“Oh, come on Teddy, I don’t know—”
“Yeah, you don’t know! That’s the problem! When I’m around, it’s like you can barely tolerate me. And now you want to spend time with me?”
“Yes, I do. I don’t mean to give you that impression—”
“But you do, Jane, you do! I mean, no one is good enough for you.”
Jane gripped the steering wheel. This was not going well.
“Okay, so you’re attacking me now. Why are you so angry?”
“You asked me to move out, Jane. I mean, that was a lot.”
“It was mutual! You said you wanted to move out. It’s just a break. And I do want to see you,” Jane replied, trying to sound conciliatory, even... vulnerable.
“Mutual? Only because I didn’t feel like I had a choice.”
“But I thought it was mutual.” The road ahead of her lit up with bright red brake lights. She came to an abrupt stop, inches from the vehicle ahead of her.
“Yeah, okay. Anyway, I’m busy tonight.” Ouch.
“All right. I’ve got to focus on the road. I just almost caused a fender bender.”
“Don’t do that,” Teddy admonished, a reassuring glimmer of sweet protectiveness.
“I won’t if I can help it. Talk later, okay?”
“Yep, have a good one, Jay.”
Going forward, she would avoid making potentially emotional calls from the car while on the freeway.
Jane sat cross-legged on the floor of the ADU, a comforting, orderly space in a disorderly world, the one place where shecontrolled everything. Her chosen items were all nestled precisely where they belonged. It was the safest of safe spaces. In front of her, laid out like talismans, were the cosmetics Kelsey had insisted on giving her, as well as a few pieces of costume jewelry she had claimed because she knew Kelsey would never wear them.
She felt lonely, but also calm.
She gathered the several items she’d selected for the occasion and went into the house. She wouldn’t be pathetic. She stepped into her favorite Isabel Marant black dress, its neckline just low enough to be seductive but not slutty. She put on one of the necklaces she’d rescued, coral beads that complemented her new Kelsey-assigned lipstick shade. She wore her evening face, a look that rendered her an avatar of herself.
She was ready.
It was magic hour, with ample flattering outdoor light ideal for taking selfies. If she was going to be single, she needed to be prepared.
Jane held up her phone and, gazing at the image of the stranger who looked back at her, tried to find the perfect angle.
Chapter Eight
Eric
Navigating the baroque curves of the narrow streets in the Hollywood Hills was an ordeal. If the freeways were arteries, the streets in the hills were capillaries: thin, twisty, tenuous.
Right now, a Porsche was madly careening downhill, and the driver clearly had no intention of letting Jane pass, even though she had the right-of-way. How many people were aware they were brazenly violating the rules of the road and how many were simply plain ignorant? She pulled over so the Porsche could barrel past.
During her course of cognitive behavioral therapy, Jane’s therapist asked if she might be “catastrophizing”—anticipating the worst possible outcome. The catastrophic scenario could end up happening, but was that the exception or the rule? Jane pondered this. True, major catastrophes were perhaps few and far between. But there were so many micro-catastrophes happening all the time.
Jane tried to take a step back. Core cognitive behavioral theory holds that emotions followed thoughts. It made perfect sense:if you framed things the right way, then everything wouldn’t seem so potentially cataclysmic.
She tried to imagine that the selfish asshole in the Porsche was rushing a sick infant to the hospital; that would explain his rude, aggressive driving, and elicit feelings of sympathy for his paternal anguish. Easier said than done! This scenario was swiftly eclipsed by a more likely one: the driver was in a hurry to get to his corner office, where he oversaw exploitative real estate developments, swindled impoverished people, and terrorized his underlings. So much for cognitive behavioral therapy!
When Jane tried to objectively assess her life, it seemed enviable: excellent health, reasonably good looks, a privileged, upper middle-class background. Yet so much of her interior monologue was critical, directed both inward and outward. It was like a continual self-estrangement, which is why, after careful deliberation and a lot of googling, she decided to try the San Pedro ritual that Kelsey recommended.
