“Daisy!” Michelle cries out, as if I’m the one with the problem, and then I’m reaching for the remainder of the sandwich.
I pelt it at her. The slice of turkey flies ahead of the sandwich layers with swift velocity and slaps her on the cheek with a satisfying thwack, while the other pieces of mayo-soaked bread and juicy tomato slices explode over the bedroom.
“Get out!” I scream at the both of them. “Now!” I threaten with the butter knife again. “I’m not done throwing things.”
Michelle swipes at the cold cut that just bitch-slapped her, and runs to the opposite side of the bed where she yanks on her jeans and sweater. She quickly sidles past me, avoiding eye contact. I’m not a violent person, but it really takes everything in me to not open the fridge and find what other food I can whip at her.
While she’s shoving on her boots at the front door, I turn to Chris who is getting back to his feet, wincing.
“There’s a lot more where that came from,” I warn him as she slams the front door.
He groans, reaching for the pillow again, as if he’s suddenly bashful. “Please, just…hear me out.”
My eyes widen. “What the hell could you possibly say? Chris, I just caught you screwing my friend!”
“It’s not what she said. I don’t love her. I love you…I just got…I got confused.”
“Confused?” I repeat, my voice beyond shrill. “Confused?”
He winces dramatically again, putting his hand to his ear. “Can you stop being so hysterical? You’re hurting my ears.”
“Maybe I’ll slice your ear off like in Reservoir Dogs. That should fix the problem,” I sneer at him, waving the knife again. “It won’t be easy with this thing, but believe me, I could make it work. Would leave some pretty nasty scars.”
He glares at me. “You know, you haven’t been easy to be around since you lost your job.”
Oh my god.
He isn’t…
He isn’t suggesting this is my fault??
He must read the look on my face because a rush of fear goes across his brow, and he quickly says, “It isn’t your fault. I’m not saying that. I know you’ve never been laid off before, I know you’ve worked for that company forever, I know it’s hit you hard. You’re just…not your sunny self.”
I can only stare at him, mouth agape. My emotions are zipping from outrage to frustration, and when I get frustrated I tend to cry.
“Excuse me for not always being my sunny self,” I tell him. “And, by the way, I think I’ve handled the layoff extremely well. You don’t see me moping about and focusing on the negative, and you don’t see me sleeping with other people’s boyfriends.”
He stares blankly at me.
“Michelle was laid off, too!” I yell at him. “And screw you for even bringing any of that shit up. That makes you an even worse person for cheating on me when I’m already down on the ground.”
He laughs dryly and I want to deck him right in the nose. “Down on the ground? In the two years we’ve been together, you’ve never been down on the ground. You’ve never even faltered. Everything just seems to fall in your lap.”
I bristle. He’s not the first person to say that. “Well things are falling out of my lap now, aren’t they? First I lose my job, next I lose my boyfriend.”
Oh, now he’s looking sad. “Daisy…this isn’t over…”
“That’s bullshit and you know it. It’s over. And it’s probably been over for a long time, hasn’t it? Even before I lost my job. You’ve been pulling away. I didn’t want to see it, didn’t want to admit that was happening, but it’s true, isn’t it? It’s like you wanted to get caught.”
Chris looks away and absently wipes a tomato seed off his face. I’d laugh if I didn’t feel so broken inside. “Maybe I was pulling away to see if you’d pull me back in. Maybe I wanted to see just how much you cared about me.” He looks at me, and now he looks more like the man I fell in love with, even though I know he’ll never be that person to me again. “I stepped back but you never came forward.”
I don’t have time for this. He wants to play the blame game, as if somehow this is all my fault.
“There’s something called communication,” I tell him. I’m still seething but it’s starting to meld into something else, something sadder, something I don’t like. “You could have talked to me instead of playing a stupid game. Instead of cheating on me. And if you wanted to end it, you could have just done so, like the man I thought I knew. This is all on you, Chris. I’m not going to be the bad guy here.” I pause, summoning up my courage. “I’m going to go back out for my walk. And when I get back, I want you and all of your stuff gone.”
“Daisy,” he cries out pathetically, gesturing. “I live here! Where am I supposed to go?”
I cross my arms. “No idea. Maybe Michelle’s? And you should have thought about that before bringing her over here to screw her. In our bed.”
“You’re being unreasonable.”
“You’re an asshole! And don’t you even think about squatters rights, because Big Jim is just a text away.”
Yeah, I have a friend called Big Jim, who is…wait for it…a bouncer. The two of us have been tight since I used to sneak into clubs with my fake ID, and he’s never liked Chris much anyway.
His eyes narrow. “So that’s it, huh? I’m just written out of your life? Just like that?”
“Just like that,” I tell him. I pick up my purse from the chair and sling it over my shoulder.
I start down the hall toward the front door.
He calls after me.
“Daisy.”
I pause, but I don’t turn around.
“We’re supposed to fly to New Zealand next week,” he reminds me. “Your sister will be so disappointed if you show up without a date, and I know you can’t do anything social alone. Let’s just go together and see what happens. If you want it to end after that, then we can end it. Let’s not waste those plane tickets.”
My chest feels iced over. Part of me wants to take him up on it. I hate the idea of flying there alone, I hate the idea of going to my sister’s wedding without him there. Hell, the idea of going to any wedding alone.
But as much as I need him as a crutch, I know it would be a mistake.
I’ll have to go on my own.
I glance at him over my shoulder and give him a small smile, maybe because I know this is probably (hopefully) the last time I’ll see him.
“I’ll be back at ten tonight. That should give you enough time to get your life sorted. Take care, Chris.” I pause. “And eat shit.”
And with that, I step out of the door and away from the man I thought I loved.
One week later
“Welcome aboard,” the tanned flight attendant with a stunning shade of red lipstick says to me as I step off the jetway and onto the plane, a huge Air New Zealand 747. “What row are you?”
I wave the ticket at her. “I’m one of the Skycouches,” I tell her gleefully.