Lovewrecked

I don’t have time for this. He wants to play the blame game, as if somehow this is all my fault.

“There’s something called communication,” I tell him. I’m still seething but it’s starting to meld into something else, something sadder, something I don’t like. “You could have talked to me instead of playing a stupid game. Instead of cheating on me. And if you wanted to end it, you could have just done so, like the man I thought I knew. This is all on you, Chris. I’m not going to be the bad guy here.” I pause, summoning up my courage. “I’m going to go back out for my walk. And when I get back, I want you and all of your stuff gone.”

“Daisy,” he cries out pathetically, gesturing. “I live here! Where am I supposed to go?”

I cross my arms. “No idea. Maybe Michelle’s? And you should have thought about that before bringing her over here to screw her. In our bed.”

“You’re being unreasonable.”

“You’re an asshole! And don’t you even think about squatters rights, because Big Jim is just a text away.”

Yeah, I have a friend called Big Jim, who is…wait for it…a bouncer. The two of us have been tight since I used to sneak into clubs with my fake ID, and he’s never liked Chris much anyway.

His eyes narrow. “So that’s it, huh? I’m just written out of your life? Just like that?”

“Just like that,” I tell him. I pick up my purse from the chair and sling it over my shoulder.

I start down the hall toward the front door.

He calls after me.

“Daisy.”

I pause, but I don’t turn around.

“We’re supposed to fly to New Zealand next week,” he reminds me. “Your sister will be so disappointed if you show up without a date, and I know you can’t do anything social alone. Let’s just go together and see what happens. If you want it to end after that, then we can end it. Let’s not waste those plane tickets.”

My chest feels iced over. Part of me wants to take him up on it. I hate the idea of flying there alone, I hate the idea of going to my sister’s wedding without him there. Hell, the idea of going to any wedding alone.

But as much as I need him as a crutch, I know it would be a mistake.

I’ll have to go on my own.

I glance at him over my shoulder and give him a small smile, maybe because I know this is probably (hopefully) the last time I’ll see him.

“I’ll be back at ten tonight. That should give you enough time to get your life sorted. Take care, Chris.” I pause. “And eat shit.”

And with that, I step out of the door and away from the man I thought I loved.

* * *

One week later

“Welcome aboard,” the tanned flight attendant with a stunning shade of red lipstick says to me as I step off the jetway and onto the plane, a huge Air New Zealand 747. “What row are you?”

I wave the ticket at her. “I’m one of the Skycouches,” I tell her gleefully.

She nods and gracefully points down the body of the never-ending plane. “Excellent. They’re at the rear of the craft.”

I thank her and cart my rose gold carry-on luggage behind me down the length of the plane to the very back. Normally, I avoid the back of airplanes if I can help it (I have a somewhat irrational fear of the plane breaking apart during flight and the bottom half landing on some island somewhere, but that’s what I get for being obsessed with Lost back in the day). But for this flight from SFO to Auckland, New Zealand, I opted for the Skycouch, which is when you have a whole row to yourself, and each seat extends so it turns into a bed of sorts.

These days it’s the little things that excite me.

Last week I was living my normal life, this week everything has changed.

Okay, so maybe I should go back in time a bit.

Four weeks ago I was living the good life. I had my boyfriend, I had my friends, I had my job. I was happy…I think. At any rate, I was looking forward to flying to NZ for my sister Lacey’s wedding, with Chris in tow.

Then I lost my job. None of us at Deschutes even saw it coming.

One gloomy morning where the fog was cold and dense, Harold the CEO, announced there was to be a merger with Yogalita, another even more successful athleisure wear company, and that massive layoffs would be imminent.

Everyone in the office was panicking. Everyone except me, that is. You see, I sort of lucked into that job, working for the company straight out of high school. Within a few short years I was moving up and up and up, until I accepted the position as head of marketing. When Deschutes became too big for the office in Beaverton, the company relocated to San Francisco, and I went along with them. I was somewhat vital to the company’s overall branding, and without tooting my own horn too much, helped push them to new levels of success.