The Opposite of Love

Zusatztext "Gripping, wise and extremely refreshing. I loved it."—Marian Keyes, author of Sushi for Beginners “A brilliant examination of loss, romance, and the jagged, imperfect, utterly realistic way we fall and stay in love. A stunning debut. ” — Hope Edelman, author of Motherless Daughters "You’ll want to keep reading all night.”— Library Journal , starred review “Buxbaum makes an appealing debut with this tale of… [a] single-gal-in-the-city [who] finds her white-knuckle hold on life and love slowly slipping.”— Publishers Weekly “A very funny book . . . That a tale about a modern young woman who squarely confronts her garden-variety challenges can feel this fresh is striking . ” — Washington Post Leseprobe Chapter One Last night, I dreamt that I chopped Andrew up into a hundred little pieces, like a Benihana chef, and ate them, one by one. He tasted like chicken. Afterward, I felt full but slightly disappointed. I had been craving steak. I plan to forget this dream. I will block out the grainy texture of moo shu Andrew. The itch of swallowing him dry. I will erase it completely, without lingering echoes or annoying daja vu, despite the possibility that my dream led me inexorably to this moment. Because I already know that, unlike the dream—this dead end—this one is going to stick. I am living an inevitable memory. Today, I break up with Andrew in a restaurant that has crayons on the table and peanut shells on the floor. A drunken young woman in the midst of her bachelorette party, wearing little more than a cowboy hat and tassels, attempts to organize a line dance. I realize now that I should have waited for a better backdrop. It looks as if I think our relationship adds up to nothing more than a couple of beers and some satisfying, but fiery, buffalo wings. This is not the effect I was going for. I had imagined that disentangling would be straightforward and civilized, maybe even a tiny bit romantic. The fantasy breakup in my head played out in pantomime; no explanations, only rueful smiles, a kiss good-bye on the cheek, a farewell wave thrown over a shoulder. The sting of nostalgia and the high of release, a combustible package, maybe, but one we would both understand and appreciate. Instead, Andrew looks at me strangely, as if I am a foreigner he has just met and he can't place my accent. I refuse to meet his eyes. I quell the overwhelming desire to run outside into the swill of Third Avenue, to drown in the overflow of people spilling out from the bars and onto the street. Surely, that would be better than feeling Andrew's confusion reverberate off his skin like a bad odor. I lock my legs around the bottom of my bar stool and stare at the bit of barbecue sauce that clings to his upper lip. This helps assuage my guilt. How could I be serious about a man who walks around with food on his face? In all fairness, Andrew is not walking around anywhere. He perches there, stunned. And I, too, am adorned in condiments. The ketchup on my white tank top makes it look like my heart is leaking. "This was never going to be a forever, happily-ever-after sort of thing. You knew that," I say, though it is clear from his silence and from the last few days that he did not. I wonder if he wants to hit me. I almost wish he would. Seems strange now that I didn't realize this moment was coming, that I hadn't started practicing in my head before yesterday. I'm usually good at endings—pride myself on them, in fact—and I always find people disingenuous when they claim that a breakup came out of nowhere. Nothing comes out of nowhere, except for, perhaps, freak accidents. Or cancer. And even those things you should be prepared for. ...

Product details

• Authors: Julie Buxbaum
• Publisher: Dell Publishing Inc.
• Languages: English
• Product format: Paperback
• Released: 07.05.2009
• EAN: 9780553841411
• ISBN: 978-0-553-84141-1
• No. of pages: 374
• Dimensions: 106 mm x 175 mm x 25 mm
• Subject: Fiction > Narrative literature