“Anytime.”
I turn away, considering a junk food binge to combat the emotional exhaustion this whole debacle has caused.
“I hope you give him a chance to tell you how he feels about you.”
I swallow hard, fighting back tears. “I already know how he feels about me.”
She nods solemnly. “Ah. So it’s a case of unrequited love, then.”
“Is it so obvious?” How pathetic am I that my ancient neighbor lady can tell I’m in love and brokenhearted.
“Poor boy. He’s like a lovesick puppy.”
She disappears inside her apartment before I have a chance to correct her. Alex doesn’t love me. I was a game he played until he got bored. Then he broke all my pieces and threw me in the trash.
VIOLET
The next morning I find an enormous bouquet of chocolate-dipped fruit in the shape of flowers.
The message on the card reads:
I want you back.
~Alex
I’m tempted to throw the whole thing in the garbage, but it’s such a waste, and the fruit looks amazing. Plus, it’s covered in chocolate. I put it in the fridge instead. I’ll share it with Ms. Bullock later.
When I get to work, Charlene is already at my desk with a cinnamon roll and a coffee. I tell her about Alex stopping by and the fruit bouquet. I even manage not to cry, which is an improvement. Charlene decides we need a girl’s night out, and I agree. Partly because I’m scared Alex will show up at my apartment again and I won’t have the restraint necessary not to let him in this time.
The cab pulls up in front of my apartment building. Neither of us is driving since the plan is to get shitfaced. I climb into the back seat and she follows after me, giving the cabbie directions.
“I think you should talk to him.”
I respond with silence.
My mom has been hinting—not so subtly—that I should rethink my Alex Waters boycott. I don’t agree. I won’t survive if he breaks my heart again.
Okay, I’ll survive, but I’ll cry a lot, and I’ll end up gaining twenty pounds from excessive junk food consumption. Then I’ll rebound and have meaningless sex with some other dumb jerk. Like Randy Balls. Or maybe even Melvin. He’ll think it’s more than rebound-depression sex and want a relationship.
“Violet, come on. He’s been trying to see you for weeks. He came to your apartment. He was willing to talk to you through your door. He got an asskicking from an old lady. You can’t give him the silent treatment forever. Besides, Darren says all this has to do with his former agent.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “Are you on his side now?”
“Of course not!” Charlene’s expression softens. “Honestly, Vi, I’ve never seen you so broken up about a guy. Maybe it’s worth it to talk to him. If nothing else, you can get some closure.”
This doesn’t make me feel better. He’s hurt me worse than Steve, the turdburger, ever did. Still, a huge part of me—which I hate, incidentally—doesn’t want closure. My stupid heart is still in love with him, even if my head knows I shouldn’t be.
“Can we not talk about Alex tonight? I want to get hammered and forget him for a while,” I say as we get out of the cab.
Char squeezes my shoulder. “Whatever you want, Vi.”
We snag a table and order a pitcher of margaritas. There’s a crappy cover band playing, which makes conversation difficult. At least I don’t have to talk about Alex, even if I can’t stop thinking about him.
“Violet?”
The overpowering scent of cheap cologne singes my nose hairs. Shitballs. It’s the flower delivery guy. “Hi, Fred.”
“You remember my name! I totally thought it was you. I haven’t seen you in a while.” He stands there with his hands shoved in his pockets, nodding. He’s an odd dude.
“Yeah. I moved recently.” I swish my drink around in my glass, hoping he won’t ask questions about why I moved.
The bobble-heading is contagious. I have the urge to look at Charlene to see if she’s bobble-heading, too.
“So, I, uh, read you and the hockey player aren’t a couple or anything . . .” He kicks the leg of my chair while he stares at the top of the table.
It’s all anyone asks me about these days. I’m sick of it and sick of missing Alex. “Nope. Looks like we were just friends even though I’ve had his dick in my mouth.”
It isn’t until Charlene chokes on her drink and Fred’s eyeballs look like they’re about to pop out and roll onto the floor that I realize how inappropriate my comment is.
“Right. Huh.” Fred nods some more and blinks like he’s creating his own personal strobe light. “So, uh, since you’re not dating him, maybe you want to go to a movie or something?”