The sun was still shining as I parallel parked in front of the brick three flat. The ride to Jack’s dad’s in Irving Park had been the longest I’d ever taken. Still shaken by my awkward introduction meeting of his mother, I didn’t have anything to say. Jack and I barely uttered two words to one another.
With the help of his a therapist, best friend and a Xanax prescription, a recently dumped Guppie rediscovers how to live out loud in the Windy City. Although inspired by a true incident, names have been changed to protect the guilty.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Monday, May 2, 2011
Avery and His Series of Desperate Acts
All thoughts of the New York trip and my subsequent conversation with Jack vanished as I prepared to face him for the first time since he told me our relationship was over. I placed the silver Promise Box back on side table and sheepishly entered the bedroom, where Jack laid watching a bad science fiction series. He glanced upon my entrance.
“Hey,” he said and then turned back to his program. Hey? Hey? That’s the best you can do? I’ve been unable to function all day after you drop a bomb over breakfast, and all you can say is, “Hey?” I took a deep breath and asked him to turn off the television. A serious talk was in order.
Labels:
American Honey,
Avery,
Avery in the City,
bedroom,
cancer,
communication,
father,
Jack,
living room,
love,
New York,
nursing,
panacea,
parents,
Promise Box,
Tom Peters,
whiskey
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