Lizzie rubs my arm sympathetically as I pull another bikini from the meticulously labeledSwimwearsection of my closet.
“I’ll never get over how organized you are,” she says wistfully, staring at the clothing bags, each one marked with its contents.
Clothes, I can compartmentalize. Feelings, on the other hand . . .
Going to Costa Rica is my version of running away to the Himalayas, like marketing-manager-turned-yoga-guru Michael did. My “Eat, Pray, Love” moment.
Eat, Pray, Don’t Fall for Another Asshole. That’s the plan.
I’m going to spend two months volunteering, planting trees, and helping on a sustainable farming project.
I’ll admit, swapping spreadsheets for farming screams midlife crisis. But if Julia Roberts can do it, why can’t I? Although I’m more likely to pull a Bridget Jones and end up in a prison than find my inner Zen.
I’m not sure my HR skills are transferable, but it’ll be nice to just have someone else tell me what to do, to be outside andhopefully helping toward something worthwhile. Instead of, you know, enabling corporate greed.
Then, I’ll spend another month traveling around Costa Rica by myself.
I need to do this to mend my soul. My heart. To actually help someone else other than financial people who wouldn’t piss on me if I was on fire.
Maybe I’ll find myself in the rainforest. Or maybe I’ll just find a lot of creepy-crawlies and regret. Either way, it’s got to be better than staying here, drowning in self-pity and withering under Winnie’s judgmental gaze.
It’s clear she’s fed up with my moping. Her actions speak louder than any meow ever could. She’s started leaving passive-aggressive hairballs on my pillow, like little presents of feline disappointment. I’ll think she’ll be glad to see me off for a while. Lizzie has promised to keep her alive and away from tomcats.
Last night, I swear I caught her trying to swipe right on Tinder for me. With her paw. On my phone.
I pause my packing, a sundress dangling forgotten from my hand. “I just can’t believe it’s over between me and Liam,” I say, my voice small.
Lizzie’s face softens. “Oh, honey.”
“Sometimes I have to stop what I’m doing and just ask myself,what the hell was all that about?” The words tumble out of me now, a dam breaking. “A few weeks ago, we were playing house, acting all loved up. He can say what he wants, but we were.Hewas. Like I mattered to him.”
I sink onto the bed, sundress clutched to my chest like a security blanket. “How can he just turn his feelings off and on like that? Can he really act like that with me, then head out to sex clubs and sleep with Alastair’s wife?”
Lizzie sits beside me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “He’s a sociopath who doesn’t deserve a kind heart like yours, babe.”
I laugh, but it comes out more like a sob. “Yeah, maybe.”
Winnie saunters over, butting her head against my leg.
“See?” Lizzie says, scratching behind Winnie’s ears. “Even Winnie agrees.”
I let out a shaky breath, trying to take comfort in the steady rhythm of her purrs.
“I’m so stupid,” I mutter. “Because of course he can turn it off and on like that. I always saw that side of him, even when I was trying to ignore it. He even told me, right from the start, that this was just a casual arrangement. And I saw him get his PA to send the standard flowers to his other lady friends. I just conveniently forgot everything I knew about him. What a fucking idiot I was.”
Lizzie shakes her head, her eyes fierce with protectiveness. “You’re not stupid, Gemma! You just fell for someone and trusted them.”
My phone buzzes again, the screen lighting up with yet another message from the HR team. They’ve been blowing up my phone for days now, their messages a mix of concern and undisguised shock. I guess years of being a professional people-pleaser makes it hard for them to compute my sudden departure. Gemma Jones walking out? Inconceivable.
“Apparently, Liam’s in an even fouler mood than usual,” I say, reading the latest text. My heart does a tap dance of pain, and I let out another sob. I don’t even like seeing his name written down on text message. It’s like a punch to the gut, like the mere mention of him can wound me all over again.
I hate that I’ve left them in the lurch at work, but after five years of putting everyone else first in that company, I need to put myself first.
At the end of the day, you’re just a number to a company. And I’m just a number to him. Another notch on his bedpost.
“This is the start of a new life for you. A new you. I can feel it.” Lizzie smiles at me, her optimism almost infectious. “Maybe you’ll even meet a hot guy traveling. Ooh, you could end up shacking up with a surfer!”
I open my mouth to retort, but instead of a witty comeback, I drop my face into my hands and cry. Winnie, fed up with the emotional theatrics, slinks away to find a quieter spot. The pain that’s been simmering below the surface for days finally boils over. This has to stop. I need to get my shit together. We weren’t even “together” that long and I’m weeping at any opportunity.
