“I pre-ordered all your favorites.”
“That’s so nice. I’m touched.”
He forks the raw beef slabs onto the grill.
“So I thought we should write some new rules.”
“New rules,” I echo.
He takes out his phone, clears his throat and says:
THE RULES FOR GETTING BACK TOGETHER
1. We never have to talk about the old rules.
2. We never have to talk about who we were with, what we did, whatever happened. What happened on “the break” stayed on “the break.”
3. Delete all evidence of our break on Facebook.
4. Let’s have a kid!
5. Let’s do all of this in Palo Alto! But if you don’t want to, we won’t.
6. We both agree to resume life as if this never happened.
He sets his phone down and looks at me, eyes wide, face hopeful. Then he adds, “I mean, only if you agree to those rules, too. I don’t get to unilaterally write the rules in our marriage.”
I gaze at the open flame on the grill as it shifts and moves and evolves right in front of me.
Resume life as if this never happened. That’s not exactly what my book is about. That’s not exactly resisting inertia, opening my eyes, finding my guts. Charting my own map.
Here we are: Switzerland all over again. Switzerland stuck right in the middle of Koreatown. I consider everything that I’ve always considered because of my father and my history: fate and karma and destiny. That all roads lead to here, that our break was nothing more than a hiccup, that Theo was nothing more than a distraction.
And then I consider my guts.
And so I say: “I need some time.”
And he reaches for my hand and says: “Willa, I really think we were meant to be. Like, this is what the universe had planned.”
And I don’t say anything at all.
—
Bookmarked Favorites
Facebook/login
FEED:
Say Om Innocent posted a link to the
New York Post
article: “Yoyo Yogi Found Hiding Out in Thailand”
(2 hrs ago)
Shawn Golden changed his relationship status from
It’s Complicated
to
Married (3 hrs ago)
Minnie Chandler posted a status update:
FW: FW: FW: If you can see this status update, it means that your computer has been hacked with the newest virus out of the Ukraine!!!! Please delete all of your cookies and reboot your computer four times to ensure that your hard drive is safe!!!! (5 hrs ago)
Reply from Raina Chandler-Farley:
Mom, click here on Snopes. This is a hoax.
Ollie Chandler posted a status update:
“To live well is the best vindication of all.” — My beloved mentor, Yogi Master Dari. However, learning that YMD’s been caught in Phuket is pretty good vindication too!!!!!!! Phuket-you, YMD! (But really, Namaste. Grateful for all of your support over these two months!!!)
721 likes
Reply from Halle Berry:
You go, boy!!!! I knew it! xoxoxoxoxoxo
Vanessa Pines tagged Willa Chandler-Golden in a post: Spoiler alert — my BFF and I are off to Seattle this week to finish up our book! (And maybe join the ranks of the best reality TV contestants ever!! Not me, her. I don’t do on-camera.) She’s going under duress — everyone give her a metaphorical fist bump!
12 likes
(7 hrs ago)
Comment from Hannah Burnett:
Hey! Willa, Willa-bee. It’s me! Your old boss! I knew you could do it, you little ass-kicker!!!! Live free or die, bitches!! (Just don’t get eaten by a bear.)
—
New York Post:
Yoyo Yogi Found Hiding Out in Thailand
In a shocker to the federal agents who doggedly built a case implicating yogi-to-the-stars Oliver Chandler, the real enchilada in the case has been found holed up in a luxury resort at the ritzy beach locale of Phuket, Thailand. Government officials were given a tip-off when one of Chandler’s celebrity clients, who has not yet been named, was also vacationing at the resort and recognized Yogi Master Dari (birth name: Stan Reynolds) and phoned the Feds.
What does this mean for Jennifer Aniston’s favorite downward dog guy? He’s not totally off the hook. Anonymous sources tell the
Post
that Chandler may still have participated in the pyramid scheme, which bilked investors out of over a million dollars, but to what extent is now unclear. Chandler’s lawyer, Raina Chandler-Farley (also his sister), said to our reporters, “The FBI seized Mr. Reynolds’ computer, and we are confident that all of the evidence retrieved will absolve Oliver of the charges. He just wants to get back to helping the world live calmer, more peaceful lives.” Upon hearing the news, Lady Gaga tweeted to her over ten million followers: “Kick-ass day, monsters! My friend/pal/teacher is innocent!! F U, FBI!”
