The Break

I sat at the table, balling up and unfolding a napkin in my hands over and over while I watched my friend waltz effortlessly around her kitchen, chopping vegetables, measuring ingredients, adding spices and salt to a bowl. Kylie complained about being single, but all things considered, she had it together a lot more than I did.

“I can’t believe this happened a month ago and you’re just now telling me,” she said as she handed me a plate with a chicken sandwich, salad, and grapes on it. I felt my stomach rumble. I’d only eaten half a sandwich after sharing with Audrey.

Our schedules had finally lined up that afternoon; a rarity these days, with me having a toddler and she a demanding finance job. But I needed the time with her today. A month ago, I’d opened my husband’s phone and found texts. Explicit messages he’d been writing to a woman half his age, dating back six months.

Kylie had let me in, made me lunch, and listened to me vent. I hadn’t meant to stay this long, but we’d already been talking for hours and we could easily have gone on for more.

“I know, but it’s not really a phone conversation,” I countered.

“Fair. So, what do you think you’ll do?” Kylie posed the question I’d been asking myself every second of every day since opening Pete’s phone.

“I don’t know.”

“Again, fair. Keep going to counseling, but don’t let him off the hook,” she said for probably the twenty-fifth time in this conversation. He wasn’t going to get off the hook, but single people seriously underestimate the impact of parenthood on every situation. Audrey made this situation a hundred, no, a thousand times more complicated. And that’s even before considering my stepsons, Tate and Baylor. I hadn’t expected to feel so connected to them, coming into their lives during their preteen years, but I loved them so fiercely it hurt to my core. If I left their dad, what would come of my relationship with them? They weren’t close to their real mom, and both had chosen to live with Pete and me full-time.

“I wish I could help more. I obviously don’t have husband experience, but I’m always here if you need to vent or stay in the guest room or whatever.”

“Thanks, I need to get going. I basically dropped Audrey on him for nap time, but I need to see her before bedtime. But he at least owed me an afternoon of girl time after all this.”

“Sounds like he had his girl time. Seriously though, call me after your next counseling session,” she said as we hugged goodbye.

Leaving her house, and her food, was hard. Meals in my house, with two teenage boys and a two-year-old, consist mainly of air-fried chicken nuggets, mac & cheese, and French fries. I’m not sure when I last saw a vegetable. It could be the environment, but I’d swear even Kylie’s grapes tasted better than the package I’d bought for the kids. Watching Kylie flit around the kitchen, making me lunch, seeing her cook for fun instead of foraging in the cabinets to calm the hangry swarm of kids and husband, I felt a little stab in my heart. She has freedom. She can eat vegetables and make salad dressings with champagne vinegar because she has disposable income to buy such things and time to prepare them, and because she doesn’t have to listen to anyone whine about how awful it is to be forced to eat vegetables. Any disposable income Pete and I have is immediately allocated to football pads, cleats, uniforms, and the plethora of other expenses related to the older boys’ sports. Between that and Audrey’s constant growing out of clothes, we are strapped. That pang of jealousy came again but couldn’t overcome my love for Kylie. We’d become fast friends in college after being randomly paired as roommates. Neither could that jealousy overcome my love for my kids, even if it meant heating up French fries five times a day. I mentally vowed that I would call her after therapy on Friday and make plans to meet up again.

Five days later, I kept my promise and called her after my therapy session with Pete. This time, though, I’d had to bring Audrey along because Pete had volunteered to direct the school play and had a dress rehearsal before opening night the following night. We’d ordered coffees from an adorable coffee truck at the park and watched Audrey as she climbed to the top of the big toy, her little legs reaching up at every step.

“Are you sure he’s actually directing the play, or was he meeting up with her while he told you he’s been directing the play?” Kylie asked, only half-jokingly.

“I called the school after I found the texts. Pretended to be Keaton’s mom, asking which teacher I could call to complain about my precious son not getting the starring role. Sure enough, the secretary said, ‘The teacher directing the play this year is Pete Meyer. I’m sure Keaton had a wonderful audition, but we have so many talented students at our school.’ So I guess it’s true. He finds time to direct a school play AND have an affair.”

“Who’s Keaton?”

“Who the hell knows? I made it up,” I answered, and both of us burst into laughter, mostly at the absurdity of the entire situation.

“Counseling was awful,” I admitted, tears welling in my eyes, “Sofia, our therapist, asked both of us to write down three specific things that we’d like in our marriage. I came up with: dinner as a family on the nights we don’t have sports, date night without kids once a month, and open communication with each other daily. I just want him to come home and ask how my day was. And yeah, it’s pretty much the same every day. Audrey plays, snacks, naps, fights about keeping her clothes on, and I turn on Bluey for her so I can pick up the house. Shuttle the boys to sports. But still, I’d like to be asked.”

