A lot can happen in 4 days

Friday

Up at 8 a.m.  Breakfast at the dining room table.  We showered and dressed to go.  B and I hopped in the car and made our way towards Virginia Beach.  We stopped in Williamsburg to do some spontaneous shopping at the Prime Outlets.  Our purchases: 

For me:  Small Chiara bag, Dooney & Bourke.  Marked down from $245 to $171 and then finally $122.50.  Quite a steal.

 

For him:  Flak Jacket sunglasses in Metallic Red from Oakley – $155.

From there, it was on to lunch at Red Lobster, then the beach for a few hours.  Afterwards, we got lost in Portsmouth, VA (heretofore referred to as Shittiest Place EVER), bickered about how to get out of Shittiest Place EVER and to the Harbor where the 96X Fest was being held.  All we wanted was to eat some amazingly inappropriate (for South Beach Dieters) food and see Paramore.  Eventually we found our way to the parking garage and were able to grab some food and Diet Coke.  I snagged a very cute Paramore tee, and then we made our way to the stage to catch Jack’s Mannequin, and finally, Paramore.  Amazing.  We had a long drive home at 11 p.m.  By the time we finally made it through the tunnel (accident on the way, OF COURSE) and arrived home, it was 2 a.m. 

…

Saturday

Up at 10:30 - late for me – due to the late-night craziness of the drive home.  After we’d managed to get ourselves out of bed, my best friend, M, called to check on my plans for the day.  It was decided that I’d meet her at her house and we’d do some serious shopping.  Sushi for lunch, new jeans from Express, and a cute top and earrings later, and we were on our way to a friend’s house.  Tapas for dinner and then out for the evening.  We ran into some people from my alma mater.  I was so busy getting jiggy with, erm myself, that I couldn’t be bothered to make small talk.  Way too many glasses of sugar free Red Bull & Vodka later, and whoo boy I was a little blacked out!  College sorority girl style.  What I do remember:  freaking out, thinking I’d lost my cell phone, only to have a girl I know pull it out of my back pocket and hand it to me (I’m an idiot!), dancing like madness with a girl I’d just met 20 seconds ago, calling B approximately 157 times (verified Sunday by him), and taking off my shoes outside (yes, I was THAT girl) while waiting for a friend to drive around front and pick us up.  Obnoxious.  I don’t remember falling asleep, but I somehow managed to get out of my outfit and into some pajamas.  I passed out face down on my friend’s floor.  No pillow.  No blanket.  Just me, myself, and my cigarette-smelling hair.  Classy.

…

Sunday

I woke up on my friend’s floor.  I stared at my best friend, who had fallen asleep on the couch sitting straight up in her outfit from the night before.  She appropriately turns to me and says “what.the.fuck.?”  Yeah, my thoughts exactly.  Our other friend was also sleeping on the floor, even though we were at her house and her bedroom was only about 15 steps away.  Whatever, girls will be girls.  We managed to pull ourselves together for breakfast at Panera.  The whole time I was thinking “you know, this was fun, but I am just not cut out for these types of shenanigans anymore.”  We did the morning-after play by play of how we were all drunken idiots.  My, how we all did laugh.  I had a headache.  M was feeling nauseous.  Our other friend K, a photographer, had to get to a photoshoot.  So, after saying our goodbyes, I dropped M off at home and made the drive back to my empty house.  B was playing in a soccer game, but he would be home soon.  I laid on our bed, listening to my dogs whimpering in their crate.  I just could not get myself off the bed to take them out.  My memory started returning, and I was not happy to be reliving the previous night’s emotions. 

At one point the night before, during dinner, K brought up my father – how much she misses him and how she can’t imagine me walking myself down the aisle at my wedding next fall.  I struggled and sucked back some tears, but there was no helping it; they came pouring out.  In a restaurant.  In public.  In front of one girl I had just met.  The shame of it all. 

