Page 41 of Boyfriend Maintenance

I rollthe faux-wooden ball down the lane with so much force I’m slightly worried the ball is going to break something. Thankfully, it doesn’t. It sinks into the right-hand five hundred hole, resulting in a nearly perfect game. I can’t say that I’m enjoying myself, but I needed to blow off some steam. Since I’m not a runner, I thought a nice round, or ten, of Skee-Ball would work. I know, the two aren’t really comparable, but I’ve got a Skee-Ball machine in my apartment. Who wouldn’t opt for a few rounds?

I’ve got music pumping through one of our voice-enabled speakers, but the combination of my favorite mix and my favorite arcade game doesn’t seem to be helping my mood.

It’s been three days since I woke up in my bed sans Jake. I’m throwing around a lot of anger at what happened. Anger is better than sadness though, which is something I’m also struggling with. Every time I start to feel sad, I just get pissed. I’m a roller coaster of emotions. Hence the force behind my Skee-Ball game.

I’m miffed because I opened up to Jake. I told him everything. There is only one other person in the world who knows all my issues and I currently live with her. I know Jake wouldn’t be able to fully understand my life and how it was and why I walked away, but it felt like he was accepting of it. That he was able to understand my choices. I’m also mad because of the sex.

We had amazing sex and our chemistry was through the roof. We’d been dancing around all that sexual tension for a couple weeks and once we made fireworks, he bolted.

Here’s where the sadness comes in. I feel like I lost someone, someone extremely important to me. Sure, it’s only been a couple weeks, but we got to know each other. We had gotten used to each other; I came to rely on him. Now he’s gone. There’s a clear void there. It’s like, as quickly he took up residence in my heart, he vanished just as fast.

Then I just start to feel stupid. Stupid me, for thinking we were anything more than what we were. We were never supposed to be real. I should have stayed strong, fought the pull. Feeling embarrassed about my stupidity just makes me mad all over again.

I turn off the machine, done with my attempt to roll away my anger, just as Becca walks through the front door.

“Guess what?” she yells over my music, walking into the kitchen. There’s a brown paper bag in her arm. If I were to guess, she’s brought us food.

“What?” I eye her but throw myself onto the couch.

“Today is the day you get over Jake Harper and move on.” She busies herself by taking things out of the bag.

I cross my arms and glare at her.

She tells the speaker to turn off the music before replying, “You’ve been angry with a side of mopey for three days now over a fake relationship. It’s time to move on and I’ve brought in reinforcements.”

I don’t reply but increase my glare level.

She lifts the makings of a grilled cheese up for me to see and then waves around a pint of Phish Food ice cream. My attitude toward my bestie simmers just a bit.

“What kind of cheese did you get?” My tone is challenging.

“American, right from the deli, as well as cheddar and pepper jack. I figured you’d have two.”

Dang. She passed my grilled cheese test, so I can’t accuse her of making matters worse by making me talk about my failed fake relationship woes, when she’s gotten my favorite combo of melty cheese.

“So how do you propose I get over the maintenance man … today?” I might be a little less grouchy knowing there's cheesy goodness in my near future, but I’m in no way cured.

“Well, we will start by making a god-awful number of grilled cheese sandwiches. When we are done, we will eat ice cream and then about halfway through the pint, I will deliver you a kick-ass pep talk, and tomorrow when you wake up, you’ll be good as new. Ready to face the world with one less chip on that dainty little shoulder of yours.” She seems so sure of her plan.

I eye her skeptically but decide to throw her a bone. So, I get up and trade my seat on the couch for the stool at the bar area. Sliding onto the high stool, I tell her, “I don’t like being grouchy.”

“Aww, I don’t like you being grouchy, either.” She smiles as she gets to work on the sandwiches.

“Just give me the pep talk now so I don’t have to think about it while I eat my carbs.”

“Okay, good, because I didn’t think I was going to be able to wait.”

I roll my eyes at her confession.

“I know you feel like an idiot. You had a fake relationship with him and so you feel stupid for thinking it was more than that. But you shouldn’t because I think it would have happened to anyone. I mean, hello, Debra Messing totally fell for her man whore inThe Wedding Date.” I snort. She continues, “Point is, you felt more than he did. That’s okay. Like seventy percent of relationships end because someone loved the other more.”

“I didn’t say anything about love. And I can’t help feel like you just made up that percentage.”

She hand-waves my remark. “Like sixty-five percent of statistics are made up anyway. I was making a point.”

I stare at her, trying to process what she just said, when she gives me a sly smile.

“Anyway, it happened and now it's over. Time to move on. Look at it this way, you had some much-needed sex.”

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