, told me she too was getting some sort of sick satisfaction out of the friendship. My assumption was that she liked knowing she had something on the guy who’d always had her by the balls. For me, it wasn’t so much that I enjoyed hanging out with Baz, but more like I’d witnessed a car accident, and I couldn’t not jump into the road and scream, “Clear the way, people! I’m a doctor’s daughter and you need my help!”
She and I were night and day—we shared none of the same interests, and had little or nothing to talk about other than my husband. But that was enough. I knew it couldn’t go on forever, and I justified my actions by constantly telling myself it was just a phase, something I needed to explore in order to put behind me. She started it, after all (except for the part that I started). If she hadn’t shown signs of obsession, I wouldn’t have been provoked. Besides, there was some good coming out of it. Every time I was around her, I felt great about myself! She helped me appreciate how good my life was.
I always paid for our meals and would joke whenever the check arrived that after putting up with Jason for three years, the least I could do was buy her lunch. Once, I found a box in the garage filled with things she gave Jason back during their breakup. The best part was that it was composed exclusively of gifts he bought her—as if forcing him to see the neon-colored trench coat and bedazzled Mousketeer ears was going to make him think better of his decision to leave her. I couldn’t help but think that if I’d been in her life earlier, I would never have let her send a box like this to anyone. That said, I loved the box, and once I’d tried every article of clothing on to make sure it fit me loosely, I started systematically gifting things back to her. You know, as like a little treat.
As she drove us to Sheila Kelley’s pole dancing class one afternoon, I whipped out a pair of Sam Edelman sandals and dangled them in front of her face.
“Remember these?”
Upon seeing the gnarled-up gladiators, Baz burst into tears. “I can’t do this anymore,” she whimpered as she slammed on the brakes and buried her face in the steering wheel.
Baz explained that the shoes represented to her the night Jason moved out. She’d lost her temper and kicked her foot through a skylight. Unsure how that was physically possible, I just nodded and held her hand in support.
“Maybe we’ve moved too fast with things,” I said with sadness. “Maybe you need some time before we can have a friendship that isn’t fraught with these kind of potholes.”
“Or maybe we just can’t be friends,” she said.
I paused, feeling the sting of her words. But I knew deep down she was right. For the first time in my life, I wasn’t doing the breaking up. And for the first time in my life, I was willing to accept the rejection. Baz had the courage to do the
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