Page 78 of Lovebug
“Did you just say ‘eh’ and shrug over your fiancé boning his way through all of his business prospects?” Her voice pitches up in disbelief.
“I think I did, yeah.” I surprise even myself when I say this.
Seriously, if you would have told me a few weeks ago that I’d break up with my boyfriend of six years, eight months and twenty-one days after an explosive night of Ponzi scheme revelations and unrepentant confessions of infidelity, and I would barely bat an eyelash at the whole situation? That I wouldn’t shed a single tear? I would’ve told you no way José. But here I am, not caring. Honestly, I wasn’t even thinking about him until Louise asked me how we’re doing. I wonder how much of that is because my mind was on a completely different man.
“His… promiscuity makes no sense to me, though.” Louise’s brow scrunches as she continues the conversation. “You told us he was terrible in bed, didn’t you?”
“I never said that!” I say, shocked she would say something so crass. Accurate, I suppose, but crass.
Oh my gosh, why am I still defending him? Looks like “Good Mabel” isn’t as easy to shake as I’d hoped.
“Mabel,” Louise says, her features very serious. “We all heard the Dick Wolf story last week. You didn’t need to explicitly say he was terrible in bed. That story was enough for me todeducethat his skills are beyond subpar. What do all these women see in him? For that matter, what didyousee in him?”
It’s a fair question. What did I see in him?
“He’s a gentleman,” I say with confidence, but then I have to pause. “Or I thought he was.”
Louise stands there with a blank face, clearly expecting a solid answer. So I search for it.
“He’s kind!” I enthuse, though those words no longer feel right in my mouth either. “Or Ithoughthe was.” I feel my voice getting softer with each attempt as if my vocal cords can’t collaborate on such blatant untruths now that I know who he’s become. Correction. Who he’s been for a while now, it seems. I make one more attempt. “My parents adore him and… Gosh, I don’t know Lou, we were a couple for six years, eight months, and twenty-one days. It’s hard to end something that’s been that much a part of your life, ya know?”
“Why do you do that?” Louise interrupts.
“Do what?”
“Keep track of the exact number of days you’ve known everyone.”
“Well, noteveryone…” I attempt to defend my weirdness.
“How long have you known me?” Louise challenges.
“Uhhhhh…” I pretend to be stumped, but I just end up sounding like a tea kettle.
“Come on,” she goads. “I know you know.”
I sigh. “Two months, three days, and…” I look at the time on my phone. “Sixteen hours.”
Louise smiles.
“I know, I know. It’s an odd thing to do.”
“A little bit,” she says with a laugh. “But it’s sweet too. Shows you’re paying attention. Shows the people in your life that they are important to you.” She pauses, looks deliberately into my eyes, and says, “Bert should have appreciated that more. He should have appreciated you more.”
“Thanks.” For the first time since the breakup, I have to fight a lump in my throat, thinking of how much time I spent with him, and how, ultimately, none of it added up to anything of value.
I consider how to explain my counting-the-days quirk.
“I didn’t have many friends growing up. A part of it was my parents, I think. They’ve always been super overprotective. Not entirely sure why. But I was the kid who was never allowed to go to sleepovers or parties or school dances. Tell people you’re not allowed enough times, and they stop asking after a while.” I feel a brief pang in my heart, remembering that left-behind feeling that was such a big part of my growing-up experience. “Bert was the one person who never stopped asking.”
Louise inhales like she’s about to say something, but I keep going before she can.
“I mean, Cyndi’s been a constant throughout the years too, but she’s from a military family, and they moved around a lot. We were pen pals most of our lives until now, and pen pals are great, but at some point, you want more than letters.”
Lou’s looking at me with a strange glassy-eyed expression. Is it sadness? Pity?
I decide to steamroll right past the potential pity. “When I got a bit older, one thing my parentsdidstart allowing was summer camp. You know that’s where I met Calliope, yeah?”
“Oh, yeah?” Apparently, she didn’t know that.
