Page 93 of The Plus Ones
“I know, I know. But I saw how you were with your friends. You were always so much happier and funnier with them. You’d do anything for them. I know you offered to come to LA with me, but I don’t think you trulywantedto.” She pauses for me to respond.
I don’t, because she’s right. I wanted to be with her, I wanted her to want to be with me, but of course I didn’t want to leave my friends and my job and move to LA.
She finally looks up at me, her voice quivering just a little. “It makes sense that you’d end up with Roxy. I mean, it doesn’t make sense at all, but you know what I mean.”
I smile at that. “Yeah. I do.”
When she gets up to leave, I hug her and say good-bye in the way that I wasn’t able to before. Notgood-bye for now until you realize what a huge mistake you’re making.Notgood-bye, fuck you, you never deserved me anyway, good luck over there on theWorst Coastof America.A realgood-bye, I don’t expect to see you again, but thank you.
As soon as she’s out the door, I signal to the waitress for the check and then I check my phone for a reply from Roxy, but there isn’t one. Which is weird because she’s a compulsive responder. Whether we’re talking or texting or just raising our eyebrows at each other, she’s the comeback queen. Even when she’s in a meeting, she usually replies within ten minutes—she works at an online retail company, not a hospital.
I write another message, and for the first time since before we left for Antigua, I’m not smiling like an idiot.
ME: We still on for dinner tonight?
The animated dots come up almost immediately, which means she probably saw my earlier text and didn’t respond.
UTE: I’m so sorry, Keaton. I won’t be able to make it tonight. Something just came up, and I have to deal with it.
Okay, that’s troubling. She never calls me by my first name in texts, and since when does she say things like “I’m so sorry.” Maybe someone stole her phone.
ME: If this is really you, tell me where I have a birthmark or send me a boob pic.
ME: Never mind. Just send a new boob pic. Of your boobs.
UTE: It’s me, dummy. Sometimes I write weird things like sorry. Or Keaton.
ME: So that’s a no re. the boob pic?
UTE: It’s a not now. Please refer to your ever-growing library of them for the moment.
ME: You better send me at least one a day for the next three days, then. I expect a minimum of six boobs to add to my library.
I get no response to that.
ME: Are you saying you can’t make it to dinner or that you aren’t spending the night either?
UTE: Can’t do either. Sorry. I’ll miss you. Have a good trip. See you when you get back. Please tell me you aren’t one of those giant pussies who wants me to pick you up at the airport.
ME: Please tell me you aren’t one of those giant pussies who wants to pick me up at the airport.
UTE: I would sooner pick up trash along the freeway.
ME: We’re so perfect for each other.
UTE: You’re going to Finn’s party on Saturday, right?
ME: I will rock that house party. Thanks for reminding me to order birthday presents.
UTE: Don’t worry. The good godparent has it covered.
ME: Dream on. I’ll miss you.
Fucking hell, I want to tell her I love her, but she’d dropkick me if I do it in a text for the first time. There’s no sign of another text from her, and I guess she already told me she’ll miss me, so I put my phone away, pay the bill, and head back to my office. The smile’s still on my face when my meeting starts, but some strange, unsettling feeling lingers. I’m certain that it’s just from seeing a significant ex and knowing that I want Tamara to be the last ex-girlfriend I ever have.
24
Roxy
