Your Big Break

  I put my hands on the keyboard and quickly type:

  Breaking up is hard to do? Not anymore . . .

  Your Big Break Inc. can help!

  It’s not you, it’s us!

  Property Retrieval • Dear John Letters • Counseling Phone Calls • Breakup Recovery Kits

  We do it all! Let us let them down easy for you.

  Call (617) 55-LEAVE

  Because breaking up doesn’t have to give you a breakdown.

  I tag on a couple of sentences about our prices and our website address and then hit print. I think Craig will be pleased. I know I am. I think it sounds clever, smart. I leave the mock-up on his desk and then run right into Amanda as I head back to my office. “Fax for you,” she says, waving a piece of paper in the air.

  “Thanks,” I say, taking it. I can see the letterhead of Hirschbaum, Davis, and Klein: Attorneys at Law printed across the top. My eyes catch sight of the date. “This came in last Saturday!” I yelp. “It’s nearly a week old. Why didn’t you give it to me sooner?”

  She shrugs. “It got mixed in with my faxes. I didn’t notice it until today.”

  “Great,” I snap. “Just great. Evan Hirschbaum is top priority,” I scold her.

  Without saying anything, Amanda turns on her heel and stalks away.

  I scan the fax.

  Hirschbaum, Davis, and Klein Attorneys at Law

  FAX

  To: Danielle M. of Your Big Break Inc.

  From: Martha Rowe, assistant to Evan Hirschbaum

  Date: Saturday, June 25

  Re: Lunch Arrangements

  Comments:

  Mr. Evan Hirschbaum, Esq. would like to invite you to lunch at The Ritz-Carlton Hotel, date TBD. Please be advised that the following conditions apply:• Mr. Hirschbaum will not provide you with monetary compensation.

  • Mr. Hirschbaum will pay for all dining expenses.

  • You will be responsible for your own transportation.

  Please contact me at your earliest convenience to confirm that you’ve read and understood these conditions.

  EH/mr

  I sit there with my mouth gaping open. “Mr. Hirschbaum will not provide you with monetary compensation?” What am I, a prostitute? I’m not after his money! I’m not after anything. I don’t even want to go to this stupid lunch!

  I’m indignant! Outraged!

  Over the past year, I’ve put up with a lot of crap from Evan Hirschbaum—no more. I’ve finally reached my limit. With shaking hands, I pick up the phone and dial his office. His assistant answers on the second ring.

  “Hirschbaum, Davis, and Klein. Martha speaking, may I help you?”

  “Put me through to Evan Hirschbaum, please.”

  “He’s in a meeting right now. May I take a message?”

  “Yes, you certainly may,” I say haughtily. “Tell Evan that Danielle from Your Big Break Inc. called. I got his fax—”

  “What does your schedule look like? Mr. Hirschbaum’s wide open next Tuesday, if you want to have lunch then.”

  “I’m all booked up,” I say, and then I let out a loud, exaggerated laugh. “In fact, you can tell Evan that I will be booked up for the rest of my life. He can take his lunch date and shove it up his ass!” I slam down the phone before she has time to respond.

  Thirty minutes later, Evan calls.

  “I can shove our lunch date up my ass, can I?”

  As soon as I’d hung up, I’d felt a twinge of remorse. Maybe I’d been too harsh? Maybe I’d gotten carried away? And, most troubling of all, maybe I’ll get fired when Craig discovers what I’ve done. “Yes, about that,” I begin. “I was a little put off when I read your fax.”

  “You took things the wrong way,” he says matter-of-factly. Then he says, “You know, Dani, it’s important I get to know you.” He continues, “You’ll allow me to broaden my horizons, see women in a different context.”

  Could it be possible that his intentions are good?

  “An insider’s view of what makes women tick. I’ll be able to utilize what you teach me to my advantage in numerous ways.”

  No, he’s just a shallow pig, looking to manipulate women.

  “I don’t know how much I’ll be able to help you with that,” I say.

  “It all remains to be seen. Now, switching gears, I trust Sophie is doing better?”

