Emery points out, “He could try to claim damage to the ring. Sue you for it.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “I’d love to see him try.”
Amy’s brows pull together in a deep V. “Why’s that?”
“Because I’m the one who made him get insurance on said ring. I could have literally tossed it into the ocean when I reach LA next week, and he would get reimbursed for it. Taking it to a jeweler to get cleaned—which is really all he has to do—may humiliate him but is no less than what he deserves.” I think about it for a minute. “Hell, even if he dropped it into the garbage disposal, which is where it belongs, he can file a claim.”
Amy’s face brightens. “Oh, well, if that’s the case, then email away.”
My lips twist sardonically. “Want to check my grammar before I hit Send, teach?”
“Nope. I think I’ll go on a donut run. Anyone else want to join me?” She looks pointedly at our friends.
Christin and Emery quickly take the hint and scramble to get their shoes on. Once Amy’s apartment is calm, I pull up my email.
There’s twelve emails from Bryce with subjects like “Where are you???” to “WTF!” to “PICK UP YOUR DAMN PHONE!” I ignore them all before opening a new message.
To: Bryce Parry
From: Maya Cox
Subject: Baby, Please Lose My Number
Bryce,
I never imagined I’d be writing this, but after what I overheard last night, I can no longer continue our engagement, let alone any sort of relationship with you.
None.
We’ve known each other since we were young children, “exclusively” dating since high school. I thought that before we fell in “love,” we were friends before anything else. Obviously, based on what I heard you say to your teammates, only one of those statements is true—I’ve known you since we were both kids.
Hearing you speak about me in such a derisive, cruel way was not only humiliating, but it cut to the core of the man I believed you were. The man I believed I loved.
Obviously, that man doesn’t exist.
Words like those that fell from your lips aren’t a mistake. They aren’t a result of too much alcohol, nor are they a slip of the tongue. They’re character revealing. I can’t un-hearthem. They echo over and over making me wonder, how long have you thought that about me?
Don’t answer; it was a rhetorical question. I really don’t care about your answer, anyway.
I will not marry someone who belittles me behind my back or thinks so little of me in front of others. Respect is the foundation of any relationship, and yours for me is clearly absent.
In case I was not clear enough, our engagement is over. Finished. Stop trying to contact me to explain my own actions from yesterday evening. They are a small token to remind you of the way you minimized another human being—let alone the woman you proclaimed to love to her face.
I deserve better than being the punchline of your conversations. I deserve better than you. And one day, I’ll find it despite being “not that pretty.” Because you’re right. I “sure is loyal.”
One last thing. Out of respect for the children who look up to your professional image, I will keep what I overheard to myself.
Maya
I reread what I wrote once. Twice. Then I hit Send before immediately blocking Bryce’s email. Then, like a surgeon, I cut him off from being able to contact me on any social media platform. By the time the girls return with pink and white boxes of baked goods, I’m already changing all of my personal social media accounts to private.
Next up, the arduous task of stripping every single mutual friend Bryce and I shared between us. I want nothing about my life to get back to him.
Ever.
5
DRAW PLAY: QB DROPS BACK AS IF TO PASS, THEN HANDS OFF FOR A RUN.
