“Just because you pushed us together on the dance floor at Deb and Eddie’s wedding after you’d had one too many sangrias does not mean this is your fault,” I’d sputtered through my tears, suddenly back to that night, seeing Jules’ eyes brighten when she spotted Max—whom she’d befriended after he’d hosted his mom’s surprise fiftieth birthday party at the restaurant where she worked as a pastry chef—and realized we were both at the wedding without a date.
“If anyone’s to blame, it’s me—how did I not see this coming? Clearly I missed some major warning signs. Because what kind of person just up and leaves his fiancée the night before he’s supposed to marry her?”
“A stupid one!” she said, pulling me in for another hug, and I’d squeezed her tightly, despite the armrest pressing into my side.
“Really stupid,” I said as I buried my head deeper into her shoulder, the smell of her lavender-scented shampoo comforting me. “And when you talk to him will you please remind him the condo is mine,” I’d said calmly, but deep down, I could feel the anger bubbling inside me like a pot of boiling water about to force the lid off.
“Do you want a glass of wine?” Jules asks me now, but her hand is already on the corkscrew. She pours a bottle of Wild Horse chardonnay into two goblets and I follow her outside into the garden just off the kitchen—the selling point for me when I bought the condominium.
I’d been saving for my first home for years, deciding to buy a place before Max and I were engaged, wanting to be a homeowner no matter what happened between us. As I’d tailed the real estate agent through the interior, taking in the delicate crown molding, the built-in bookcases, and the newly finished dark wood floors, I had a feeling it was special. But it wasn’t until I walked outside and saw the Spanish tile on the patio and the beautiful landscaping on the small but perfectly sized yard, completely hidden from others’ view by two large orange trees, that I’d given Max the look that said, I want this. He was the in-house counsel for a small medical device company and told me he’d do the negotiating. And when he’d caught the seller’s real estate agent watching us, he’d shot me a look in return—one that said, if you want it, you need to put your poker face on—now.
Max and I had later shared a laugh about how transparent I’d been, how I’d been unable to hide my wide eyes while a perfectly composed Max interrogated the agent about the asking price. You would never have known he liked anything about the condo, when in truth he was just as in love with it as I was. When the seller agreed to my offer, several thousand dollars less than it was listed for, Max and me high-fiving over the take it or leave it stance he’d held firm on, it had never occurred to me that his uncanny ability to hide his real feelings would ever come into play in our relationship. That it would prevent me from seeing that I was losing him.
I remember scrawling my signature across the bottom of the deed, a confident grin spreading across my face as I imagined it would eventually become our place. The thought that one day I’d simply be thankful I still had a roof over my head after he tossed me into the trash as easily as he would a carton of spoiled milk would never have crossed my mind.
? ? ?
My phone rings and Jules wrinkles her nose at the sound. “Sorry, I know, I need to change the ringtone,” I say, and she gives me a knowing look, remembering that Max had chosen the last one—ironically it had been “Wrecking Ball.” It had become our thing, to steal the other’s cell and select a song to play when there was a new notification.
I hesitate before checking the alert. Is it another email from a wedding guest who felt as blindsided as I had by Max’s announcement—wanting me to explain why? Or was it yet another clueless Facebook friend wondering why I hadn’t posted so much as a picture of my veil on my special day? So far, the friends and family who’d been at the rehearsal dinner had been rather tight-lipped about what happened, but I knew it was only a matter of time before word got out. Even the mailman, Henry, was wondering why I was back early. I’d overheard a hushed conversation between him and Jules as she was coming inside earlier—something about how he’d thought I’d deferred delivery of my packages for another week. I imagined his sun-weathered face contort in disbelief as she quickly explained what had happened.
Pity from the postman—that’s all I needed.