  “Much. She’s pulled her life together over the past couple of weeks. She’s found a new man.” This is only half true. Sophie and Sean’s first date is tonight, so technically he’s not “her man.” But they’ve been talking on the phone constantly, and they seem to be hitting it off well. “And she’s going back to college in the fall.”

  “College,” Evan scoffs. “She should enroll in cosmetology school. Though even that might be a bit too cerebral for our Sophie.”

  “Our Sophie.” This phrase bugs me. As though Evan can lay claim to her, as though she belongs to him. “I think she’ll hold her own,” I say diplomatically. “Sophie’s a smart cookie.”

  30

  I’m Still Getting to Know MySelf, Finding Out Who I Am AS a Person

  I’ve promised to help Sean get ready for his big date tonight, so I drive out to my parents’ house after work. I time things wrong and show up before Sean’s made it home from Blockbuster. I’m hoping I can sneak through the door and up the stairs without running into anyone, but no such luck. I’ve just let myself into the entrance hall when a voice calls out, “Dani? Is that you?”

  It’s my mother. She’s sitting in the living room with all the lights out.

  “Can you come in here a sec? You can turn on the light if you want.”

  My hands fumble for the switch. Why is she sitting in the dark? I flip on the lights.

  “Sit down,” Mom says.

  I perch gingerly on the couch beside her. Mom’s face is blotchy, and her eyes are swollen. She’s surrounded by a mountain of Kleenex. “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  “Jude broke up with me today.”

  “He did?” I ask, shocked. “Did he give you a reason?”

  “Apparently, he’s not ready to make a serious commitment.” She hugs the box of Kleenex close to her chest. “He said he’s still getting to know himself, finding out who he is as a person.”

  I nearly fall off the couch. My mom has just received one of the ten biggest breakup excuses! Excuse: I’m still getting to know myself, finding out who I am as a person. Translation: I’m gay. I can’t believe it. Jude really is gay. “He’s gay, isn’t he?” I ask.

  “Good grief!” Mom looks stricken. “Where do you come up with these things, Dani?”

  “You said your relationship didn’t have any passion.” I stop as I realize that she told that to Sean, not me. “At least, that’s what Sean told me.”

  Mom looks annoyed. “Do you really want to have this conversation? Because if you’re curious about whether or not Jude and I slept together, then come right out and ask. I’m not shy.”

  “I just can’t believe he broke up with you,” I say, shaking my head in surprise.

  “That makes two of us.”

  “Don’t worry about him. He wasn’t worth it.”

  She blows her nose in a Kleenex. “But he was worth it. It’s always worth it when you love someone.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “You loved Jude?”

  “I don’t know. I think I loved the change in me. I could be a different person when I was around him.”

  I stare at her. “You want to be a different person?” I can’t believe we’re talking so candidly.

  Mom pulls the blanket tighter. “I already am different. You try to stay the same, you try to hold on to who you’ve always been. But when I was laid off from my job last year . . .” She stops and hangs her head.

  This is the first time I’ve ever heard Mom use the words “laid off.” Up until this point, she’s made it sound voluntary, even though we all knew she didn’t leave by choice.

  “When I lost my job, I lost a part of my identity
. I started to reexamine things, see all the ways my life was lacking. I got married so young. I never saw the world, never knew any other men.” And by “knew,” I know she means “slept with.” Mom and I exchange a significant look. “I don’t regret the decisions I’ve made in life, but I’ve reached a point where I want to experience new things.”

  I swallow hard. I can’t believe this is really happening.

  “Don’t seem so down, Dani.” She leans over and pats my leg. “I’m looking forward to this weekend.”

  “This weekend?”

  “The cookout on Monday. Didn’t your father tell you? He’s making hamburgers and hotdogs for July Fourth. Sean’s got to work, but he’s hoping you can make it. It will be nice, for old time’s sake.”

  “I’ll be there,” I say, struggling to keep my tone even.

  “You know I’ll always have strong feelings—” Mom says, and then stops as Sean arrives, whistling as he comes in through the front door.

