50 WAYS TO LEAVE YOUR DENTIST

The Boston Globe

BEVERLY BECKHAM

I will tell him tomorrow. I will pick up the phone and call his office and talk to his receptionist and say, "I have to cancel my appointment."

And she will say, "When would you like to reschedule?"

And I will say . . .

What will I say?

I am trying to break up with my dentist, and I don't know how. I don't want to hurt his feelings. I don't want him to think that I'm dumping him for someone new. I don't want him to feel bad.

My husband sighs. "Just pick up the phone and call."

I don't. I can't. We've been together for 30 years, longer than most marriages. He's my husband's and my daughters' dentist. He gave us his home phone number. I can't just call and say I'm leaving him.

"How about if I tell him I'm moving?" I ask my friend Beth, who is the reason I'm in this mess in the first place. We were walking and she was laughing, and I noticed her back teeth.

"How come you don't have any fillings? Your teeth look perfect."

"I had fillings. These are crowns."

I made her open her mouth. I peered inside. They didn't look like crowns.

"Who's your dentist?"

She told me. "She's not just a dentist. She's a prosthodontist. Crowns are her specialty."

I should have said right then, don't tell me any more. I should have blocked my ears and said I have a dentist. I like my dentist. I am not going to leave him. Who sees the inside of my mouth, anyway?

But Beth kept talking, and I kept staring at her molars and bicuspids and thinking, wow.

So I went to meet this dentist. It was just a consultation. It didn't mean anything. A second opinion. Everyone should have a second opinion, right?

Trouble is, I liked her. We clicked. Talked books, life, family. I made an appointment. "See you then," I said.

Then is in a few weeks. Now is more pressing. Now I have to call the man who has taken care of my teeth for three long decades and tell him I'm moving.

"You can't tell him that," Beth says.

"Why not? Maybe I will move."

"We're not moving," my husband says.

"Can't you just have her office call his office? Then you don't have to say anything?" Beth suggests.

But not saying anything feels worse than not saying the right thing. So, what is the right thing? How do you break up with someone you like? Someone who has always been good to you? Someone who has never caused you pain well, maybe a little but we're talking teeth here.

I try writing a letter. And rip it up. I consider driving to his office and talking to him in person. I take myself to Dairy Queen instead. I think about calling after hours and leaving a voice message. But only a coward breaks up on voice mail. Besides, what message would I leave?

Not too many years ago, I cheated on my hairdresser. A friend, as a birthday present, took me to hers. She watched gleefully as he cut and styled my wild hair and morphed me into a more refined version of me. And when he was finished, she oohed and aahed, and the truth is I did, too.

I went back to him, once, twice, maybe five times.

And then I returned to my hairdresser. Why? I missed her.

Maybe I'll miss my dentist, too.

In the meantime, though, there's now. The breakup. The fess up. The records that have to be transferred. The phone call that has to be made.

I practice. "Hello? I need to cancel my appointment."

"Hello? I'm seeing someone else."

"Hello? It's not you, it's me."

"Yes, it's me calling from New Zealand. We moved. It was sudden. I know, I know. I'm going to miss you, too. "