Page 66 of The Best Book Boyfriend
“Was the sex mind blowing?”
“He gave me a lovebite on my thigh,” I say, covering my face with my hands. The two of them collapse to the floor, kicking their legs and shrieking.
“It’s always the quiet ones,” Megan laughs.
“How many times did you come?” Hattie pauses in midair and grabs my leg.
“No comment.” I get up from the table to hide my smile and find my phone in the kitchen. Still nothing from Luke.
Three hundred and sixty-five days.
Twelve months.
One whole year without Adam.
I knew this day was coming. I knew it would hurt, I knew I should prepare for it and throw myself into a fun distraction, and here I am still feeling like a stinky bag of turds.
After dinner last night, I sent Hattie and Megan home and told them that under no circumstances were they to come back over today. I don’t want love and support or words of encouragement. I don’t want to sit around and cast curses against his name and penis. I just want to be alone.
Tears fall from the moment I wake up. I pull the pillow from his side of the bed into my chest and curl myself around it. It hasn’t been his side of the bed for a long time, and none of this bedding has ever touched his skin, but today I feel like he might have just stepped out of the room. I let the tears come and the time pass, sniffing and sobbing until the cloud of sadness dissipates and I’m left an angry shell.
How fucking dare he?What kind of man leaves his girlfriend of twelve years, his home, his life, with no explanation? I don’t know why I’m even wondering. There will never be a day where those questions come with answers. What an absolute prick.
I want to wallow here all day, but I am bloody hungry and I’ll have to eat before I get even angrier.
Stomping down the stairs, I make it halfway before noticing a large shape through the frosted glass of my front door. I snatch it open and find a bunch of flowers, a cup of coffee, and a paper bag that I instantly know contains two cinnamon buns. I look up the garden path and there he is, standing at my gate, tapping away on his phone, no doubt texting me before his sneak retreat.
“Oi!” Luke nearly jumps out of his skin when I shout at him. “What are you doing here?”
“Shit, sorry Kara, I er—”
“Who sent you?” I snap, my eyes searching the garden for my two best friends who are terrible at following orders.
“Nobody,” he hangs back and I’m aware I must look unhinged, out here on my doorstep with my flannel pyjamas on, my hair piled into a bird’s nest on the top of my head.
“Then why are you here?”
“I just…” he shoves his hands deeper in his pockets, his shoulders lifting to his ears. “I knew you’d be having a shitty day.”
I’m standing with my hands on my hips, my eyes ablaze with fury. How dare he presume to understand how I’m feeling when he hasn’t spoken to me all week. How dare he be so kind when I want to kick the shit out of everything. How dare he evenexistin front of me right now.
“I’m going,” he says, waving his phone in my direction. “I was texting you to say you had a delivery. I only wanted to make sure you were OK.”
“Don’t be nice to me!” I shout, not caring which neighbours might be twitching their curtains. I pick up the flowers with one hand and the coffee and paper bag with the other.
“Fucking men!” I yell, slamming the door behind me. In the empty quiet of my hallway, my breath hitches and my shoulders shake. I’m an awful, awful cow. I open the door to apologise, but he’s gone. “Thank you, Luke,” I say into the ether as my voice wobbles and breaks. I close the door before he hears me howl.
Leaving his flowers in the sink, I skulk back to bed with the coffee and buns. My choking mix of upset and rage have wiped me out. The day is a blur of romcoms that I don’t laugh at, chocolate biscuits, and snotty tissues piling up around me. I sleep on and off, but I open the window and let the breeze blow through my curtains so I can at the very least pretend I am Juliet of fair Verona.
When it gets dark outside I dig my phone out from under my pillow and order takeaway from Gurkha Cottage, the exact meal I ordered a year ago today. I’m torturing myself here, but I figure their excellent business shouldn’t have to suffer lost sales just becauseheruined Nepalese food for me.
It’s a good decision. By the time it arrives, I’ve changed into what I will call my Evening Pyjamas and ventured downstairs. I’m still moody and miserable, but I can trick myself into feeling like a capable human by being moody and miserable just in a different place.
I plate up a bit of everything and eat it watching Saturday night telly. Despite my dark cloud, it’s all delicious. Of course it is. Food is still good without him. My house is still good without him. My life is still good without him.Iam still good without him.
With every bite, I feel better. For the longest time, the idea of being happy ever again was completely unfathomable, but I am fine without Adam. Insulted and rejected? Yes. Confused and stressed about my feelings for Luke? Yes. But despite all that, I think I’m happier than ever.
I am going to be OK. I am going to fix my friendships. I am going to sort my life out. And I’m going to call my solicitor on Monday and ask about getting the house in my name. A year is long enough for him to piss me about and not pay anything. I’m going to keep dating until I find a great man and if not, then there will be a thousand more Book Boyfriends to spend my nights with, and that will be just fine. That will be my happy ever after.