  I want her to finish the sentence, but she never does.

  When Brady phones later that night, he catches me off guard. I didn’t expect to hear from him; I figured he’d be out. I thought I was the only one dorky enough to be stuck home on weekends. While I’m happy that I’ve matched up Jason and Krista and Sophie and Sean, there’s a definite downside. I’ve matched myself right out of having available friends.

  “Hi, Dani,” Brady says when I answer. “I hope I’m not calling too late.”

  “Well, I do normally turn in at seven-thirty. . . . What’s going on?”

  “Not much. I just got back from the movies.”

  Movies? As in “I just got back from escorting some really hot girl to the movies?”

  “Oh, how was that?” I say casually.

  “Kind of dull. It was just me, my buddy Andrew, and his girlfriend. I wound up being the third wheel. I spent most of the night wishing you were there.”

  My breath catches. “You should have invited me.”

  “I didn’t know we were going until the last minute. I assumed you’d already have plans.”

  Little does he know that my evening consisted of helping my brother prep for his date and then camping out in front of the television with take-out Thai food. “Next time, try me anyway,” I advise, walking into my bedroom and closing the door.

  “I will,” he says. “So are you looking to forward to our picnic next Sunday?”

  I kick off my shoes and climb into bed. “Yeah! I think it’ll be great. Maybe we can go for a walk after we eat. The Public Garden is so gorgeous this time of year.”

  “Have you ever been on the Swan Boats?” Brady asks.

  “About ten years ago. When we first moved here, my family did all kinds of touristy stuff. We even took one of those cheesy duck-boat rides with the costumed tour guides.”

  “Don’t laugh,” Brady says in a mock whisper, “but I love cheesy tourist stuff. I never got the chance to do any of it when I was growing up.”

  “Really?” I pull the covers around me.

  “Yeah. My family was more into visiting museums or architecturally significant houses and buildings. When we traveled, we never went to places like Sea World or Graceland.”

  “Hey, Graceland’s an ‘architecturally significant house,’” I point out, propping a few pillows behind my head. “Elvis lived there.”

  “My parents veered more toward Frank Lloyd Wright than the King.”

  “Sounds like you’ve got a lot of lost time to make up for. Should we start on Sunday, with a fun-filled ride on one of the Swan Boats?”

  “That’d be fun,” he says.

  I’m surprised he didn’t take Erin; they dated for two years. We wind up talking late into the night, chatting about our favorite foods, TV shows, music, vacations. Brady’s well traveled. He’s visited more than thirty U.S. states and has been to Europe a handful of times.

  “This is fun,” I say rolling over onto my stomach. “It reminds me of being fifteen years old. You know, when you stay up on the phone all night talking to your—” I stop abruptly. I was going to say “boyfriend.” “Friends,” I substitute.

  When we finally get off the phone, it’s nearly 3 a.m.

  “I’ll see you next Sunday,” Brady says.

  I can’t wait.

  Even though it’s July Fourth, I envy Sean for having to work. I wish I’d been able to say I was working. But after my talk with Mom the other day, I feel better about the whole situation. It’s still weird, knowing I’ll be dining with two cheaters, but I’m learning to accept it.

  “Hi,” I call out, sailing into the living room.

  “There’s someone I want to introduce you to!” Dad says, beaming. “Gretchen, you’ve already met my son, Sean. This is my daughter. I’m sorry I’ve kept you from each other.”

  Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck! Why didn’t anybody tell me Dad’s girlfriend was coming?

  “I know her,” Gretchen jumps in, snapping her fingers. “That’s Danielle.”

  “Did you two go to college together?” Mom cracks. I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. There has to be a way to salvage the situation, to stop her before—

  “She’s the breakup girl,” Gretchen announces.

  Too late. My cover’s officially blown.

  My parents stare at both of us as realization continues to dawn on Gretchen. “Paul, I tried to hire your daughter to end things with you!”

  “What are you talking about?” Dad looks at Gretchen as though she’s lost her mind.

