Becca’s Waffling
What if life were like the movies and movies weren’t so stupid?
The dull buzzing in her head caused her eyelids to flutter, but she held them closed against the intruding light. Her left nostril whined when she inhaled, eliciting a rumbling, chesty cough that rattled her tender skull.
Saturday morning welcomed Becca with a monstrous hangover. She slowly opened her eyes and blinked at the hazy morning light. The white ceiling of her small Manhattan apartment gradually came into focus. As it did, the buzzing in her head brought on waves of nausea. She closed her eyes again, trying to squash the headache, hoping to squash the morning.
No dice. The headache was winning. She sat upright in bed and looked around the room. She didn’t recall climbing into bed the night before. She patted the duvet, feeling around for her phone, but it wasn’t there.
Her hand instinctively reached for her eyeglasses on the bedside table but found instead a glass of syrah. The glass tipped over and crashed on her nightstand, soaking her eyeglasses in red wine.
‘Great,’ she groaned.
She threw back her duvet and swung her long skinny legs out of bed, her right foot overturning a wine bottle and launching a puddle of syrah across the wooden floor.
“Damn it!” she exclaimed and then leaned over to pick up the bottle, blinking while moving it further from her face to read the label.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!”
The yelling sent ripples through her cranium. The bottle was the 2014 Cayuse Syrah she promised herself she would save for a special occasion. Apparently coming home angry and drunk after a fight was special enough. It was at that moment she knew she would be sick.
She stood, carefully sidestepping the wine puddle, and walked through the kitchen to the bathroom. As she approached the toilet, her stomach churned with unmistakable intent. She pulled back her long blond hair and knelt in front of the porcelain bowl, throwing up for the first time since college. And then again. And then again.
Her abs ached as she lifted a shaky hand to flush the toilet and rose from her knees. She turned around and sat down on the toilet seat. Her body hurt all over and her special bottle of wine was puddled on the floor. Her best friend was moving away and now her Saturday morning smelled like vomit. As she peed, a vague impulse to cry welled inside her, pushing tears to the edge of her eyelids, but a windy fart interrupted the catharsis.
Oh my god, I hate my life, she thought.
Becca finished and stood in front of the mirror. She could tell, even without her glasses, she was three shades of green. Weren’t these kinds of hangovers for college kids and not 30-year-old marketing executives? Her smudged eyeliner made her look like a raccoon. She blinked at her reflection.
What was I thinking?
She brushed her teeth, scrubbed her face, and rinsed with mouthwash, giving her a facade of passable freshness, but a boozy odor lingered. She left the bathroom without looking at herself again. On her way back through the kitchen, she picked up a roll of paper towels.
Becca knelt next to the red puddle and stared at it, feeling another wash of nausea, before placing several towels on top of the puddle and sopping it up. She bitterly noted the towels enjoyed more of the wine than she did and then stood up without bothering to scrub the floor. She corked the half-empty bottle and returned it to the kitchen. Three Advil and a glass of water later, she was standing in her tiny kitchen in an oversized Northwestern Wildcats t-shirt, staring at the mess of crackers and cheese next to the sink.
Andrew took her to dinner last night and if their argument had not ended things prematurely, she wouldn’t have raided the pantry and wine rack. All this was his fault, sort of.
She plopped a Nespresso pod into the machine on her kitchen table and set it for a tall espresso. The reservoir had enough water to make the first cup but then she would have to refill it. Today every minor task would be a challenge.
When she opened the refrigerator to get some milk, she noticed an empty bottle of Absolut Vodka standing on a naked shelf. That explained things. She’d had a glass of prosecco and a martini upon before leaving Andrew at the restaurant. Those alone weren’t enough to account for her current maladies, but some additional vodka was likely the culprit.
She grabbed the milk and closed the refrigerator door. She was craving eggs and toast but knew she would have to order in. This meant interacting with people.
