Page 4 of Desserts for Stressed People

Maybe I’m right, and that’s what happens to everyone, but I didn’t expect it to happen after only a few years together. Whatever changes our relationship has gone through, he’s not supposed to cheat. My boyfriend isn’t supposed to look for hot dates online.I’msupposed to be his hot date.

With the food containers out of the way, I wipe the coffee table. I take the single mug sitting in the sink and wash it, dry it, then move it next to the set of identical white mugs with black stripes on top of the sink, twisting it until it’s in the exact same position as its duplicates. Only once it perfectly matches the others does my heart flutter with contentment. I walk into the bedroom and, after straightening the linen duvet and puffing up the pillows, I drop myself on it with a sigh.

Why can’t I sort out my emotions? I feel a mix of sadness and anger, but not enough of either. I should be furious, planning to spit in his coffee or do some other petty, small act that’ll give me satisfaction. I should cry, scream, gasp for air, clutch my heart where the pain should be most prevalent and physical, but it’s not and I don’t.

Maybe it’s because it’s easier to pretend it didn’t happen. Or maybe it’s because his cheating remains nothing but the screenshot of his profile Emma sent me after our lunch earlier today.

I open up the image, and there’s no doubt it’s him.

Alex D., looking for one-time-only hookups.

In his profile picture, he’s at his cousin’s wedding. I know because I took it. The one he uses to pick up random girls is a pictureItook. He’s smiling at the camera with the storm in his eyes, and his white shirt and brown jacket are unbuttoned. He knows I love that picture—he looks like one of those runway models you see on billboards for perfumes. Maybe that’s why he chose it. He figured other girls would like it too.

As a single tear escapes my eye and rolls down my cheek, I wipe it with my finger, not sure of what to make of it. A glimpse of sadness shakes my heart, like a drop of rain plummeting into a puddle and creating ripples before the water flattens again.

I need more proof of his betrayal. Not that I don’t trust Emma, because I learned my lesson with that, but I want to see his profile with my own eyes. I’ll get all the information I need before I confront him.

Without giving a second thought, I close the chat with Emma and download RadaR.

When a pink heart in flames on a red background appears on my screen, it feels like for the first time in years, the box I’ve been shoved into is just too constricting. Like I need to stretch my muscles, let my lungs fill with air. Like I need to fill with energy and explode. For the first time in years, I feel unhinged.

My fingers clench around the phone and my jaw sets so tightly that painful waves spread from my back teeth right to my brain.

“One-time-only hookups, huh?” I mutter under my breath. “You got it, Alex.”

Chapter2

Undercover Agent

I walkthrough the gray halls of Emma’s building, my fingers typing out a message to my boss at the same time. Though I work with the most easygoing people in the marketing industry, my role as a project manager has me slaving away well over nine to five. And on Saturdays, like today.

Her apartment is by definition the very opposite of mine. Warm, indie. Colorful trinkets crowd the space, and most of them come with a story, like the green porcelain cat we bought after we got a little too merry on sake at one of our favorite restaurants.

“Hello?” I call, making my way through her living room and entering the kitchen. There’s the usual frustrating mess everywhere. Two fingers of dust on the blue shelves, plates accumulating in the sink. Maybe she’ll let me wash them.

“Hey!” She pops up behind me and squeezes me tight. “How are you?”

As she walks past the table, her long blonde hair swings with every step. She pulls the fridge door open and shoots me a look over her shoulder. An “I’m sorry your boyfriend is cheating on you” look.

“Fine. I did something...stupid.”

She takes out a pitcher containing an orange-reddish liquid and her big, light blue eyes flare. I can almost see her tail wagging at the awareness I came bearing some gossip.

“I downloaded RadaR.”

She plunks the pitcher on the table, the fluid sloshing over the rim and sending my brain in alert mode. “H, that’s amazing! You should date and have fun, not pine over that vermin. You know whatIdid last night?” When I shake my head, she grabs her phone and shows me a picture of a tan guy with blond dreads who looks like he lives on a beach and works as a coconut cracker. “Him. He took me ice skating, then to a little food truck where I ate the best tacos of my life, then heravagedme.” She looks breathless at the thought as she pours the liquid into the glasses, her full lips bending into a pleased smile.

“That’s”—I pause, trying to think of the right word—“wonderful, Em. And as much as I’d love someone like”—I squint my eyes at the screen—“Juan, to ravage me, that’s not why I downloaded the app.”

After fitting two pink straws into the glasses, Emma slides one to my side of the table. “Then why?”

“To catch him in the act.”

“Alex?” she asks, and when I nod, she stomps her feet on the floor. “Oh, I love this new old-Heaven!”

I shake my head with a laugh. A good friend would tell me this is the worst idea ever. How I should end things with him in a friendly manner and move on. But Emma isn’t a good friend. She’s my best friend.

“Seriously, H. It’s great. What’s the plan?”

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