Complicated Girl (16 page)

“Thanks,” I say, because I am feeling weirdly proud of being so interesting.

My phone, which is sitting on the table, vibrates with an incoming call. It’s Drew.

I’m still eating dinner, and I don’t feel like breaking up with him tonight, so I send the call to voicemail.

I’m at work on Thursday when I finally send Drew the official break-up text.

I know it’s rude to break up with someone by text message, but it certainly does get the job done.

Here’s my final message:

Drew, I’m super bummed I can’t come to dinner on Saturday, because I’m just not looking for a relationship right now. You’re a cool guy, plus you have the whole dentist thing happening, and you said you have a good credit record, so you probably make good life decisions. Now that you’ve had your crazy animal lawn sex (thanks for that, by the way!) you’re ready to move on. I hereby pronounce you cured of your funk, and give you all my blessings to go forth into the dating world and conquer. I hope you find a NICE girl. And, before you ask, the answer is no. No, I don’t want an invitation to your wedding. I don’t want to be “friends.” I hope this text message finds you well. It might seem like I forgot to say hi and ask how you are, and then lead up to more by saying something like “we need to talk,” but this truly is my first text message to you. There aren’t any lead-up messages that got lost in transmission. I think it’s better to just rip the waxy hair removal strips straight off.

Peace out, dude.

Meenie (a.k.a. Megan)

After I send the message, I go and stand in the walk-in flower cooler for a few minutes. I feel like I’m burning up, like I have a fever.

The front door chimes. It’s just Tina, not a customer, so I stay in the cooler.

She slides open the glass door. “Now what have you done?”

“I had sex with Mr. GQ, and then I broke up with him.”

She steps in with me and slides the door shut. Our breath quickly fogs up the glass. “Are you going to be okay?”

I shrug. “I can’t get any worse, really.”

“You do know you are your own worst enemy, right? That you make things complicated for yourself?”

I stare into her brown eyes like I’m looking at a mirror that shows me the truth, especially when I don’t want to see it.

“Tell me how to be uncomplicated,” I say softly.

“It’s very easy. Think about what Mom would do, and then don’t do that.”

I start to laugh. “Teenie!”

“Or better yet, think about what Aunt Jane would do, and definitely don’t do that.”

I keep laughing, feeling better. I might be
complicated
, but Aunt Jane is
difficult
, which is a whole ‘nother level.

My phone buzzes. I swear and jerk my arms up, nearly knocking over a shelf of roses. I pull my phone out of my pocket and hand it to Tina. “That’s Drew, I bet. Don’t read me all the words. Just give me the general idea of his message and then delete it.”

She rolls her eyes in that big-sisterly way that makes me feel annoyed, yet also deeply loved. “You’re such a weirdo.”

“Do it.”

Her eyes widen as she looks at the text on the screen. Her jaw drops open.

I grimace. “That bad?”

She flicks her eyes up to mine briefly. “Actually I was reading the one you sent. Did you have Aunt Jane help you compose that masterpiece?”

“Shut up and tell me what he said.”

She keeps reading, and her expression changes from horror to something else. She looks upset.

“This is the guy you met at your self-help group?” she asks.

“Yes. Don’t act like Rory hasn’t reported everything to you.”

“Maybe I was wrong about this guy. He seems nice, Meenie. I think he genuinely likes you.”

“Delete it. Delete the message.”

Through the glass door of the cooler comes the sound of the door chime and a customer coming into the shop.

My heart skips a beat. If that’s Drew, coming to declare his love for me, I’ll throw myself into his arms and just enjoy our time together for as long as it lasts. I rub the foggy glass with my sleeve and peer through. It’s not Drew. Why did I even imagine that it would be him? Now my heart sinks to even lower than where it started, before the glimmer of romantic hope.

“It’s just Luca,” I say to Tina.

“We’re getting lunch at Delilah’s, then I’ll be right back.” She hands the phone back to me. “You should read it.”

I push the phone back to her. “Delete his message, or I’ll smash the phone right in front of you.”

Grumbling about how difficult I am, Tina deletes the message.

She puts her hand on the door handle, but pauses.

“He said that if you change your mind, you’re still invited to his dinner. He sent his address in a second message, and I didn’t delete that one.”

“Fine.” I nod for her to open the door. “Well? Don’t keep Luca waiting.”

She steps out ahead of me and greets Luca with a hug and a kiss. “I actually had a late breakfast,” she says. “Why don’t you take my sister for lunch?”

I object to this, but Luca is so perfectly sweet, insisting I go with him, and I can’t say no. I apologize to Tina, telling her I feel bad for stealing her date, but she just shoves us out the front door and says to have fun.