Maybe I could order breakfast and have the delivery guy leave it outside the front door. I could put some money under the mat and thank him through the keyhole.
She considered this in stupefied silence while waiting for her mug to fill and picking at the spotty black polish on her fingernails. The Advil would take a while to kick in, but the coffee would wash away the wretchedness of the morning. She carried her coffee to the sofa and sat down, wrapping a cozy blanket around her legs.
With her left hand she fumbled for a spare pair of eyeglasses she kept in the coffee table drawer while pointing the tv remote at her flat screen with her right. Becca needed a romantic comedy to pass the hours it would take to feel human again. While she surfed through titles, she tried to unravel how she went from tipsy with Liz to Bukowski drunk in bed.
Becca found Sleepless in Seattle in the romance genre.
Why not?
She remembered leaving the restaurant before the waiter brought their food but couldn’t remember what started the fight. Was it because she was late? She and Liz had both left the office early to meet and discuss Liz’s job offer in Dallas. There was time for one glass of prosecco before Becca had to meet Andrew.
Parts of her brain lumbered into action. She had texted Andrew to say she was running late so she could finish hearing about Liz’s job offer. It was too big of a conversation for one hour.
As Becca sipped her coffee, she realized she had been 20 minutes late meeting Andrew and immediately ordered a martini upon sitting down. Clarity arrived in jolts as Sleepless in Seattle rolled in the background.
Wow, Meg Ryan was so pretty!
Andrew once told Becca she looked like Meg Ryan. They met through friends and had a platonic year of casual flirting at social gatherings. She always thought Andrew was funny. He wasn’t much to look at, thinning blondish hair, a little doughy, and an indeterminate jawline somewhere below his thoughtful brown eyes, but he was funny. The night they slept together began at a little Spanish restaurant. They shared several tapas — sauteed peppers and tortilla Espanol, paired with rioja. At least they started with rioja, but somehow rioja turned to tequila and tequila led to a night of friendly sex.
That night set in motion a series of indiscriminate dates and late-night rendezvouses. She had only recently described them as dating.
Her headache was subsiding, but a dense fog remained. Her thoughts shifted back to the restaurant.
Nicoise salad. We ordered a Nicoise salad to start, and then the wine.
Andrew wanted to order a half-bottle of dry Muscat to go with the salad, but Becca wanted a glass of red wine. She recalled arguing with Andrew at the table. Despite her request, when the waiter returned Andrew only ordered the Muscat. Annoyed with Andrew, Becca stopped the waiter and asked for a second martini.
Ah, I drank two martinis!
Her attention trudged back and forth between the previous night’s events and her movie. She must have seen Sleepless at least three times, but she had forgotten how much she liked Rosie O’Donnell.
Annie and Becky had much more chemistry than Annie and Sam ever did. If they made a sequel, Annie and Becky might get together.
Becca needed to eat some toast, but she couldn’t yet think of food. She picked up her phone from the coffee table. There was a message from Liz pleading with her to call.
Liz would leave New York. Becca also entertained leaving the City from time to time. She had been here for twelve years and in this Chelsea apartment for nine. She loved New York, but there were days it was too much.
The City gives and the City takes away.
Liz uttered those words one night when they were walking back from a local pizzeria with an artichoke and prosciutto pizza. Liz was balancing it on her palm, holding it over her head the way a waiter would carry a tray in a restaurant. The toe of her shoe unexpectedly met an uneven bit of the sidewalk, causing her to stumble and catapulting the pizza forward. The box opened mid-air, dropping the pie facedown on the welcome mat of a downstairs apartment. The two women looked down at their pizza bomb from the railing next to the stairs leading down to the door. Liz turned to Becca and said with gravitas.
‘The City gives and the City takes away.’
Neither said anything else for a few seconds, then they burst out laughing and scurried back to the pizzeria. They felt guilty about throwing a pizza on someone’s doorstep but the absurdity of what had transpired overwhelmed them.
