Confessions of an Ex-Girlfriend (24 page)

As I paused to catch my breath, I realized he still hadn't said a word. And it was starting to make me nervous.

“Aren't you going to say anything?”

He sighed. “Maybe we shouldn't talk anymore.”

That
made me really furious. “Oh, here we go. Typical male solution. Let's just not talk anymore. Why talk about anything? Why even try to have a relationship?”

“We aren't
having
a relationship, Emma.”

I stopped dead in my tracks. He had me there. And the truth coming out of his mouth stabbed painfully, right in the center of my heart. “I thought we were friends,” I said weakly.

“Maybe we can't be friends. I don't know why I ever thought we could. Hell, it amazes me we even lasted so long as a couple. You're so damn…difficult, Emma. You can never just let things be what they are.”

I
was difficult?
I
couldn't let things be? “Is that right?” I asked now, my anger bubbling again. “If you're such a genius at relationships, why don't you fill me in on what exactly I'm supposed to
let be?
”

“Us, Emma,” he said in a lethal whisper. “Let
us
be. We're over, dammit. Over!” he yelled in my ear.

I was stunned into silence by his words. And suddenly, achingly, sober.

“Look, Emma,” he said, his voice softer. “The last thing I want to do is hurt you. Maybe it was wrong of me to think we could be friends right away. Maybe we need a time-out. To…to cool off.”

My throat clogged as I realized what he was suggesting. I couldn't imagine not talking to Derrick. Not hearing his voice. “I don't think that's a good—”

“Stop thinking so much, Emma. That's your problem. You think too damn much. About everything.”

“Sorry, I hadn't realized I was such a
problem,
” I replied, taking comfort in anger once more.

He sighed again. “We are going to get nowhere with this. Listen, let's just take a break, okay? Let's just agree we won't talk for, say, a month.”

A month? My insides quaked, but I rallied behind my anger. “A
month?
”

“It's not such a long time.”

I was furious now. Furious and sad that he was so over me he could go an entire month without even hearing my voice. Without knowing whether I was dead or alive. Still, my temper caused me to drive in the final stake, knowing, even as I did, it would ultimately destroy me. “I don't think a month is long enough!”

And with that, I slammed down the phone and finally,
finally,
allowed myself to cry.

 

Confession: The truth has set me free: I am truly dumped now.

 

Something broke inside of me. I wasn't sure if I needed whatever it was, but I certainly felt freed from a burden I had not even realized I carried. I woke up Saturday morning, and my first thought was that I was alone. Completely, utterly alone. My second thought was that I didn't have time to dwell on it. I had things to do.

I spent the day in front of my computer. I didn't just sit there, I wrote. I shut off the ringer on my phone and just wrote. And within a few hours, I had composed what I believed to be the strongest and best and most innovative proposal for
Bridal Best
that I had done in my whole career there. I waxed poetic on the choices facing older single women, I belted out ideas for articles. I was brilliant.

When I went to work on Monday, dressed appropriately in my black blazer and matching trousers, which suddenly felt like a power suit, I confidently handed my freshly printed pages to Patricia's admin, Nancy, who eyed me with surprise. Then I marched over to Rebecca's cubicle to gloat, only to discover a note proclaiming her out sick.

Poor baby,
I thought sarcastically. She was probably home polishing up her new engagement ring, hoping to blind us all with its glare when she came in tomorrow. Well, she wouldn't find me hovering over her, exclaiming with the rest of the staff about its large size and glowing brilliance. I couldn't care less.

And as I worked out at the gym that night with Alyssa, I even acted blasé about her upcoming and long-anticipated fling with Dr. Jason Carruthers. Suddenly I was a strong advocate of her taking what she needed and not worrying about the consequences. I mean, really, what was she waiting for? The big wedding? Who wanted to be tied down anyway? I asked as I heaved weights into the air with more fervor than usual.

