“You have an elevator?”
“Had it installed last year. It’s a real time saver.”
Funny people who are so fitness-oriented didn’t choose the stairs for the single flight down. But that’s not my business. I free my hand and scoot next to Finn in the corner, trying to get some cover from Jacqueline’s eyeball-stabbing as we descend.
After a few seconds, we step out into an enormous room with two bowling lanes at the edge of the glossy hardwoods. It’s a totally professional setup, complete with flat screen monitors overhead to keep score and neon blue gutters. Plump leather seating flanks the area.
“Wow, this is amazing.”
“Thank you,” Phineas says, walking toward a wall of shoes. “What size are you? We keep one of every size on hand.”
“Seven.”
While we lace up, I try to come up with a reason to get out of here. I just want to go home, because truly I don’t need to burn off that salad. There was no dressing, for fuck’s sake. These people are rich, you can’t offer a girl some ranch?
Finn dispels my hopes of escaping. “Listen, we need to win.” He squats in front of my chair. “Got me?”
“Um, okay? I’ll try my best.”
“No. No trying. We need to win this.” He glances over his shoulder to where Jacqueline is sharpening her knives. “She’s good. But you need to be better.”
“Okay, well...I haven’t bowled since eighth grade, so....” It’s not like I’m in a league or something and keep my skills up to date. And why must everything be a competition?
“Ready?” Phineas calls.
Not at all, but lucky for me, I go last.
Jacqueline and her special diamond-encrusted bowling shoes make a strike on her first attempt. So does Phineas.
And Finn.
No pressure.
I select my ball, bring it up balanced in both hands, and focus on the pins. When bowling originated, Germans believed knocking down wooden shaped pins would pardon their sins. I’m not certain this crowd would appreciate that nugget of information, so I keep it to myself and hope for a strike so my indiscretions will be forgiven. Because karma is really kicking my ass with this torture.
As I shuffle forward on the slick floor and swing my arm back, Phineas says, “Yeah, let’s see if you’re a stroker.”
His words ruin my aim, and I release...straight into the gutter.
“Fuck,” Finn mutters.
“Sorry,” I say, walking over to him. “Isn’t it about having fun and not whether you win or lose?”
“No,” he answers. “Only losers say that. We need to win.”
I tilt my head, wondering why this is so important and resisting the urge to tell him to blame his father for my performance.
“Uh-oh,” Jacqueline says, with faux concern. “Looks like someone isn’t happy.”
She looks very pleased by that. I’m no conspiracy theorist, but this is a very strange dynamic between her and Finn. I stand on tiptoes and give Finn a brush of my lips.
Whoosh. Daggers.
Unbelievable.
The game continues, with Finn mumbling curse words at my performance, until we finally lose.
“Good game,” Phineas says. “Sorry, son.”
“Yeah, me too,” Finn drawls.
“We’ll head upstairs and give you some privacy,” Jacqueline says. “Take care, Chloe.”
My brow pulls tighter than my vagina. “What’s going on?” I ask Finn as they step into the elevator.
“Listen”—his warm hand slips down my arm—“it’s not you…well, it kind of is…but it’s not going to work out.”
“What do you mean?”
Am I being dumped? After all that? He’s dumping me?
“I thought you could be a SuperFit girl, Chloe. Someone by my side to be there for me like Jacqueline is for Dad. Someone who appreciates how rough it is to maintain a body like mine. Someone who lives and breathes fitness like my family does. But it’s clear that will never happen.”
Not as clear as it is to me. This breakup is so horrendous, I’m speechless as he continues, “It’s a shame because you really loved my cock. Greedy girl.” He licks his lips and phew, the action is no longer appealing to me. “I need someone who will rule the empire with me and love it. A winner. This was a family test, of sorts. That you failed. So”—dramatic pause—“I can’t see you anymore,” he whispers, as though he’s afraid this news might break me.
Shocked, I do a slow blink. “Wait. If we’d won, you’d want to keep dating? Your parents knew about this?”
“Yes and yes. But we lost, Chloe. And the rules are rules.”
Bless you, rules. “I understand.”
“And I want you to know that I’ve decided not to move in with Austin, out of respect for you.”
This just gets better and better. “Respect?”
“I know how hard it is to get over someone you see a lot, so I’m going to take the tiny house.”
Is he really this narcissistic and egotistical? How could I have missed it? Why does my radar not work? I’m tempted to point out that breaking up with him is not the hardship that he is presenting it as. I’m more upset over losing the tiny house. But it’s easier to just let him think I’m distraught, so I roll with it.
“Yes. I would be very hard-pressed to get over this if you were around all the time.”
He frowns. “Now, I do expect to be around here and there. You don’t get to keep Austin all to yourself in this breakup.”
This is where I draw the line. “But…he’s my friend. Of course, I get to keep him for myself.”
“He reminds you of me. I understand.” He sighs and whispers, “I’m really going to miss your tight pussy.”
I nod in commiseration. “With all that exercise it will only get tighter, but it will be okay.”
He blows a breath. “I use the gym every morning from six to eight, over the lunch hour, and again from five thirty to eight. Beyond those hours, feel free to keep working out at SuperFit.”
I’m having a hard time processing what just happened, so I say, “Thanks.”
“You’re great, Chloe. You really are. Look where you started and where you are now. And your job is so damn hot.” He shakes his head. “You just need to believe in yourself. You might surprise yourself one of these days.”
Well, that would be lovely. Because then I wouldn’t be standing here being the one who got dumped.
In a weird way, I appreciate he believes in me. Someday, maybe someone will believe in my art.
At least I’m comforted by the knowledge that I have plenty of ab pics on my phone for the Netflix and solo-chill nights ahead.
Twelve
I don’t care if it’s for the best, getting dumped sucks. No matter how wrong they are for you, they realized you’re worse. Is a confirmation of all your shortcomings necessary? Even if you acknowledge you have them, it burns hotter than a thousand hells that someone else noticed them too and found you lacking. No one wishes to be lacking. Ask the rock Finn gave me. Not once did I wish for that.
If you think about it, the dumper is basically saying your imperfections are insufferable. In my opinion, a rule should be instituted that breakups can’t occur unless both parties dump at the same time. It’s a heavy blow to my self-esteem that I wasn’t good enough to hold on to someone I didn’t even want to hold on to.