  I have no idea what to do. Should I feign innocence and pretend Gretchen is crazy? Should I act like the whole thing is one giant misunderstanding? Should I come clean?

  Before I can make a decision, Gretchen blurts out the story. “When I first found out you were married, I wanted to end things, so I hired that company, Your Big Break Incorporated. I read about them in the newspaper. They dump people for you.”

  Dad looks stunned. “You were planning to dump me?” he says.

  “It was before we had our big talk,” she says, walking over to Dad. She wraps her arms around his waist. I was going to pay her”—she points at me—“to handle everything.”

  “Why on earth would you involve Dani?” he asks. “How did you two even meet?”

  “Dani’s the breakup girl,” Gretchen says again, with emphasis.

  “I don’t get it,” Dad says. “What’s she talking about?”

  Mom’s quicker on the uptake. “So that’s how you found out. It wasn’t the computer files after all.” And then, addressing Gretchen, she says, “Let me see if I’ve got this straight. Dani—our Dani—does freelance work for some sort of relationship-wrecking firm? She makes money ending happy unions? Is that even legal?”

  Yep. And it’s surprisingly profitable, too. I take a deep breath and say, “It’s not freelance, Mom. It’s my full-time job.”

  “How do you manage to juggle two full-time jobs?” Dad asks.

  Gretchen looks nervous now, worried. “I’ll go touch up my makeup,” she says, darting out of the room.

  “I was never a Web designer,” I say, my voice quavering. “I made that up.”

  His jaw drops. “You made it up?”

  I nod sheepishly. “Yes.”

  Mom whirls around to face me. “You lied to us?”

  “You lied, too,” I point out. “You lied about Gretchen and Jude!”

  At the sound of her name, Gretchen resurfaces. “Are you talking about me?” she asks, slipping her arm through Dad’s.

  Mom ignores her. “Yes, we lied. But that’s different.”

  “It’s different because it’s you,” I tell her.

  “I don’t know what to say.” Mom sighs. She looks really sad. “This family is—” she stops. “It’s not even a family anymore. I’m sorry I started this.”

  My father walks toward the back door. “Dinner’s off,” he says, going outside to shut off the grill. “I’ve just lost my appetite.”

  31

  The
Five Stages of Breakup Hell

  It’s one of those perfect Sunday afternoons. The weather’s gorgeous, cool and breezy with a glorious sun. Brady picks me up from my house at 1 p.m. and we drive into downtown Boston. He manages to find a vacant spot on Boylston Street a few blocks down from the Public Garden, the Holy Grail of parking places.

  We walk side by side, Brady clutching a large wicker picnic basket. When we reach the gardens, he finds a shady spot near the lake and sets up camp, laying out blankets and pillows.

  The picnic is amazing. We eat turkey sandwiches and German-style potato salad made with mustard. I’ve brought apple juice and bottled water, plus apricot tarts courtesy of the chef at Fintane Catering.

  “So, you’ve never told me about your family,” Brady says. “What are they like?”

  I shove a bite of apricot tart into my mouth. “My parents aren’t exactly my favorite people at the moment. Their marriage is breaking up,” I tell him.

  “I’m sorry. That’s rough.”

  “I feel so stupid that I’m upset about it. What am I, ten years old?”

  “I don’t think it’s stupid,” Brady says. “You seem to be coping pretty well.”

  “When I first found out my father was having an affair, I was devastated. I had a virtual meltdown. Then I got murderously angry. I destroyed a bunch of pictures of him.”

  As I continue with the story, something occurs to me.

  The nervous breakdown I had when I found out. The sour grapes anger I’d felt toward my father. I’d wanted my mother to move on, to rebound and find joy in her life. And then, when I discovered the truth about Jude, the desperate push to reunite my parents at all costs—the backslide. I can’t believe I didn’t see it before: I’ve been going through the five stages of breakup hell.

  Well, the first four at least—and with my parents, no less!

  I didn’t think that was possible. I wasn’t even the one who got dumped. . . .

  “Are you okay?” Brady asks, interrupting my thoughts.