“Are you sure? Seems to me you hide a lot behind that past.”

“You’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

“No, I do. You’re the clueless one.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, really.”

“Why?”

“Because I told you I’m in love with you and you lost the ability to speak.”

Richard stands there, gaping. Again, not a word.

I grab my pants and slide them on. “There you go again.”

“Blair.” He takes a few steps toward me and places one hand on each of my shoulders. “You’re overreacting.”

“No, Richard.” I shove his hands away and grab my blouse. “You’re underreacting!”

“Underreacting? What does that even mean?”

Finally dressed, I do a frantic scan of the room to locate all my scattered possessions. I toss everything in the duffel bag and put on my gym shoes. Ready to leave, I turn toward him. “It means that I just told you ‘I love you’ and I deserve to hear more back than a never ending silence.”

Again, silence is all he gives me.

I push past him and storm out of the bedroom. In the living room, I hook Chevron to her leash. Richard hasn’t followed me. Oh, no, he prefers to stay hidden. Easier that way. Bastard. Asshole. Coward. Tears blur my vision at last. I wait a few more seconds for him to come out. He doesn’t. With my heart shattering, I dash out of the apartment, banging the door behind me as hard as I can.

For the entire walk home, I keep looking over my shoulder hoping to see a silver car following us. Every time a car passes us, my heart jolts in my chest. But it’s never Richard. I make my way toward Manhattan, sobbing uncontrollably. So much so that a few people stop me to ask if I need help. I turn away the kind strangers, explaining it’s only a problem of the heart. Only. Why is it that I’m more heartbroken after a two-night stand than I was over a three-year relationship? Is this what love does to you? If that’s it, I hope I can fall out of it as quickly as I fell in.

Nineteen

Never Stress Eat

A few hours later, Nikki arrives home to find me in a state of utter misery. I’m on the couch, in my PJs, surrounded by used Kleenex, and eating ice cream.

My best friend takes in the scene and is at my side at once. “What happened to you?” She takes the bowl of ice cream from me to sniff it, and her nostrils flare. “Is this real ice cream?”

I nod.

“Industrial, processed ice cream?”

I nod again.

“No soy?”

I shake my head.

“Dairy?”

Nod.

“Saturated fats?”

I make a wimpy sound.

“Ah.” Nikki places the bowl out of reach and drops onto the couch next to me. “I thought you’d spent the weekend with the boss…”

I stare at her with big eyes, trying to transmit telepathically what happened because saying it aloud is too painful.