Avery Goes to Therapy. Again.

Following a thirty minute one-man pep rally, I finally forced myself to get out of bed for the first time in two days. My body ached. It was no wonder I didn’t have bedsores. After a long sigh, I made my way toward the window and opened the curtains. With a grimace, I squinted as light poured into the room. Who knew that two days of complete darkness could turn someone into a vampire?

The cats—I assume encouraged by the presence of sunlight—came running into the bedroom. Their familiar, desperate meows indicated that it was feeding time. After filling their bowls, I turned on my cell phone. There were 12 new voicemail messages and 20 texts. Most were of the expected variety.

“We haven’t heard from you, Avery. Is everything okay? Your Dad and I are very worried.”

“Avery, I’m sorry about what happened. I wish things were better for you. By the way, would you mind taking my shift at the hospital tonight?”

“Avery, it’s Jasper. Are you dead? If so I need to know, because you still have that “Waiting to Exhale” soundtrack you stole from me in 1998. I want it back after probate.”

I quickly dressed and made my way down to the street. The sun felt good on my skin. It was one of those perfect spring mornings when the weather is nice and warm, but the cool lake breeze prevents you from overheating.

I slowly made my way toward the Gold Coast, stopping only at Dunkin’ Donuts for an iced coffee. As I walked up Michigan Avenue, I noticed an abundance of tourists. They were out in full force. They all looked so happy, sauntering down the street with their “Chicago” tee-shirts and “White Sox” baseball caps.

A particularly large woman sat in Water Tower Park snacking on a large bag of Garrett’s Popcorn. She looked so content. Was she here visiting relatives? No. Maybe she was in town with the hopes of visiting the “Oprah Winfrey Show” on a day when La Winfrey dispensed her favorite things. Whatever the reason, I couldn’t help but envy her pleasurable mood.

When I arrived at the good doctor’s, I announced myself to the doorman who told me to go right up. I was so not in the mood for this. I’d been rehashing the events between Jack and I over and over in my head since he unexpectedly (and permanently) left the apartment too days ago. I really didn’t want to be forced to verbalize it.

“Hello, Avery.” Dr. Drexel Carrington said with a smile, as he opened his door. “Come on in.”

I blushed. In all my sorrow, I’d forgotten just how hot the good doctor was. Maybe I was in the mood for this therapy session. I did, after all, have a lot on my mind.

Avery and Jack’s Domestic Bliss… That’s a Wrap

the first time since this ordeal began that he showed any emotion at all. Too bad the emotion wasn’t his love for me. Or was it? I called his bluff.

“I said,” repeating myself as coolly as possible, “I’m not calling the landlord to get out of the lease.”

“But I’m not staying here,” he replied, confused.

“I know you’re not. I am”

Jack, unresponsive, blankly stared at me. I think that he might have thought that I’d had a minor stroke resulting from the previous 24-hour’s information overload. I continued my monologue.

“I realize, Jack, that you don’t want me anymore. I’m okay with that,” okay that was a lie. “But this is my home, and I love it dearly. Secondly, I’ve already paid a substantial non-refundable deposit toward to secure a mortgage. I’m moving forward with the purchase. Alone.”

Jack took a seat and remained silent. It was now my turn to determine whether he’d had a minor stroke. I have to admit, a part of me wished that—since I’d called his bluff—he’d fold. I wished that he’d tell me this had all been an elaborate (albeit twisted) game, and that we could continue on with our life together. Our domestic bliss. But, alas, it wasn’t meant to be.

“I wish you the best,” he said having lost what little emotion he’d just exhibited. My mind raced a mile a minute.

I wish you the best? Is that really all you have to say? What a jackhole. What a waste of time you’ve been, sending me to New York on some wild goose chase, with the false hope that we could rebuild what he had. What garbage. I’m glad you’re leaving. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.

I’m not sure if it was the emotional stress of the death of our relationship, the mental fatigue  of my time with the good doctor, too much booze—or all of the above—but I was suddenly overcome. Naomi Campbell described it best when explaining her violent outbursts to Oprah. I stopped breathing. I saw red. My jaw clenched and my shoulders tensed. My fists tightened and—I swear it was involuntarily, officer—I punched him. I punched him right in the beezer.

I wish you the best as well, Jack.

Avery Channels Oprah (in Hindsight)

All of my pleading fell upon deaf ears. Jack was resolute in his decision to end our relationship. He sat down next to me on the living room rug. At this point, I was curled in a semi-fetal position.

“I know this is difficult,” he said to me. “I’m sorry. But this hasn’t been working for a long time. I’ve been unhappy for the last eight months.”

Eight months?!?! My despair gave way to anger. This statement meant that everything he’d said since I returned from New York was insincere.

Through the 20/20 vision of hindsight, I now understand that everything Jack had ever told me was a lie. He never had any intention of us working together to resolve our issues. In fact, he had no interest in doing so whatsoever. He wanted out. He wanted out months ago. Yet instead of manning up and being honest about his feelings, he concocted every bull spit excuse in the book so that he’d have a justifiable reason to leave.

Oprah Winfrey made a very interesting comment recently. When asked about her philosophies on life, she explained that she doesn’t believe in holding on to anyone who doesn’t want to be with her. She’s on her destined path. If you don’t want to take part in that journey, she’ll happily set you free.

If only I’d been so Zen about our situation at that moment. If only I’d chosen to peacefully release Jack without incident. If only the scenario had gone something like this:

Jack

Avery, I realize I don’t love you anymore.

Avery

Oh?

Jack

Yes. I’m leaving you.

Avery

That’s quite alright, Jack. Butterflies are free. They may come and go as they please. Perhaps our paths were only meant to cross for a short time in this journey called life. I wish you love, wherever your path may lead you. Godspeed.

But that’s not what I said. Instead, I asked him the questions that would become the biggest headache in this business of dividing our assets.

“What are we supposed to do about this apartment? We’re in contract to buy it, remember?”

Jack’s face turned red and his eyes widened. Clearly, the reality of his actions had begun to sink in. He’d just screwed us. Royally.

The Oprah Winfrey Show: 20th Anniversary Collection