The City gives and the City takes away.
This was their mantra, symbolized by a splattered pizza on a doorstep. Now a different city might take her best friend away.
Her phone vibrated in her hand. Another message from Liz arrived.
‘Want to meet for brunch?’
Becca thought brunch sounded amazing, but she wasn’t sure she could leave the house. She was about to reply to Liz, then stopped. She should message Andrew first. He likely woke up, brewed a pot of coffee, and poured a bowl of granola cereal while reading the news in his boxer briefs and his Guns and Roses t-shirt.
Becca was initially turned on by Andrew’s stable consistency. He was a lawyer and had been with the same firm since graduating from UCLA. He owned his apartment, never carried a balance on his credit cards, and had savings in the bank. He was husband material.
Could I marry Andrew?
She asked herself this question before. He was nice. She liked the way he had his life organized. She liked many things about him.
She wondered whether their problem was all the liking versus all that was lacking. She and Andrew didn’t have passion. She initially felt their socializing was very adult since it didn’t have the roller coaster feeling of her previous relationships, but she worried what she once viewed as mature was actually lifeless. Last night’s taxi ride to meet Andrew seemed like a metaphor for that precise moment in her life — Liz would become her past and Andrew was her future. She was uncomfortable with both possibilities.
Becca shook her head. Her current state was not conducive to life-changing considerations.
She pulled out a stack of menus from the coffee table and looked for Vince’s Café. They delivered diner-style breakfasts with fortifying coffee. She would have to order more than she could eat to meet the $20 minimum for delivery, but that meant leftovers for dinner. Liz called as Becca was contemplating steak and eggs.
“Hello there.”
“Hi, Bex! I didn’t wake you up, did I?”
“No, but can I call you right back? I need to order breakfast from Vince’s.”
“Why don’t I come to you and I will swing by and pick it up? Are you hungover?”
“Oh my god, I love you! And yes, I am so hungover. Also, I smell terrible and I will not take a shower for you.”
“Ha! I knew it, drunk little bitch. How was dinner?”
“Don’t want to talk about it.”
“Easy enough. Order me steak and eggs.”
“Shut up! That’s what I was going to order.”
“Then order two or better yet order something with bacon and something sweet and we will do it family style.”
“Done. Coffee?”
Liz’s sarcasm oozed through the phone, “Seriously? Do you know who I am?”
Becca snorted a laugh. “Oww! Don’t make me laugh. I have a headache. Get here and let’s talk about why Dallas is a terrible idea.”
“Really?” Liz’s voice perked up.
“Maybe. Breakfast first, life decisions later.”
“Ok. I will see you in 30 minutes.”
“Perfect, bye!’’
Becca went back to the menu. ‘The Hungry Man’ was tempting: four pieces of bacon, two sausage links, home-style potatoes, and gravy with toast.
Then she saw it. Waffles. Chicken and waffles.
“Abso-fucking-lutely!”
She picked up her phone and dialed Vince’s.
“Hello, Louis — it’s Becca. Hi! I’d like to place an order for pickup. Yes, one steak and eggs — sunny side up. Okay, and one Chicken and Waffles with extra butter and extra syrup. Can we also get a side of bacon? Ah, and two coffees with two creams and two sugars.”
Louis repeated the order back to Becca, his slight Puerto Rican accent purring the occasional word. Vince’s was a cash-only establishment that hadn’t yet joined the delivery app world, which Becca found adorable. Her first name familiarity with Louis and the rest of the staff also pleased her.
With her first task of the day complete, she leaned back on her comfy sofa and looked at the TV. The movie was almost over. This was the part where Annie and Walter were at dinner were breaking things off.
Walter was nice but boring.
Meg Ryan then rushed into the Empire State Building and onto the observation deck to find Tom Hank’s character, Sam.
This is why movies are ridiculous. She doesn’t even know Sam. Sam could be a serial killer and Annie could end up on Dateline. But she seems brilliant because she chooses Sam.