Chandler was not available for direct comment but also added to his Twitter feed: “Namaste,” which was retweeted over four thousand times by his fans and supporters.
Of course, while this is all very good news for the Chandler clan, mum is the word on the broiling tensions between the patriarch of the family, Richard Chandler, and his other daughter, William. Last month, Chandler served his youngest child with a cease and desist that disrupted court proceedings. According to Facebook, William is set to be a contestant on
Dare You!,
about which she is writing a book. One rumor we have confirmed to be true: Chandler’s leggy “nursemaid” has dumped him and has been spotted at Nick and Toni’s in East Hampton with none other than Donald Trump. (Donald, is there something you’d like to share with us?)
34
FAX FROM: LUSAKA ZAMBIA HILTON
FROM: AMANDA ABRAMS
TO: WILLA CHANDLER-GOLDEN
To Whom It May Concern at
Dare You!
This fax serves as my permission for my son, Nicholas Abrams, to participate on the show
Dare You!,
with the understanding that he is a minor and may not be placed in any life-threatening circumstances. And if he is, I will pursue a 20-million-dollar lawsuit against the production company.
However, I have come to learn that life is short and meant to be lived, and when my son called me with an impassioned plea to have his chance to participate on his favorite show and to perhaps figure out a bit of who he is, I understood that it wasn’t my place to tell him no. We can only protect our children from so much.
(And to reiterate: if you put him in harm’s way, I will ruin you.)
Please find my attached notarized release form. It is not easy to find a notary public in the brush of Zambia, so I hope that you appreciate the lengths to which I have gone to ensure that a “minor,” who will certainly draw huge ratings (I worked in TV ad sales before I devoted my life to charity, so don’t think I’m naïve), can participate on your show.
All the best,
Amanda Abrams
—
“Shawn wants to get back together,” I say to Raina and Jeremy on Tuesday night, once the kids are down and Oliver is out for freedom drinks with his publicist and various celebrity hangers-on. I shovel my spoon into a pint of vanilla ice cream.
“Of course he does.” Raina slides a bowl across the counter and subtly urges me not to eat right from the container.
“So you’re not surprised?”
Jeremy chuckles and opens the fridge to grab a beer.
“Raina predicted this would happen exactly.”
“I’m good at reading the tea leaves. Lawyers learn to tell when people are saying one thing but meaning another.”
I drop a spoonful of ice cream into my mouth and let it dissolve.
“Also, I slept with Theo.”
“Holy shit,” Jeremy says.
“Wow,” Raina exclaims.
“I know,” I sigh. “It’s not great.”
“It’s great!” Raina says.
“Holy shit,” Jeremy repeats. Raina shoots him a look, and he raises his eyebrows and swigs his beer.
“He hates me now,” I say.
“He doesn’t hate you now.”
“I don’t know what to do. I’m so tired. I can’t turn my brain off. I don’t know how to decide.”
“Don’t decide,” Jeremy says. “Just see what happens.”
Raina slaps his shoulder, and he yaps.
“What? Guys do that all the time.”
“I’ve spent my whole life waiting to see what happens, what the universe has in store,” I say, and Raina nods because she knows. “I don’t want to wait but I don’t know how to choose either.”
She scoops out more ice cream and refills my bowl.
“Okay, so lose the husband,” Jeremy shrugs.
Raina spits her own ice cream back into her bowl.
“What? I never liked him that much. If now’s not the time to come clean, when is?” he says.
Raina laughs until tears form in her eyes. When she regains her breath, she says, “Oh my God, you are such an idiot.”
And I say: “Me?”
And Jeremy smiles, “No, me.”
“Don’t get me wrong.” Raina looks at me. “He’s
my
idiot.”
“And Shawn?” I ask.
“Oh, sweetie. All men are idiots.” She reaches up and cups Jeremy’s cheek. “You just have to decide what sort of idiocy you can live with.”
“That’s how we’re still married.” Jeremy kisses the top of her head.
Later, when he’s gone off to watch ESPN, Raina turns to me and rolls her eyes and whispers: “No joke.”
