The Break-Up Psychic

This book is dedicated to my
Memaw
.

I think I might be a little bit psychic. I can’t predict the winning lottery numbers and I won’t be starting a hotline any time soon, but I can spot a breakup coming days, even weeks ahead of time. I admit there’re always little clues before the big break, but it’s more a feeling I have. It’s something in my gut that says,
‘Get out the chocolate and Jane Austen – this one’s going to be a doozey.’

I’ve been down this road before. Ellie meets boy. Boy seduces with promises of commitment. Ellie falls in love with boy. Boy turns out to be a scum-bucket. Right now my psychic senses are telling me my boyfriend, Tim, may be scum-capable. Alright, he hasn’t actually done anything to warrant my suspicion, but that in and of itself is curious. For a guy with a naturally naughty disposition, he’s been acting like a damn choirboy. Four times last week I came home to fresh flowers. Every girl knows receiving flowers once in a while means, “I love you,” and getting them four times in one week means, “Sorry I screwed my secretary.”

There’s also the issue of his sudden disinterest in foreplay. He used to take his time on me, brushing his hands over my body and whispering dirty words against my neck until I was floating off the bed. But lately he’s claimed to be, “too bushed for foreplay tonight, Babe.” Last week I even offered to do that ‘special thing.’ That which is normally reserved for birthdays and anniversaries, and he turned me down in favor of watching the Rangers play the Mariners. No guy turns down
that
to watch four hours of baseball on TV.

For these reasons and others, my psychic warning bells have kept up a persistent clanging in my ears. Even though he smiles and soothes and assures me of his love, I can’t stop doubting him. It’s making me crazy. I feel like I’m turning into Glenn Close’s character in
Fatal Attraction
. I’m one flower delivery shy of making rabbit stew for dinner and practicing holding my breath under water. I feel ridiculous and disgusting for not trusting him, but in the depths of my soul I know he’s out there somewhere, sucking face with a bleach blond bimbo with big Texas hair and more boobs than brains. And that sucks because this time I thought things were going to be different. This time I thought I’d found the guy who was going to give me my H.E.A.—Happily Ever After.

I blame my father for my trust issues with men. It’s no coincidence I received my psychic gift on the same morning he walked out on Mama and me. When I was six he began taking a keen interest in my schooling and in my twenty-four year old kindergarten teacher, as it turned out. I’ll never forget the anguish in my mom’s eyes when she told me he’d left us. I wish I could say that the experience toughened me up, put me on my guard, but the truth is that surviving heartbreak was a lesson I had to learn for myself. And boy, have I been educated in the twenty-one years since.

Maybe if things had been different. Maybe if my dad had loved my mom, and I’d been more careful about who I gave my heart to, I would never have heard these stupid bells. But that’s not the way things happened. I’ve loved too much, lost too often, and know too well. I know the breakup’s coming, and I know somewhere nearby, there’s a big-boob bimbo getting all of my good foreplay.

I steer my car into the loading zone in front of our building, push the red hazard button on the dash, and kill the radio. If Luanne and her need for my black stilettos make me late getting back to work, God help her.

Percy, the building’s concierge, beats me to the door and ushers me through.

“Hey, Percy, just forgot something upstairs, I’ll only be a minute,” I say, heading for the elevator.

“Of course, Ms. Ellie, not a problem. I guess I must be getting old because I thought you was upstairs already. Must be losing my mind!” Percy resumes his post behind the ebony desk. His dark face, gentle and lined with age, breaks into a smile as he chuckles to himself.

I stop mid-step, turning to look at him as my stomach drops to my feet. “Why would you think that?”

“A courier come with a package for Mr. Donahue this morning, all the way from Dallas. I could o’ sworn he said the lady of the house signed for it. Like I said, I must be getting too old for this job.”

I turn away from Percy and face the elevator doors. I don’t want him to see the distress his news has caused me. Tim’s been so good, so loving lately that I was starting to wonder if maybe I was just inventing things to be suspicious about. Even with the bells growing louder and more persistent all week, I hoped… The doors open and I walk unsteadily inside, wiping my sweaty palms on the fabric of my dress. I punch the button to our floor and as I rise my heartbeat thuds wildly in my ears. Nine, Ten, Eleven…

My belly jumps as the doors open. I don’t want to step forward. I want to go back to the Bath Shop and pretend like everything’s fine. I want to get married and live in a little cottage and have three kids with my black hair and Tim’s blue eyes. I want to be happy. The doors begin to close and I dash through them. The hallway seems impossibly long and it takes forever to reach our door.

