“Yes, but I thought we were talking in like ten years. Tyler, why would I have started my own company and leased a fucking office space on the other side of the country if I was going to be out of it in less than two years?”
He stared at me for another moment. “I thought you were just… having fun.”
A sardonic laugh left me, one that blurted from my lips like I was choking. “What, like a side project? A hobby?” I rested my hands on my hips and shook my head. “Not all of us have so much money that we just open up businesses for shits and giggles—“
“I told you I would help you—“
“I don’t need your money,” I sneered. “This was mydream. My own company, my own rules, my own time. I saved up for that for years. You can’t just tell me I have to give all that up in six months.”
“So what are you saying?” he asked.
“I’m saying I’m not ready,” I finally said.
Tyler rubbed the back of his neck as he audibly sighed and stepped over to the door, where I realized a black box with a ribbon wrapped around it was sitting in the corner. I hadn’t noticed it until right then.
I wanted to puke.
“Maybe this will help change your mind,” he said as he sat it on one of the barstools.
“Oh, god, no. Tyler. I told you no more expensive gifts,” I said, staring at the large black box.
“Open it.”
I felt like my teeth might crumble beneath the pressure of how tight I was clenching my jaw. I undid the ribbon in a huff and lifted the lid—
It was a Birkin purse.
A fuckingBirkin.
I couldn’t even touch it.
Bile sat in my throat.
“What… iswrongwith you?” I hissed, my voice shaking.
“What?”
The confusion was evident. He had no idea.
“What’s the matter? You don’t like it?” he asked.
“The fact that you don’t know what’s wrong is what’s wrong!” I said, nearly losing it. “Why—why,whywould you buy this for me?” I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. “Tyler, I lose every bag I own, or… or I spill drinks on them, leave fucking hard candy inside them and they get sticky and gross, and I have to throw them out. I am a disaster when it comes to nice things. Why would you think I need ahundred-thousand-dollarbag? That’s half of a fucking condo!”
“Not in this housing market,” he muttered.
“That’s not the point!”
He stepped up to me, amusement dancing in his eyes as he tried to take my hands. I pulled back, but he grabbed my fingers so tight I winced.
“The weekend at the vineyard, my mother kept asking about your bag, your lack of jewelry, and why I hadn’t found some more suitable things. You didn’t even wear the earrings I got for you while you were there.” He shifted on his feet, giving me a small smile as if whatever he was about to say would fix everything.
“Once we move, it will be different. You usually do those things to your bags when you’re drunk, something you won’t be able to do as much since your friends won’t be there, and with kids running around in a few years, you won’t have time for it anyway. You’ll have so many new friends from mom-dates and daycare, and you’ll be around my family more and all of their friends. They spend money like this on bags weekly. Jewelry. Clothes. Shoes. Don’t you want a huge closet full of expensive items like this one that you can show off? Don’t you want your kids to have that, too?”
I went numb.
Totally numb.
Say it’s over.