—
Bookmarked Favorites
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1 friend request: Theodore Brackton
Accept
Ignore
Deny
I hover my mouse for only a sliver of a second, before I can give it too much weight, before I can think otherwise.
And then I click:
Accept.
35
Daring Yourself to a Better Life!
By Vanessa Pines and Willa Chandler
The Last Chapter:
The Theory of Opposites
Seattle looks different this time around. Like I can literally see everything more clearly. The water is bluer, the skies are clearer, and though I think about Theo at every turn — his houseboat, the hidden passageway on campus, the fifty-yard line — I also try not to think of him too much. Or at least not in the way that I did when Vanessa dragged me out here just two short months ago. Back then, all I could do was wonder “what if?” Now, I realize, armed with everything I have learned and all that I have become, I only have to answer “what now.”
Dare You!
puts us all up at the same quaint hotel near the Pike Place Market. Vanessa has texted the cute guy from Safeco Field and slipped out of the hotel with a quick wave and goodbye. So Nicky and I strolled the hilly cobblestone streets that night, the air pungent with fresh fish, the evening full of possibility.
“What do you think they’re gonna do to us?” he said, as we relaxed on a bench and watched the boats coast by.
“I don’t know,” I said, “but how bad can it be?”
“You obviously haven’t watched in a while,” he replied.
Our call time was a death-inducing 5 a.m. — I’m not even sure if Vanessa slept. Tandy, our segment producer who wears cargo pants, leather boots and a camouflage shirt, and who has biceps the size of my thighs, picked us up and whisked us into a van with blacked-out windows and said, “It’s not that we’re trying to scare you, but you can’t have any idea what’s next. The game starts now.”
And Nicky’s eyes got wide, and he said: “Fuck yeah!”
I still had reservations about Nicky coming. I tried to dissuade him all week, but Amanda had already given her consent, and I could see her point, too. Nicky had been through more than any kid should have been through: why not let him savor something for a moment, why not let him try? Vanessa had assured me that our task wouldn’t be life-threatening, and there was also the hard-to-dismiss notion that for the first time since puberty had taken its grip, Nicky seemed honest-to-God happy. Not happy because he was, like, finding his Judaism or irritating his elders. Just…happy. Like twelve-year-olds should be. Most twelve-year-olds want a Wii or an Xbox. Nicky and his fate or destiny or just really shitty timing were too complicated for that.
Tandy put us in the black-ops van, and within thirty minutes, I vomited all over the front seat, which the cameraman did a really tight close-up of. I’m sure you’ve all seen it by now. Sorry about that.
After a few hours, the van parked, and we found ourselves at the foot of a mountain, the very same mountain — Mount Rainier — where Vanessa shocked my system with this whole thing to begin with, when she started everything. Two cameramen jumped out alongside us, and Tandy handed me a map, iodine pills, a first aid kit, a headlamp and GORP.
“You cannot be serious,” I said to Vanessa. “This is my one thing.”
“You have a few things,” she said. “I had to pick.”
“I jumped off a goddamn bridge for you.”
“I thought you jumped off the bridge for yourself.”
I turned to Tandy. “I specifically told you that I hate mountain climbing. In my questionnaire — I stated that I hate mountains.”
“What do you think this is, a day spa?” she asked. “Thirty-six hours. Solo. That’s it. That’s your dare.”
“I can’t be alone for thirty-six hours on a mountain!” I swiveled to Vanessa, who placed her hands on her hips and shrugged.
“You can’t be alone for thirty-six hours because you told us that you hate being alone,” Tandy said. (She wasn’t dumb.) “The map has places where we’ve hidden food. If you hike well enough and accurately enough, you’ll be fine. And well-fed. And it’s not technically a solo since your cameraman will be with you. And after twenty-four hours, your path will intersect with Nicky’s, so you get the second day together.”
Nicky bobbed his head. “Sounds cool. Am I gonna get to meet Slack Jones?”
I didn’t bob my head. I said: “No way.”
Vanessa said: “I dare you.”
And I said: “That’s so lame.”
And she said: “No, that’s the point.”
And I shouted: “This is total fricking BS! This isn’t what I signed up for!”
But Nicky said: “Come on, Aunt Willa. This will be fun.”