“What did Pete write down?”

“Nothing. She gave us five minutes and all he had was a blank sheet of paper. Said he’s satisfied with the way things are, and when I argued that clearly he’s not, or he wouldn’t have had an affair, he just shut down and said he’s a bad person and he’s sorry.”

“Sheesh, Becca. I’m so sorry,” Kylie replied, obviously not knowing what else to say. 

“I have no choices,” I replied, my voice thick from trying to contain my emotions.

“Yes, you do,” she said.

“But none of them are good! I don’t want to be a single mom. I don’t want to leave Tate and Baylor too. But Pete, he’s going to make me insane. And maybe I already am! I don’t even hate him, Kylie. I still love him, and I don’t even want to stop loving him. So either I leave him and live the rest of my life as a heartbroken mess, or I stay… and live the rest of my life as a heartbroken mess.” The tears had spilled over, and I wiped the trails of mascara that were sliding down my face with my napkin from the coffee truck.

“I thought that for a while, you know,” she said slowly and quietly, like she was telling me a secret, “I thought I didn’t have any choices. My situation wasn’t like yours, it’s not remotely comparable. But you remember that job I stayed at for four years even though I hated it? Becca, I couldn’t stand that place. I didn’t like it even on my first day, and every single day I woke up wondering why I was bothering. But I found out that you have choices, you just have to know that you have them.”

“MOMMY, Mommy watch me!” my daughter shouted, from the top of the big toy at the most incredibly inopportune moment.

“I see you, baby! Go down the slide!” I yelled back at her, plastering on a grin. Her shrill laughter echoed all the way down the curvy playground slide.

“Becca. I’m telling you, you have a choice. You just have to figure it out. And in your case, I don’t know, Pete may need to figure it out too. Or maybe he already has. Sometimes it breaks people a little bit. But they can find their way back,” Kylie practically whispered.

“What are you talking about, Ky?” I asked, surprised by her quiet tone.

“It’s hard to explain,” she said, her eyes on Audrey instead of meeting mine, “but four months ago I figured it out, and -”

“You quit your job, right?” I cut her off, unable to hold back my anger, “I know, you got a fancy new job four months ago. That’s not the same, Kylie! My husband CHEATED on me, and you’re comparing it to finding a new job? Like I should just find a job and then all my problems will go away? We’re not the same, Ky! Are you talking about some red pill shit? I thought that was a toxic masculinity thing? Ky, what the -”

“Becca, LISTEN. It’s not red pill shit. I’m not telling you to find a job,” she almost shouted, before lowering her voice. This time it was her eyes misting over. “I know it’s going to sound crazy but please, please, please, hear me out. What did you order from the coffee truck?”

“What?”

“What did you order from the coffee truck?”

“Why does it matter?”

“Just tell me.”

“Okay, I got a vanilla latte.”

“Same as you always get, right?”

“Yeah? Kylie I’m -”

“Confused, I know. But stay with me. You ordered a vanilla latte, which is the same coffee you’ve ordered every time I’ve ever had coffee with you. But what did you WANT to order?”

“A vanilla latte.”

“No, you didn’t. You definitely did not want a vanilla latte. You know how I know? Because you and I, since we were eighteen years old, we’ve had coffee together an uncountable number of times. And do you know how many of those time I’ve stood in that line and listened to you waffle between finally trying a cinnamon caramel latte or just ordering your old standard? Hundreds. But you’ve never once tried that cinnamon caramel latte, have you?” Kylie met my eyes now, some measure of resolve building in her so her chest puffed out a little and her voice wasn’t as quiet now.

“I… I’ve never tried the cinnamon caramel latte. I always think about it but by the time I get to the front of the line, the vanilla latte just sounds better. Kylie, I don’t get it, how is this important?

“Because it’s not just your coffee order, Becca. It’s… it’s everything. Every choice you make, and every choice you’ve ever made. You didn’t really choose it, but you think you did. Look back. The puppy you got in high school. You told me that you’d wanted to name her Magic, but at the last second you changed your mind and called her Princess, right? Or how about this… your first date with Pete, you called me and told me, ‘Absolutely no way am I going on a second date with that guy,’ and yet here we are, watching your daughter play.”

“You’re insane, I’m leaving. Audrey! Come on, it’s time to go!” I yelled, which kept my voice from shaking but not my hands. I stood up and started to gather my purse and Audrey’s backpack.

“Becca, please sit back down,” Kylie argued, “Please.”