When B finally arrived home, I told him the stories from the night before (leaving out the bit about the restaurant tears).  He told me I smelled like a brewery and ashtray.  He was right!  And the nausea, my God, the nausea.  I slept on the couch, awaking at 7 p.m. with a start.  My tummy, my was it hungry.  I suddenly remembered I’d denied it the pleasure of any food since breakfast.  I awoke B from his extended nap and he suggested dinner out.  We showered and headed to Carrabba’s where I disobeyed South Beach and had pasta, glorious pasta.  Dessert too!

On the drive home, I started to feel very grief-stricken.  The previous night’s tears had opened up a flood of emotions I was not prepared for.  Noticeably quiet, I stared out the passenger window at the stars, thinking about the months ahead of us:  planning a wedding.  There are photographers and DJs to book, colors to pick out, themes to decide on, major checks to write.  And I’ll be doing this without my parents. 

When we arrived home, B took the dogs outside and I curled up under a soft blanket on our bed and just lay there, thinking.  Mostly fighting back the tears.  B laid next to me, aware of my sudden introspection.  I cannot now recall what it was he said that caused the tears to start falling quickly, one by one, onto the pillow.  I cried out “it’s just…so…hard!”  He squeezed my hand and said “I know, I know.”  Then I whimpered “I can’t talk to anyone about it.  No one understands.”  He wiped away my tears and hugged me harder.  For the truth is, even if someone understood, there is nothing they can say.  B gets it a little more than most.  He’s lost his mother as well.  But there is still one parent left – one bond that remains, while I am bond-less.  An orphan.  Soon afterwards, I was tired yet relieved.  I guess I just needed to cry.  I took a deep breath and turned toward him and asked him how he felt about his own childhood.  His answer?

“Fucking pissed off.”

He had it bad as well.  He also dealt with alcoholism in the family.  His father never treated him the same as his other siblings.  B, having been adopted into their family, was on the outskirts.  (B’s mother gave him up to her own aunt when she was 18.)  We lay there, side by side, staring at each other.  I was trying to read him, to see if we mirrored each other more than we are aware of.  He told me things I never knew about him.  Sad things that had happened to him when he was little.  Things that I will not say here because yes, even some things should remain private.  While they weren’t terribly shocking or hurtful, they have stayed with him.  And even though that hour and a half of time during the weekend was incredibly raw and honest and emotional, it was inspiring.  I am reminded again and again of the resiliency of the human spirit.  That even when you think you can’t, you can pick yourself up and keep moving on.  B and I are proof.

…

Monday

I slept in until 9:30.  We dressed and headed to Starbucks, where we sipped coffee and read The Washington Post.  We grocery shopped.  He walked beside me, arm wrapped tightly around me, tickling me mercilessly.  We laughed.  (Running errands is always so much better when we’re together.)  We drove home talking about the wedding.  We cleaned the house together.  Later, he took a nap on the couch while I watched way too many episodes of That 70s Show.  We cooked salmon with pesto and sun dried tomatoes and munched on roasted asparagus.  We played with the dogs and settled in for the end of a long weekend. 

…

I woke up this morning refreshed.  The previous four days have been a roller coaster of emotions.  Excitement, relaxation, fun, sadness, desperation.  It’s amazing to me how much any one person can feel in a few days time.  And when I logged into Facebook this morning to accept the friend request of a girl I met on Saturday, I fixed my status to ”[CP] had such a fantastic weekend!”  Because the truth is, I did.  I had a lot of fun with B and with my girlfriends and with myself.  Even during my darkest moments when I’m wondering about my ability as a future wife and mother based on my own traumatic past, I have to put aside my past disappointments and know that I’ll be able to accomplish it all.  I’ll be able to do it positively, and with much hope for myself and my future family.  I’ll know that I did all of these things — all of these crazy, inappropriate things (such as the restaurant crying and the blacking out at the bar, however hilariously) — so that I could cope.  So that I could deal with it all.  So that I could be a better person.  And besides, obviously I didn’t make too much of an ass out of myself because the girl I friended on Facebook, K’s roommate, said she had so much fun she can’t wait to do it again.

We will.  I just won’t drink that much next time.

My, how we all did laugh.