When she eyed me suspiciously, I finally confessed that I'd had an eye-opening exchange with Derrick the night before. I could tell Alyssa felt vindicated. “See, I told you you were angry,” she said. But she still looked at me worriedly when I suggested she call in advance to book the hotel room for her and Jason's rendezvous.

On Tuesday I had drinks with Jade at Bar Six, served to us compliments of Enrico, who was working that night, probably harder than he ever had, in order to keep our glasses no less than half full and us completely happy. Jade, of course, was quite pleased with my new attitude, and we spent the evening taking great delight in ogling any unsuspecting male who sidled too close to us whenever Enrico disappeared to handle another table. We laughed. We smoked—yes, I even allowed myself one mind-tingling, breath-stealing cigarette—and we sat back in our chairs, our bare legs crossed lazily and alluringly in front of us, feeling like two women too wise in the ways of the world to be taken for granted by some man.

By Thursday, things started to fall apart.

First, Caroline called me into her office as soon as I got in to work, and in her usual pleasant manner, informed me Patricia had read my proposal and had passed it on to her for review. “As your manager, she thought I should have a look at it,” she said with a somewhat uneasy smile.

Then, in a more careful tone, she asked, “Is everything okay, Emma?”

“Everything's fine,” I replied confidently.

“In your personal life?” she coaxed.

I frowned. “My life is…great. Why wouldn't it be?”

“Good,” she said, sitting back in her chair and looking somewhat relieved, yet still uneasy. “Well, I have to say after reading your proposal for the new issue, I was a bit concerned.”

“About?”

“Well, Emma. I don't know how to say this, but—” She paused, biting her bottom lip. “You've written what amounts to…to an antimarriage manifesto.”

My eyes widened and I opened my mouth to defend myself, but for some reason, nothing came out.

“Look, I understand if this project got away from you for…for whatever reason. But this proposal is just…unacceptable. There is no way
Bridal Best
could do an issue with articles like—” and she began flipping through the proposal, scanning the pages “—‘Understanding Your Man: When I Do is Not the Right Answer.' Or—” she flipped another page “—‘Life Beyond the Altar—You Don't Have to Marry to Have it All.'”

Though fear had begun to invade my senses, I rallied. “Well, I had thought since
Bridal Best
is devoted to the
whole
woman, we might explore a woman's options outside of marriage. I mean, the more I thought about this, the more I realized that if a woman waits long enough to marry, she might come to realize that marriage isn't the only—or even the best—answer.” There, now I had her.

But Caroline's face only creased further with her concern. “Emma, I understand what you are saying, and you may, in fact, have an excellent point.” She paused. “But
Bridal Best
is a
wedding planning
magazine.” She smiled, as if trying to get me to see the humor of it all. “I mean, really, Emma, where would we be—where would our advertisers be, for that matter—if we started preaching that women shouldn't get married? I don't imagine we'd sell a lot of wedding cake, now would we?”

She had a point. An extremely major point that somehow, in my surge of creative expression and newfound single-girl freedom, I had completely forgotten. I was mortified. What the
hell
had I been thinking?

“I…I guess I
was
a little…distracted when I…I put the proposal together.”

Then Caroline, in her warm and forgiving way, smiled. “Don't worry about it, Emma.” She handed me back my proposal. “Why don't you give it another shot now that you've gained some…perspective. Let's see what you can come up with.”

I nodded weakly, taking the proposal from her in one boneless hand and rising to leave. “Thanks, Caroline. I…I'll see what I can do.”

Back at my desk, as I sat pondering how I had managed to make such an utter fool out of myself to everyone who was anyone at
Bridal Best,
Rebecca showed up at my cubicle. She was the last person I expected to see, as she had been out sick for the past three days, and I was fairly shocked when I saw her face, which was red and blotchy and masked in what looked like Calamine lotion. “Are you all right?” I asked, stunned by how unattractive she looked.

“I need to talk to you. Drinks tonight?”

“Sure,” I muttered, curious. Then, with a glance down at Rebecca's ringless left hand, I knew this little outing wasn't going to be pretty.

