She steals a glance at my lump-like form, molded into the couch cushions. After a month of wallowing and bingeing every season ofTraitors, there is now a Stevie-shaped outline blending with the aquamarine checkered pattern.
There are also a few piles of stale popcorn sprinkled across the floor after I chucked my anger at the television screen upon viewingTraitors: Australia, season two.
“Tough,” she calls back, bending over to collect a pot. She turns the faucet on, the water sputtering as it struggles from the spout. “You’ve been surviving on cheese popcorn and those disgusting pickled gummy bears for weeks.”
I sigh. “Nutritional value doesn’t really top my priority list right now.”
Hesitating, Joplin faces me from the kitchen, pressing her forearms to the countertop. “I know it sucks. It really does. But Jameson is a weak-willed, small-dicked, pea-brained earthworm, and he doesn’t deserve anything from you, let alone being responsible for your increasingly concerning calorie deficit.”
“Earthworm?”
“Slimy, dirty, and dumb.” She shrugs. “And flaccid.”
“You have no concept of his dick size.” It was small.
“You need to get tested, by the way. Who knows where that thing has been?”
“I have. All clear.” I tuck the blanket tighter under my chin. “And anyway, this isn’t about Jameson. I’ve known for a while we were growing apart,becoming strangers. Breaking up was inevitable.” I pause, my chest tightening. “It’s just…it’s rough realizing this was happening right under my nose, and I didn’t even see it coming. And change? Change sucks.”
So do tonight’s looming plans.
The thought sends my anxiety into overdrive.
“Change is good when the circumstances are shit,” Joplin counters before rummaging in the refrigerator for vegetables.
I slump back against the couch, muting the TV and tossing the remote beside me.
She’s not wrong.
In the beginning, Jameson was my rock. My anchor. We started dating shortly after graduation, when I didn’t know if I’d mentally make it through those painful, debilitating months.
That was a lifetime ago. Back when he was still my friend and my high school costar.
Through countless knee surgeries, physical therapy, broken dreams, and long nights, Jameson was there for me.
And when Kylie Nottingham caught his eye at work, he was there for her too.
Prick.
Luckily, I have a sister who makes damn good clam chowder and gives the best hugs.
The smell of sautéing onion wafts over from the kitchen, stirring my appetite. Maybe I am hungry. And maybe Joplin is right—this change could be a good thing. It’s just too bad my self-worth had to be pulverized in order to achieve it. Getting cheated on is a confidence killer, no matter how you try to spin it.
Was I too needy? Too codependent?
Too thick around the waist, too boring between the sheets?
It’s been a month, but the intrusive thoughts are endless.
Debilitating.
Still, this could be a fresh start, a proverbial new beginning. I’ve never actively dated before. I’m single, and Joplin is single. This could actually be fun.
“You’re having that light bulb moment right now, aren’t you?” Joplin says, sliding me a grin from the stovetop. “I see the wheels turning over there. Tell me I’m right. Go on. I’ll wait.”
Glaring, I stick my tongue out at her.
“There she is.”
