That’s when Elizabeth cracked—first literally, nervously pushing her neck back and forth, so the air between her bones let out a loud snap—and then emotionally as she openly targeted Phil’s relationship with his mother for the first time. She’d made passive-aggressive jabs in the past about Phil’s mother being a grown woman who could take care of herself, but on this day, there was no filter.

“That’s funny, Phil, because I kind of thought you were hoping to get laid this weekend. Or maybe that’s why you’re going to your mom’s.”

“Come on, Elizabeth.” He didn’t have anything else to say. The silence filled the room as he watched Elizabeth boil.

“Go home, then, Phil. Do whatever you want.”

With that, she left and slammed the doors. After a few seconds, Phil walked to the wall and placed his ear against it. He could always hear her on the phone after their fights, yelling about him to a friend or to her own mother, who lived in California. Usually an hour or so after the battle had ended he could hear male and female voices, which meant she’d turned on the television. He would keep his ear against the one wall they shared until he could figure out what she was watching. Usually it was one of the Sex and the City episodes she’d recorded. Elizabeth DVR’d almost every rerun of that series, despite the fact that she owned most of the seasons on DVD.

Phil hated Sex and the City, but he appreciated the show’s ability to put his girlfriend in a better mood. He’d call her after fights, knowing what she was watching, and she would answer without saying hello. She would breathe into the phone, and he would say something like, “Carrie Bradshaw is going to look even uglier on my flat screen.” She would laugh, disarmed, and would return to his apartment with one of her DVDs, which they’d watch in silence, cuddling.

That routine worked until there were ultimatums and deadlines for proposals and moving in. Phil didn’t meet those deadlines, and she kept her word about moving on. Phone calls weren’t returned. Her eyes stayed on the peeling brown carpet when they passed each other in the hallway. Phil couldn’t be sure, but he believed that since they’d broken up three months ago Elizabeth had stopped using the television in her living room so he wouldn’t know what she was watching.

His mother asked about her a few times after the breakup, advising, “You should call her,” as if he hadn’t. “She’s a good girl, Phil. I’m sure whatever you did will be forgiven.”

But it was what he hadn’t done that was the problem. He hadn’t asked her to marry him. He refused to consider cohabitation, explaining that he was from a very Catholic family and that living together before marriage just wouldn’t fly. Elizabeth reminded him that his brother had lived with his wife for months before marriage, but Phil dismissed the example. “My mom knew they moved in together before marriage and she was pissed. It was awkward for everybody. I’m not going to do that to her.”