At that moment, another text arrived from Andrew.
‘Hey. Call me.’
Becca stared at the message and then began typing.
‘Oh Walter. I don’t deserve you.’
She hesitated before hitting send, but then pressed it. Within seconds, another text arrived.
‘This is Andrew.’
She smiled.
‘I know.’
‘I don’t get it. Can you talk?’
Becca paused. She thought about how the call would go and what they would say. She thought about the last seven months and the way Andrew would make her laugh and wondered whether he could make her laugh enough to justify another seven months or twenty months or twenty years. She thought about his nice personality and his lovely apartment, and then she thought about chicken and waffles.
She messaged Andrew back.
‘Sorry, not now. I will call you tonight and explain.’
‘Ok.’
Andrew doesn’t ask questions and doesn’t probe.
Becca walked back to her closet and put on a pair of baggy sweatpants. She then finished cleaning the wine off the floor and tidied up her kitchen. She heard Liz’s key tumbling the lock as she scrubbed last night’s Camembert off the counter.
Liz opened the door and leaped over the threshold.
“You ordered chicken and waffles, you greedy bitch!”
Becca met her at the door with a smile. “You know it.”
Liz made a horrified face and leaned in to see Becca more clearly. “Wow, you look terrible.” Liz was, as always, perfectly put together. Her brown bob haircut was immaculate and her smoky eye and lip gloss looked professionally selected for her olive complexion, as did her cute sweater. She even smelled good, which annoyed Becca.
“So, drunky, shall we put on a movie and have brunch?”
“Definitely.” Becca nodded to Liz’s left hand. “What’s in the other bag?”
Liz pretended to peek into the bag and look through the contents. “Oh, you know — prosecco and some orange juice. Just in case.”
“Oh, I hate you but I love you!” Becca took the bag of food from Liz and turned toward the kitchen.
Liz pulled the prosecco out of the bag, admiring the bright orange label. “I didn’t know if you could handle a mimosa after your bender last night but I know I want one. What movie are we watching?”
Becca walked to the shelf above the kitchen sink and removed two white plates. “Have you ever seen An Affair to Remember?”
“Can’t say I have.”
“Perfect. Pour me an orange juice, please.” Becca placed the plates next to the sink and walked into her living room.
As Liz retrieved two glasses from Becca’s tiny glassware shelf, she called out over her shoulder. “Are we going to talk about Dallas?”
“Definitely.”
While Liz plated breakfast and poured the drinks, Becca searched Netflix and found the movie. When she clicked on it, an image of Cary Grant and Deborah Kerr appeared with a description of the film next to it.
In this poignant and humorous love story nominated for four Academy Awards, Cary Grant and Deborah Kerr meet on an ocean liner and fall deeply in love…
She smiled at the blurb.
Romantic movies are absurd. In the movies, Annie chooses Sam even though she doesn’t know him. Real-life is full of Walters and Sams but not enough Beckys. In my movie, Annie chooses breakfast with her best friend, and Becky doesn’t run off to some far-flung city.
Liz came into the room balancing two plates in her right hand and holding two glasses in her left. “Are you ready for all this?”
Becca collapsed on her sofa and beamed a gigantic smile at Liz. “I’ll tell you after we’ve eaten.”
Liz placed the plates and glasses down on Becca’s coffee table and went back to the kitchen to fetch the coffees. When she returned, she discovered Becca with her eyes closed.
“Hey, Bex, sleepyhead, are you going to make it?”
Becca giggled but kept her eyes closed. “Don’t worry, darling. If you can paint, I can walk.”
Liz cocked her head and frowned. “Babe, are you still drunk?”
Becca opened her eyes and reached for the remote. “Nope, completely sober and right after you sit down and we eat these waffles I’ll tell you what’s gonna happen next.”
Becca pushed play and the movie began. And just like that, one decision was made and Becca felt like herself once again.