“…INconclusion, I think we would be better suited with other people.”
I stare, open-mouthed, at my now ex-boyfriend sitting across from me, looking incredibly smug.
“You’re kidding me, right? Or did you seriously justreadme your break-up?” I ask, dumbfounded.
“Liza.” Jeremy removes his glasses and sets them on the table next to the piece of paper with his break-up speech. He brings his hands together in front of him, pursing his lips before saying, “I just thought it would be less messy if I organized my thoughts and laid them all out in a structured fashion, rather than let you lead me off on a tangent and not let me explain myself properly—as you tend to do.”
I blink at him. “What does that mean?” I ask.
He sighs, as if holding back. “I never seem to be able to properly express myself around you without it turning into a scene.”
A scene?
To Jeremy, a scene means expressing any type of emotion, good or bad, apparently.
“Ah,” I say in understanding. “So, you bring me to my favorite restaurant for lunch, knowing full well that I would not want to risk embarrassing myself by causing a scene so that I could keep coming back after?”
“Yes, that is correct,” he says in agreement, sitting up straight in his seat.
I can’t blame him for that unnecessary line of thinking. Though, it just emphasizes how much of a spineless tool he is.
You know what? This break-up might not be the worst thing ever. I mean, look at him. He is so…so…meticulous. Which is to say, he is such a perfectionist asshole with his perfect Ken-doll hair and perfect teeth. Everything in his life needs to be planned, detailed, calculated. I mean, seriously? Who brings a script to a break-up? A man with no passion or heat—cold-hearted, too in his head.
“Jeremy, I’m disappointed in you.” Itskand take a sip of my wine. I feel like getting under his skin a little.
“Oh?” He lifts an eyebrow, intrigued. Jeremy is a type-A personality and overachiever. He is severely allergic to disappointment.
“I thought you were an intelligent man—you know, what with you being a tenured Physics professor at Columbia and all.”
He scoffs. “Are you implying that I am not?” He sits back in his chair as if I’ve just pushed him.
“I’msayingthat you’re not. You’ve overestimated just how emotionally invested I was in this relationship.” I take another sip of my wine, trying to act cool. “You don’t want to be with me anymore.” I shrug. “No biggie.”
“No biggie?” he asks, frowning. “We’ve been together for three years. We were engaged, Liza.”
Ah, yes. I guess you can’t really ‘no biggie’ an engagement break-up, can you? But oh, how I love how peeved he is at the thought of me not caring about the fact that he’s breaking up with me. It gives me an incredible—admittedly, petty—sense of satisfaction.
“Oops,” I say with a fake laugh. “Right. Here you go—before I forget.” I slide the ring he gave me a year ago off my finger. A gold band with a heart-shaped diamond.
To be fair, that should have been the final red flag in a sea of red flags. No offense to women who love heart-shaped jewelry, but I am not a heart-shaped-diamond-engagement-ring type of gal.
Jeremy takes the ring and looks down at it, confounded. “I truly did not expect you to take it so well,” he says, frowning. He inspects it as if I had it switched with a fake stone, expecting this exact moment to happen or something.
“Oh, really?” I chug the rest of the contents of my wine glass and reach for his. Jeremy is smart enough not to complain. He just broke up with me, after all. He’d be an even bigger dick if he were to not let me have any of his wine.
“You know, that is a three-hundred-dollar bottle of wine. It is meant to be savored and enjoyed, not chugged like a box of Franzia that’s being passed around between people at a college party.” He laughs once, and I roll my eyes at him, chugging more of his wine to make a point.
I always hate it when he makes incredibly snobby comments like that—like anyone who can’t afford his lifestyle is below him, and he is absolute perfection. Ain’t nothing wrong with the occasional box of wine. Not everyone can afford to live the lifestyle that he lives.
Who even has the kind of money to buy a three-hundred-dollar bottle of wine??
I’m so happy I don’t have to deal with this crap anymore.
“Seeing as you are taking this so well, I feel as though I can be honest with you now. I have actually been seeing someone else,” he says cheerfully. His grin widens, and he sits up taller in his seat.
I stop breathing. “Excuse me? Why would you tell me that, Jeremy?”
“Well, you seem to be taking this break-up pretty easily.” He shrugs, surprised. “I mean… Y-you seemed okay with it.” He runs his fingers through his hair, smoothing it down, making sure that it’s neat. “I thought you would be happy for me.”