I couldn’t tell if my legs gave out, or if I was being compelled by some strength that may or may not have been my own, but I sat back down on the bench. I looked Kylie in the eyes. I knew this girl better than I knew anyone, and she knew me. And the look in her eyes told me she was telling the truth, or at least that she fully believed her words.

“Am I understanding that you’re saying my choices haven’t been mine? Not really?” I asked, hoping that she would say I was completely nuts and there was a perfectly reasonable, not-earth-shattering explanation for what she was saying. 

 “I’m saying that you’ve never made a choice in your life,” she affirmed, her voice convicted, “There’s a voice in your head that tells you to order that vanilla latte, and so you do, because you think it’s your voice.”

“And you’re saying that it’s not.”

“Let me explain. I was working at the insurance company, right? They were ripping off old people. I didn’t sell the policies, but on the finance side we were supposed to model which policies would make the company the most money and direct the salespeople to push harder on those policies. Anytime I tried to point out what was in the customers’ best interests, I was shut down. I was miserable, but my inner dialogue just kept telling me to keep my head down, keep doing my job, and take the money.

One day, it was too much. Flood insurance is really profitable if you sell it to people whose homes will never be flooded. The policies aren’t expensive, but even so, the fact that the company was selling it to people on Social Security made me sick to my stomach. I got a call from a recruiter on my way home from work and decided to answer. In the split second that I decided to answer the phone, I felt a buzzing, crackling noise in my head and it felt like my brain was exploding. As soon as it came, though, it was gone. I answered that call, and it led me to my new job.

I felt that crackling again a couple weeks later just ordering ice cream. You know my ice cream order, right Becca?”

“Chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream with hot fudge, bananas, and pecans.” Of course I knew her ice cream order. I’d be hard pressed to decide if we’d gotten coffee or ice cream together more times in our nearly two decades of friendship.

“Not anymore. I mean, if that’s what I actually want, then I’ll still order it. But it’s once in a blue moon now. The second time I felt that buzz in my head, I was in line, about to order my usual, but saw a sign for a seasonal pumpkin sundae with marshmallow sauce and cinnamon drizzle. I remember the exact thought I had. ‘That looks good, but I can’t cheat on my cookie dough!’ And then I thought, why can’t I? It’s ice cream! Cookie dough will be there any time I want it. I walked up to the counter, my head buzzing like it was full of bees, and ordered the pumpkin sundae. The buzzing stopped the moment I placed my order.

I recognized the feeling and over the next several weeks I started testing theories. If I went out to eat, it almost always happened when deciding to eat at a new restaurant versus an old favorite, but never when I was looking at the menu at the new restaurant. When I faced a decision at work, I put a lot of effort into doing what actually felt best, and the crackling was a lot stronger in those situations. Turns out, when I decide for myself, I get pretty good results.

I did more research and found an online forum. They – we – call ourselves The Sims. Ever play that game? You can make them do anything you want, like go into a career field they hate, fall in love with someone they’re incompatible with, there are even cheat codes to make them have triplets! The group’s working theory is that something is controlling us, whether it’s a simulation or some kind of controlled reality, and we don’t have control over our own choices until we discover how to assert that control. It’s a lot more subtle than the Sims game, because we still feel like we’re deciding on our own - until we don’t. I know it sounds weird, and some of the people are super weird, but there’s a lot of people just like me and you in the group. Everyone has experienced the buzzing, and when you get past it and make a choice, they call that ‘the break.’ It gets easier every time.”

“This sounds nuts,” I croaked, feeling dizzy.

“I know. But trust me. Next time you have a decision to make, think for a second before you make it. Start small, like with your coffee or food order, and build from there. I don’t know if it’ll help your situation with Pete, but it can’t hurt? At least you’ll know that whatever decision you make is yours alone.”

“Mommy, I got boo-boo!” Audrey appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, with a scraped knee and sobs rising in her chest.

“Shit,” I stammered, shaking my head, “I’ve got to go. She’s bleeding and I don’t have any bandages in her bag. But this... I’m not saying I don’t believe you, it’s just a lot.”

“I know,” Kylie said, placing a hand on my shoulder, “I’ll see you later.”

Three days later, I couldn’t stop thinking about the things she’d said. I was ordering a drive-thru salad on my way home from dropping Baylor off at football practice when I decided to test Kylie’s theory.

“So that’ll be a Mexican Cobb with chicken and fiesta ranch?” the tinny voice in the speaker asked.

I felt a crackling, deep in my ear canals, like it would worm its way into my brain if I didn’t dig it out. It wasn’t painful, but it wasn’t pleasant.

“Actually, can I get a harvest salad with shrimp and raspberry basil dressing? I’ve always wanted to try it.”

The crackling broke.