My hands are shaking so badly, my first attempt to insert the key into the lock fails and I have to try again. The soft click of the deadbolt sounds more like the hammer of a gun as I turn the door handle. I close my eyes and push it open. At first, all I can hear is the earsplitting ringing of those damn psychic bells, but then, “Who’s your daddy, baby? Huh? Who’s your daddy?”

Shit. Maybe I should start that hotline after all.

Tim’s facing my direction but neither he nor Suzy, our neighbor from 2E who’s currently bent over the arm of our tobacco colored leather sofa, notice me at first. I think they’re both too engrossed in watching her fake boobs roll around like two Chinese stress balls. I steal myself and walk toward them, waiting for him to see me. “What the hell, Tim? We haven’t even scotch-guarded that yet.”

Tim’s head snaps back and his shock causes him to pull Suzy’s hair a little too tightly, eliciting a cry of pain from her and an instant stop in motion from him. “Ellie, what are you doing here? I mean, wait….shit, this isn’t what it looks like.”

Tim is in full fight or flight mode. Scavenging for his clothes and hopping from foot to foot, he makes a desperate effort to cover his rapidly shrinking bits. His lack of composure gives me a moment to stare down at Suzy who, unlike Tim, is making no attempt to cover up her nakedness as she stands to face me.

“What?” she asks. “Jealous?”

I swallow hard and will the pain off my face and out of my voice. “The boobs are a little too big for me, but I’d like to know where you get waxed. Is that a heart?”

“A butterfly,” she says.

I look around Suzy to stare down at Tim who’s managed to shove one leg inside a pair of suit pants. I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me unravel in the middle of our chic living room. “You’re a pig. And what’s worse, you’re a cliché.”

“Ellie, wait! Let me explain.”

“There’s nothing to explain,” I say, choking on the words. I turn on my heels and flee as fast as I can, humiliation clawing at me from the inside out. I need to get out of there. Need to get away from Tim, away from the psychic ‘
I told you so’
voice, and away from the ruins of my happily ever after.

“Ellie, stop!”

Tim hurries after me, cinching the belt around his now fully-clad waist. He comes to stand between me and the elevator doors which remain closed despite my repeated jabs to the down arrow. Stupid elevator, why do we have to live on the 11
^th
floor? I spin to face him and completely lose it. I can’t stop the tears from falling as I reach out and swing my new Coach handbag at his lying, cheating face.

“You lying, cheating bastard!” Thump. “How could you do this to me?” Whack. “Why her?” Smack. “How could you do that in our apartment?” Tim is ready for me this time and dodges my last well-aimed handbag swing.

“Listen to me!” he yells, grabbing me by the upper arms to hold me steady. He brings his face down toward mine, his blue eyes begging me to look at him. “I don’t know what I was thinking. You’ve just been so crazy lately.”

“Oh, so this is my fault!”

“I lost my head. I started hanging out with Suzy as friends. I wanted to get her advice on how to get you to stop acting so nuts and one thing just lead to another.” His grip on my arms loosens and I can see something like shame in his eyes.

I swipe at the tears on my cheeks and shake his hands from me. “Did you ever think of asking me why I was being so crazy? Did it ever cross your mind to talk to me about our problems before screwing our neighbor?” I gag on my tears and turn away from him, reaching out to violently stab at the lit arrow again.

“Ellie, I’m sorry. I made a mistake. Please, let’s talk about it.” There’s real pleading in his voice now.

I take a deep breath and steady myself against what I know I’ll see when I face him. He’s still shirtless and I have to force myself to not reach out and touch the smooth skin of his chest. Even through my anger, I can’t help but think he’s beautiful. He’s all taut, lean muscle, tanned and man-
scaped
to perfection. He’s perfect, and he’s breaking my heart.

“What’s there to talk about, Tim? You cheated on me, just like I knew you would.”

“See? You were obsessed with thinking that I was cheating on you – and I wasn’t. Well, not until recently. I just couldn’t take the constant paranoia and suspicion. You’re the one that couldn’t trust me and I—”

“Decided to prove me right? Decided to go ahead and cheat on me if that’s what I was already thinking?” I cross my arms, trying to squash the urge to punch him in his perfect nose.

Tim shakes his head. “Yeah, something like that, I guess.”

The elevator doors open and I throw myself inside, glad to be putting some distance between us. My resolve is wavering. Over the din of my psychic alarm bells I can hear that little voice inside me saying,
‘You pushed him into this.’