Page 9 of Just the Tipsy
“Hello?”
“Baby,” my ex, Kyler says. “Don’t hang up!”
I don’t speak for a few seconds. He’s been calling me ever since I dumped him and left LA, all from different numbers. It’s like the world’s worst game of whack-a-mole.
Kyler isn’t threatening — he’s just annoying. And in the two and a half years we were together, a lot of our lives mixed, including our apartment. I’m still paying rent since the lease ends in two months and I don’t want to deal with the logistical mess of trying to pull out of the lease now.
Hopefully he has something of value to actually say, like we got out of the lease early or he wanted to pay a bill. Or a million of the other administrative bullshit that I’ll inevitably have to handle because I did all of that while we were dating.
I hold in a sigh.
“Why shouldn’t I hang up?” I put him on speakerphone and toss my phone on the mat. “What do you want?”
“Just hear me out.”
“What else could you possibly say?” I fold myself forward and grip my feet. “Is this about something important, or no? Like the lease or the bills.”
“I just miss you, babe,” he says. God, he sounds so pathetic.
I swallow and sit back up. He probably misses my connections. Was he ever into me at all, or did he just want a connection to my dad? If my dad produced an album for him, the odds of it being a bigger hit than any of his past albums were pretty damn high. And my dad didn’t produce albums for just anyone.
But his son-in-law? Yeah, he’d probably do it.
The fact that Kyler decided to “ask my dad for my hand in marriage” and pitch an album idea at the same time was such a red flag that my dad called me right after.
At least Kyler didn’t full-on propose. But he did drop every hint like it was a ball of lead — telling me to get my nails done, planning a vacation himself (which he always left to me), telling me to pack certain things. Good thing I saw his texts to some girl he told me not to worry about before we left.
He put in a thousand times more effort into those texts than he did with our relationship.
I’m not sure what I was expecting, though — nearly all my relationships, platonic or romantic, end up just like that.
“Bianca?” he says. “You still there?”
“What?” I bark. “Again, is there anything important — as in our apartment or bills or cars — that you need to tell me about?”
“Are you seeing someone else?” he asks. “Is that why you’re so stubborn about this?”
I squeeze the bridge of my nose and resist the urge to scream. Sadie’s ears prick up, like she’s thinking,is this asshole for real right now?
“It wouldn’t make a difference if I was or wasn’t,” I say. “I’m not coming back.”
“So, you are seeing someone,” he says, leaping to conclusions. Of course. “Who is he?”
“Bye, Kyler,” I say.
“B—”
I hang up on him and flop back on my mat with a heavy sigh. I’m not going to date anyone for the foreseeable future. Being burned by him and by all the friends who have chosen his side is more than enough reason to take time to sort myself out. Alone.
FOUR
BIANCA
Waylon saidthis engagement party was casual, but how do I even do casual? Like Jepsen casual?
I looked at what everyone else was wearing at the grocery store the other day, and I just don’t have clothes like that. No flannel. My denim looks too new. My blouses are too snug or too fashionably loose.
“Okay, Sadie. Which outfit?” I ask her, tossing two different options on the bed in front of her. She does a cute little head tilt before yawning and stretching.