We went to Rio Grande, sitting outside so Rebecca could keep her sunglasses on and cover most of the puffy madness of her face. She told me on the way over it was poison ivy, though she refrained from any further explanation until we were seated across from one another, margaritas in front of us.

“So tell me how the hell you managed to get poison ivy in the middle of New York City,” I said.

“I didn't get this in New York City,” she said, looking at me as if I were some kind of dimwit. “Nash and I drove upstate on Saturday morning. Turns out he couldn't get a reservation at Le Colonial for my birthday, and he had a little surprise planned for me up there instead.” She took a healthy sip of her margarita. “Boy, did he ever.”

I cringed inwardly when I realized I hadn't even wished her a happy birthday, then figured that judging by the look on her face, she wasn't in the mood for any sort of merriment.

“So I'm imagining a cozy cabin. Moonlit strolls. Plenty of op
portunities for him to pop the question,” Rebecca continued, her face a mask that hid whatever emotions she was feeling. “I mean, I had certainly dropped enough hints that I wanted to be engaged by my twenty-ninth birthday!”

I nodded my head encouragingly, and neglected to point out that, at thirty-one, I was far from engaged.

“So we are driving through this wooded area in the Berkshires. Absolutely beautiful. I'm looking everywhere for that cozy cabin, when Nash turns onto a dirt road with a sign that says “Lakeview Campgrounds.”

“Oh, I went there as a kid!” I exclaimed.

This information did not impress her. “Apparently so did Nash. With his dad. Seems he was trying to relive some boyhood memories. Don't ask me why he thought this would be the perfect thing to do on
my
birthday.”

“You know guys. They always seem to think that we're going to adore their fantasies. I think it's a defect of the male brain.” Then I laughed. “Did I ever tell you that Derrick brought me to a
batting range
for our one-year anniversary?”

“Yeah, well, I was trying to be a good sport. Tried not to shudder when he pulled out the tent and gleefully asked me to help him set it up. After all, in my mind, I was getting engaged.” She shrugged. “I figured it would make a good story to tell our children someday.”

I nodded, trying to imagine Rebecca, with her manicured hands and careful bob, as a mother. Somehow the Calamine dotting her face was helping me conjure something up, but it was an image far from maternal.

“So we get the tent up, and while he's merrily puttering around the campsite, I decide to walk down by the lake and take a shower.”

“Oh, didn't you love those outdoor showers—with the view of the mountains—” I stopped at the sight of her raised eyebrows. Apparently not.

“When I come back about an hour or so later, Nash suggests we take a walk. And he's got this silly little grin on his face that tells me he's up to something, right?” She shook her head and took a
fortifying sip of her drink. “Oh, he was up to something all right. But not what I was expecting.”

I leaned in close, completely drawn in.

“He takes me on this little nature walk through the woods. And we're walking along for about twenty minutes when suddenly before us is this perfectly wrapped gift, sitting on a stump.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Was it…?”

She shook her head. “No, it wasn't. In fact, one of the first things I noticed was that it was way too big to be an engagement ring.” She held up her hands about twelve inches apart. “It was about the size of a kitchen appliance. Which is
exactly
what it was.” She shuddered. “A Cuisinart. He bought me a fucking Cuisinart.”

“I don't get it. The whole walk through the woods, what was he trying to do?”

“Apparently it was something his dad used to do for Nash's birthday when they went camping together. He'd run off into the woods in secret and plant a gift for Nash. Then he'd act all surprised when they came across it, as if he had no idea how it had gotten there, but he was certain it belonged to Nash.” She rolled her eyes. “It was some sort of game with them.” She sighed. “I suppose I can't blame him. His dad died a year ago, and this is really Nash's first summer without him. I guess he wanted to somehow bring back the memory. But a
Cuisinart!
” All sympathy that had flickered briefly on her face dissolved into anger and disbelief.

“A kitchen appliance is a significant gift,” I said. “It shows he thinks of you in a domestic way. A…a wifely way.”