Luca and I walk down the street together, toward Delilah’s. When we reach the diner, he points up to the giant teapot high over the door. “That’s made of Styrofoam,” he says.

“So’s your head,” I say.

He busts out laughing. “So’s your butt,” he says.

We walk in and sit at a table. We place our order with the waitress, then I stare across the table at Luca, my chin on my right palm. “Luca, why aren’t more guys like you? I get along so well with you. With other guys, it’s always a disaster.”

“I just ignore half the things you say.” His blue eyes sparkle with mischief.

“Probably a good idea.” I rearrange my silverware. “Are things as good with you and Tina as it seems?”

“I think so, but I’m not an expert on women, or relationships. You know I’m just taking things one day at a time.”

“She was really hung up on Jonathan.”

He looks saddened by the mention of Jonathan’s name. He was Tina’s boyfriend, and he died right after high school graduation. For almost a decade, Tina seemed like a princess under a spell in a fairy tale, preserved in a bubble, until her prince came along.

“We went to his gravestone,” Luca says. “I wanted to go. I sort of said hello, and then I waited in the car while she had some time with him.”

I swallow down what I’m feeling. Jonathan was my friend, too. Maybe even my best friend. Everyone was so worried about Tina, they didn’t notice me grieving in her shadow.

I turn and look out the window of the diner. I survived, and I don’t blame anyone for assuming I was fine at the time. It’s my own fault for being so tough on the outside. I guess I’d rather be ignored than be vulnerable in front of people. At least you can keep your hurt to yourself, small and contained.

The waitress comes to our table with two milkshakes in tall glasses.

“I didn’t order a shake,” I tell her, but she’s already rushing off to another table.

Luca pushes one tall shake toward me. “I ordered two, because the last time you wanted a sip of mine, I hardly got any.”

I pluck off the maraschino cherry and pop it in my mouth. “You’re a good guy, Luca Lowell. Unlike the others.”

“What happened with that guy you liked? From your group?”

“What happened? Grass stains.” I turn and stare out the window again. “I don’t know. Who can say? It just didn’t work out.”

“I’m sure you’ll meet someone better,” he says, and he’s so solid and steady—so Luca-like about the whole thing—that as we eat our lunch and talk about how things are going at his garage, I actually believe him.

Thursday and Friday are marked by a heaviness in my chest that won’t let up.

Why do I feel so terrible? I’m the one who ended things with Drew. He didn’t dump me, because I beat him to it. Is this how the
dumper
always feels? Honestly, it’s easier being the
dumpee
.

Every song on the radio is about sadness, and I feel like I have no right to that sadness, but here it is, all up inside me like an invasive weed.

I’ve thought about calling Drew. I even looked up his office address and drove by, but I couldn’t stop the car. What would I even do, anyway? Go into his upscale dental practice, get on the reclining patient chair, and beg him to take me back? Ugh. I can smell the desperation, just from the mental image alone.

Nope. I need to get on with my life, and look for someone more like Luca. Someone gruff, with motor oil stains on his fingers. Someone who swears a lot, maybe.

Better yet, someone who doesn’t speak English.

That would work.

Saturday afternoon, I’m working at Gardenia Flowers when I come across flowers that would be perfect for Drew’s dinner party tonight. I would bring these if I was going. I’m not going, but he should have flowers for everyone to enjoy.

I pull out my phone and jot his address down on a delivery card. The arrangement comes together nicely, and I smile as I think about what a decent gesture this is—sending flowers to apologize for not attending. More people should be this thoughtful.

When our delivery guy shows up, he groans at the additional delivery, but he takes it anyway.

It’s almost six o’clock already. I’d be rushing to close up the shop if I was actually going to Drew’s place instead of just sending very nice, perfectly appropriate flowers.

I close up about ten minutes after, and I pull out my phone as soon as I get into the car. Drew’s address is still on the screen.

My brain suggests I go there.
Meenie, you’ve already got the car pointed in the right direction. You might even get there before the flowers. Think of how nice it would be to see Drew’s handsome face smiling at you.

I shake my head to show my brain who’s boss, and I delete the message permanently. Next, I delete Drew’s phone number. There. Now I can’t embarrass myself.

I drive home, feed Muffin, and have a beer. I don’t need to cook, because the food Rory brought is still in the fridge. I warm up the food and enjoy my beverage.

“Pub night at home!” I declare to Muffin. “Beer and hot wings on Saturday night. This is our new thing.”

He keeps grooming his ears, pouting that I won’t give him any of my people food. I’d be happy to share with him, but things like onions and garlic powder are toxic to cats—something my old duvet cover found out the hard way.

Once I’m full of pub food, I let out a big burp and get into my warm blankets on the couch. Time for some quality TV viewing.