No matter how much it hurt.
Twenty-Six
JAIME
He moved out the next day.
Without a word to me.
He didn’t call or text or leave a note or anything. He just packed up and left.
I realized this because I actually went down to talk to him after I got home from work. I’d spent the whole night crying and the entire day at work agonizing over what I’d done and his reaction to it. I wasn’t even sure what I was going to say to him when I knocked on his door; I just knew that I hated where we’d left things, and I didn’t want him to move out without at least one more conversation.
Maybe I’d been too hasty in calling things off. Maybe I’d let Margot’s situation influence me too much. Maybe this time he’d try harder to change my mind.
I knew my face looked puffy and terrible—people at work kept asking if I’d had an allergic reaction to something—but I knocked anyway. When he didn’t answer, I realized that I hadn’t seen his car on the street. (Never did clean out the other half of the garage. Yet another thing to feel bad about.) I’m not sure what made me check the handle to see if the door was locked, but when the knob turned, I pushed it open.
I knew right away he was gone. It just felt empty. All the furniture was still there, obviously, but none of his things—no books on the coffee table, no boots by the door, no photos of him and his mom on the built-in shelves next to the fireplace.
Wandering into the kitchen, I noticed he’d left it spotless—no dishes in the sink or even in the dishwasher, no crumbs on the floor, no spills on the counter. I opened the fridge and saw that he’d emptied it out, and the freezer as well.
In his bedroom, I checked the closet and nightstand drawer. No condoms. The thought of Quinn needing condoms at his new place hit me hard in the gut, and I sat back on the bare mattress as if I’d been pushed.
But he’s mine!
Fists and jaw clenched in rage, I went into the bathroom and opened all the drawers, even peeked into the shower. Everything was gone, but I could still smell his soap and cologne.
Goddamn it!
I ran back through his flat, slammed the door, and pounded up the steps. Inside my apartment, I threw myself on the couch and curled into a ball, hugging a throw pillow to my stomach.
He must have called the movers and rescheduled for today. But why? He hadn’t even seemed upset last night! Was this just to punish me? Make me regret my decision?
Or maybe overnight he’d decided I was right, and stepping back was the best thing for us. Maybe I wasn’t worth the hassle.
Angry and confused, I spent a wretched hour staring at my phone, even picking it up once and nearly pressing his name, but I never reached out.
I endured another miserable night.
Followed by a miserable week.
And then another.
I even called Alex, hoping he might drop Quinn’s name, but he didn’t.
I thought about him every day, endless questions peppering my brain all day long. What was he doing? Did he miss me? Was he settling in OK? How was the view of Comerica Park? Who would he take to Opening Day? Had he slept with anyone? Was he thinking about me? Who did he talk to about his mom? Who did he tease? Who did he cook for?
His Instagram posting had stopped, too.
Damn him! It was like he knew I was trying to stalk him and he was thwarting my efforts!
My body craved his with such intensity, even my vibrator didn’t take the edge off. My heart ached painfully when I thought about never being close to him again.
You were always going to feel like this, said the cynic in me. So it’s now instead of later, big deal. In fact, better now than later, because more time together would have meant even stronger feelings, right? It would have been harder down the road. When there’s a matter to be settled, you settle it.
Yes! I clung to that. It made sense to me.
My friends? Not so much.
“You did what?” Claire screeched at GNO, three days after I broke up with Quinn.
“I broke things off with Quinn. It was time.” I couldn’t look either one of them in the eye so I focused on my martini.
“What do you mean, ‘It was time?’” Margot said suspiciously. “Was there some sort of expiration date?”
“No. It was just…time to step back. You know me.” I shrugged, trying to sound casual. It felt horrible to lie to my friends, but I thought if I could convince them I was OK, I’d have a better chance of convincing myself.
It was not going well.
Claire’s jaw was open and cocked to one side, eyes narrowed. Margot was making this face she makes with one eyebrow up, lips pressed together, her gaze so searing hot you’d swear she could fry an egg with it.
(Tonight the role of the egg will be played by Jaime Owens.)
“This is bullshit, Jaime,” she said. “This is just you freaking out because someone finally got to you.”
“Exactly,” said Claire. “Quinn is crazy about you, and you’re crazy about him. I’ve seen it.”
“That doesn’t mean anything,” I said lamely. “And I’m not that crazy about him.”
“Don’t lie to us. We’ve known you too long, and your cheeks get too red.” Claire shook her head. “You’re sabotaging this on purpose.”
“I am not!”
“You are, but let’s ignore that for a second.” Margot waved a hand in the air. “What did Quinn say when you said you wanted to break up?”
“He didn’t even care.”