Breaking Up is Hard to Do

I spent this morning editing and wanted to share another sample from my upcoming book with all of you.  I can't wait to publish the whole thing!!

Breaking Up is Hard to Do

            Sandy was on the couch, determined to get through dividing the rest of their DVD collection before the sun went down.  She couldn’t believe how many movies she and her soon-to-be-ex-Paul had managed to accumulate over their five-year domestic partnership.  She held up a copy of Memento and wondered which of them had wanted it more.  The irony of that thought made her smile for the first time since she had started packing.

            The back door flew open.  Paul came in and tossed a clunky set of keys on the counter, successfully disrupting the task Sandy was trying hard to accomplish.  He didn’t say anything to Sandy and she didn’t say anything to him either.  She knew he didn’t want to face the fact that they were splitting up, but he had to because it was happening.  She was leaving.

            “Do you want to keep Memento, Paul?” Sandy asked as he passed through the living room on his way to the stairs.

            “Sure, whatever,” he replied.  She noticed that he could barely look at her anymore.

            Sandy listened as he shuffled around upstairs.  It was as if he were in complete denial about the whole situation.  Granted she had made her final decision just two weeks ago, it was something she had been talking about for at least a year.  This had to be anything but a surprise to him. 

            Paul came back downstairs.  “Are you really doing this right now?” he asked.

            “Yes, I really am, Paul,” she answered.  “My parents are coming tomorrow to help with the big stuff and I want them to see that we--- that I - have made some progress in the last few days.”

            “But do we have to split our shit right now?  I mean they won’t be here until late tomorrow evening and it’s only what?  Barely 5:00?”  He slumped down on the couch next to her, resting his head on her shoulder.  “Can’t we talk about who gets what...I don’t know?  Later?”  He looked at her more hopeful.  “Never?”

            Sandy’s eyes started to well up.  “No, Paul.  We can’t put this off anymore.  I know it hurts, but we have to.  Please.”  Sandy picked up their copy of The Notebook and said, “Well, I know this one’s mine.”

            “Damn it, Sandy!” Paul exclaimed, standing up again.  He headed back to the kitchen.

            Sandy sat in silence, more frustrated than ever.  She heard cabinets open and then slam shut.  He turned on the kitchen faucet full blast.  She let out a loud sigh.

            “Hey,” Paul said, suddenly standing in the threshold of the room holding a dripping, full glass of water. 

Sandy looked up, wiping away her tears.  “What?” she asked.

“Instead of all this ‘good-bye’ stuff, do you think maybe we could say ‘hello’ again?”

            “What are you talking about?” Sandy asked, completely confused.

            He came and sat beside her again. 

            “You know, say, ‘hello,’ like we did the first day we met?  Like this.”  He took her hand and led her to the kitchen.  “Sit,” he said pointing to one of the chairs at their kitchen table.

            “Oh, my goodness, you’ve gone insane,” Sandy remarked.

            “Probably, but sit down anyway...please.”  After a moment of hesitation Sandy did what he asked of her.  Paul turned and grabbed a notepad from the counter and put it in front of her.  He then retrieved a pen from a mug full of pens and highlighters and handed that to her as well.  “Okay,” he said.  “The day we met, you were at The Safehouse Coffee Bar on Ventura.  You were sitting on the patio, despite the 100 degree weather, and you were writing feverishly.” 

            Sandy immediately protested, “I don’t know what you---.”

            “You were writing feverishly,” he repeated.  “Come on, Sand.”

            She hated to disappoint him and so she started writing on the yellow legal notepad in front of her.  He peeked over her shoulder and saw she had written:

This is stupid.

            Paul frowned.

“Then what?” she asked.

            Paul thought for a moment and snapped his fingers, saying, “Then I came up and was---.”  He dumped the mug of pens on the counter.  “I was holding a hot cup of coffee---.”

            “Despite the 100 degree weather.”

            “You’re supposed to drink hot stuff when it’s hot!  I know you’ve never believed me, but it cools me off.”  Sandy nodded, having heard him say this a thousand times before.  “Anyway,” he continued, “I came up and I said---.”

            “’Hello,’” Sandy interrupted, completing his sentence.  Paul nodded excitedly.  “And even though all of the other tables were open you asked me---.”

            “’Is anyone sitting here?’  And do you remember what you told me?”

            “I said, ‘Nope.  I’m alone.’”

            “Thank God!”  Paul exclaimed, taking the seat across from her.  “To which I replied---.”

            “’Aren’t we all?’”  Paul was lost for a moment, seeing in his mind the both of them sitting on The Safehouse Coffee Bar patio that summer’s day.

“What happened next, Paul?” asked Sandy, finally giving in to Paul’s walk down memory lane.

            He searched her eyes for a moment to remember.  “I asked you what you were writing and you said, ‘The greatest story never told.’”  They both laughed.  “God damn, you were clever, Sand.”

            “Thanks!  Then what?”

            Paul tilted his head back, pretending to drink the rest of his imaginary coffee.  He slammed the mug down on the wooden table with a loud thud and took Sandy by the hand, leading her back to the living room couch.

            “I took you to a movie,” Paul said, sitting them both down.

            “Oh, yeah, that awful Chainsaw Massacre movie.”

            “Right!  And I covered your eyes to protect you from the scenes I thought might give you nightmares.”

            Sandy pulled Paul’s hands away from her eyes, replying, “But I got them anyway.”

            “Hey, at least I tried!”

            Sandy decided to cut him some slack.  “Okay, then what happened?”

            Paul arched his eyebrows suggestively and answered, “Why, my dear, sweet Sandy, don’t you remember?”

            It was apparent she did not and so Paul got up and ran to the bedroom.  She followed right behind him.  He put a hand on each of her shoulders and lightly pushed her back onto their bed.  Her legs dangled off the edge as he spread them so that he could stand between them.

            “Then I charmed the pants off you,” he said, adding, “Quite literally I’m afraid.”

            Sandy nodded as the memories of that night and all that followed for the next five years came flooding into her mind.  “Then what, Paul?” she asked.

            Paul lay down next to her, running his hand through her soft, dark hair.  “And then, sweet lady, we fell in love,” he said.

            “Was it easy?” she asked.

            “It was too easy, Sand.”  He wiped a tear from her eye.  “And then we moved in together.  We lived here in this house through earthquakes, auditions, concerts, camping trips, too many cancelled TV pilots to count, and...”

            “Five trips to rehab,” added Sandy.

            Paul nodded and finally broke down, allowing himself to cry for the first time.  Sandy got up from the bed, leaving him to weep alone, not knowing how to comfort him anymore.           

            “I’m sorry, Paul,” she said. 

He nodded because he understood she had reached her breaking point.  Sandy went downstairs and started to sort their DVD collection again.