Dear Heart, I Hate You

“Jealousy doesn’t look good on you.” She grinned at me as I let out a howl of laughter, but then her smile faded. “So, I’m sorry to bring him up, but I have to know. Are you totally over everything? I’m only asking because you actually seem okay.” She placed her hand on mine. “And I mean that in a good way. In the best way.”

I nodded. “I know you do. And I am over it, as much as anyone can truly be over something like that. I’ve given up the notion that I’ll ever hear from him again. Which is a little weird to say out loud, but it’s true.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“I can’t make him want to talk to me. And I shouldn’t have to. So I don’t know if I’m okay with it as much as there’s nothing I can do about it. I’ve finally accepted the reality of the situation, and I have to move on.” I shrugged. “It is what it is.”

“I still don’t understand what happened, though,” she said, pouting.

“Me either. But honestly, I don’t even care to know at this point. It doesn’t matter anymore.” I sipped at the orange cocktail. It was really good, the citrus flavors hitting my senses immediately, but not in a bitter or overly sweet way. It was the perfect balance of flavor. “This is delicious, by the way.”

“You don’t care about why he left? Really?” She cocked an eyebrow.

“I’ll never know why. And honestly, I don’t need it anymore. I wanted it desperately for so long, you know I did. But I literally woke up one morning and just . . . didn’t care.”

“I would have gone off the deep end, I think.” She looked up at the ceiling as if lost in thought. “Like right away.”

“I’ll tell you one thing. When you have absolutely nothing to work with, you tend to jump to a lot of conclusions. You make a lot of things up. My mind is not my friend in situations like these.”

I thought back to the worst-case scenarios my mind had dredged up back then. At the time, I wasn’t sure if my mind was trying to test my resilience or break me completely.

Each scenario was more hurtful than the last—he was dead, he hated me, it was all a joke, I was a bet, he was a con artist, he was married (to someone a thousand times prettier, smarter, and more awesome than I was, of course), he had secret wives all over the world, he was a pathological liar, I was a game, he was gay, I was a challenge.

“I would have reacted the same way.” She smiled. “Probably worse, though, because I definitely would have started sending shit to his office. Like dead mice, rotting dog crap, or those disgusting flavors of jelly beans, but in different packaging so he would think he was getting all popcorn-flavored or some shit. You know, the usual psycho ex-girlfriend stuff.”

I laughed. “I wouldn’t have let you do that!”

“I would have done it anyway.”

Tami was right; she would have. And I wouldn’t have been able to stop her. Cal should be thankful I wasn’t like Tami in that regard.

“I guess in a way it still sucks, but it doesn’t hurt anymore. So I’m happy for that.”

“I’ll drink to that.” She held up her almost empty glass to mine, and we clinked them together.

“Cheers,” I said with a smile that mimicked how happy I finally felt inside. It seemed like a lifetime since I’d felt anywhere close to normal.

“You really do look great,” she added as she finished off her drink.

“I really do feel great.”

“Great enough to”—she glanced around at the quickly crowding space—“take someone home tonight?”

I practically choked on my drink. Leave it to Tami to turn everything into an opportunity to have a one-night stand.

“No. I mean, yes, I feel great. But I don’t want to meet anyone right now. I’m not interested in getting involved.”

“Who said anything about getting involved?”

“I’m not interested in general.”

She blew out a long, loud breath. “This again.”

“Seriously, Tami, you’re one to talk. Please sleep with someone more than one time and get back to me, okay?”

“Ew, no one wants to do that,” she said, her face scrunched as if she’d bit into something sour.

I laughed. “Actually, yeah. They do.”