Read Online The Breakup Doctor by Phoebe Fox - Free Book Online

she’d never made it to New York to pursue her “big dream,” she named me for the prettiest-sounding place she found on a map of the area.
    â€œBrook Lyn!” My wrist stung from her slap. “For goodness’ sake, use a plate.”
    Mom was the only person in my life who always called me by my full given name.
    â€œSo,” I said as I reached for a plate and started to load up, “what’s the show— One Flew Over the Seagull’s Nest ?”
    â€œHa, ha—you’re very funny, Miss Smarty-Pants. For your information it’s a real play—a classic. The Lion in Winter . And you are looking at Queen Eleanor herself.”
    â€œWow! Good for you, Mrs. Ogden,” Sasha gushed.
    â€œMom spends the whole play imprisoned in her own castle,” Stu put in.
    She made a sound between a snort and a hmpf . “Yes, I was perfect for it.”
    â€œSo when does it open? I bet you’ll be great,” said Sasha the suck-up.
    Mom leaned back with a smile, enjoying the attention. “We had the first read-through last Wednesday. The cast is superb—top-notch, even though it’s a non-Equity production”—translation: community theater—“and the gentleman who plays Henry has acted on Broadway!” She pronounced it with the accent on the second syllable—BroadWAY—like she was a 1940s film actress. “We open March fifteenth—the Ides.”
    My mother didn’t always talk like this. She was in full theatrical mode. Over the years she’d told us about her acting days from time to time, and I could tell she missed it. I never saw her perform, because she quit when I was born. Dad always said she had been amazing—but Dad thought everything about Mom was amazing, and always had.
    â€œOkay, Liz Taylor,” my brother said, poking Mom playfully in the side, where he knew she was fiercely ticklish. “We’re all coming on opening night, and we’re sitting in the front row with enough flowers to make a float, and we’re gonna hoot and holler and do the wave when you come onstage.” He reached over and pawed up a handful of rolled salami.
    Mom rapped his hand with the back of her fork.
    â€œOw!”
    â€œBedford Stuyvesant Ogden! Your manners.”
    â€œIt’s finger food, Ma!” But he picked up the tongs and gingerly transported the meat to his plate.
    â€œAnd you will do no such thing. You children will dress nicely—no jeans—and behave yourselves, please.”
    I rolled my eyes. “Mom, we’re adults. We understand how to comport ourselves in public places.”
    â€œIt’s the theater, and you have to show respect for the art form. Do you know I’ve actually seen Floridians attend the theater in shorts ?” She made an expression as if she’d said “grilling and eating babies.”
    â€œOh, I agree. My parents took us to shows in New York every year when our family would go up, and Mom always taught us to look nice and be respectful.” Guess who said that?
    â€œWhatever. We’re coming, and we’ll be good—I promise,” Stu said. “We’ll even make Dad wear a tie.”
    Mom cleared her throat and picked at something on her napkin. “Well...that’s all right. I mean, I’m not sure if your father will be coming.”
    â€œWhat do you mean? He’s your biggest fan.” Too late, I covered my full mouth with a hand, but my mother didn’t even notice my breach. She became very busy rearranging her silverware.
    â€œI mean that your father and I may be taking a little break for a while,” she said, her voice strained.
    There was a moment of silence that her words dropped into like an anchor.
    â€œHang on,” I said. “What do you mean, ‘a break’?”
    â€œA little time for ourselves,” my mother said. She focused her gaze just over my shoulder toward the sliding