But there’s very clear resentment in my tone right now, and I’m so annoyed my hands are clenched into fists.
It’s not even eight in the morning, and he’s already put me in a bad mood and disrupted the good day I had planned.
Ted must notice it. He’s giving me that slightly confused look again, like he doesn’t recognize whatever he’s seeing in me.
So I rein in my instinctive annoyance with Rafe to say in a mostly pleasant voice, “Anyway, we better get going. Have a good day!” I include Rafe’s bedmate in my words and in my smile since it’s not her fault she hasn’t yet figured out how obnoxious the man really is.
“You too,” Rafe replies. “See you.”
I take Ted’s arm and drag him down the hall so that I don’t have to see Rafe kiss the woman goodbye.
The day should have been good. Sailing on the lake with a guy I’m into on a mild, sunny November morning. I’ve been hoping that things between Ted and me might take a step forward. Maybe he’ll tell me he wants us to be more serious. Maybe I can start calling him my boyfriend.
I date semiregularly, and I have since high school, but I’ve never had a real boyfriend. Not once. I go out on plenty of first dates, and sometimes I get asked out again. But it never turns into a real relationship. As independent as I believe myself to be, I’d still like to have one.
I want a boyfriend. To be someone’s girlfriend. I’d like to experience what seems so normal for other people.
That doesn’t happen today. Ted breaks up with me instead.
Ironically, it’s after the four hours we spend on his sailboat. I know the vibes are off. He’s quieter than normal, like he’s busy thinking things he won’t say out loud. I turn on full date mode, smiling and laughing and bringing up every fun or meaningful topic of conversation I can summon, but all of it falls flat.
After he docks the boat in the marina, he tells me that he doesn’t think the relationship is going anywhere. That I’m not into him enough.
That’s what he says. I’m not into him.
So that’s that. My hopes for Ted get thrown into the dumpster just as they have with every guy I’ve been interested in romantically before.
My best friend, Joey, comes over as soon as I text her, and she stays all afternoon. We eat ice cream and hash out every date, every conversation, every aspect of my weeks with Ted.
As one might expect, we come to no insightful conclusions about what happened.
“I don’t know what to tell you,” Joey says at last, putting down her empty ice cream bowl. She’s curvy and freckled and stylish with wavy red-gold hair that’s in a constant state of disarray. “Guys use all kinds of excuses when they want out. And if they can foist the blame onto us, then even better for them. No sense in taking it to heart.”
“But he’s not the first guy to tell me something like that. I’ve heard it way too often. What the hell is it about me? Why won’t the guys I like believe I like them?”
I met Joey in kindergarten. We’ve been best friends for more than twenty years. She’s the only person in the world I tell everything to. Her blue eyes are sympathetic, but they’re also knowing, almost sardonic. Not at me. I know better than that. But for as long as I’ve known her, she’s had a slightly cynical perspective on life, so nothing bad ever takes her by surprise. “I’ve told you before. Most guys are insecure. They want someone they think really needs them, and you come across as too self-sufficient.”
“But I try not to! I smile and flirt and make goo-goo eyes at them just like other girls.”
Joey chuckles. “The fact that you call them goo-goo eyes makes it clear you don’t really mean it. Flirting is only an act to you. A lot of guys can sense that.”
“Isn’t it an act for everyone?”
She gives a half shrug.
“You never have trouble attracting men.”
This time her dry amusement comes out as a snort. “Sure. They’ll hit on me. They’ll screw me. But as soon as they get to know me even a little, they run for the hills.”
“No, they don’t.”
“Exactly how many relationships do you recall me having in my life?”
“None. But that’s your choice. It’s not because guys aren’t interested. You push them away. Don’t pretend you don’t because we both know you do. I’m actively trying not to do that, but I still somehow manage to do it. So what the hell am I doing wrong?”
“You’re smart and independent and content in your own skin and generally satisfied with your life. You know how to take care of yourself and other people. You don’t really need a man. It’s an insurmountable obstacle for a lot of guys.”
I groan. It would be nice if she’s right since at least it’s a good quality about me that’s turning guys away, but I still find it hard to believe. I know plenty of other smart, attractive women who can take care of themselves who have no problem finding romantic partners. Did all of them simply luck out in a way I haven’t yet?
“It’s not that bad. You weren’t in love with Ted. Don’t pretend you were.”
I give her a narrow-eyed glare.
It just makes her laugh. “You know damn well you weren’t that into him. You wanted to be since he fit your idea of a good match for yourself and you want to have a boyfriend. But that’s not the real thing.”
She’s right.
Of course she’s right.
I thought Ted would be a good fit. I wanted him to be the one. I dreamed of the relationship working. But the whole time, I was going through the motions of a love story I’d worked out in my head instead of what was actually happening in the real world.
Maybe that’s what Ted sensed all along.
“I know.” We’ve been sitting on the thick rug that defines the living area in my apartment. It’s a decent-sized one-bedroom on the second floor of an upscale condominium near the small downtown area of Green Valley. I’m renting it from the old lady who owns it, who moved into a nearby retirement home several years ago. “You’re right. But it still sucks to get dumped.”
“Of course it does. But it’s your pride that’s wounded. Not your heart. You’ll know when it’s your heart that’s been wounded because you’ll be completely crushed. You’re not anything close to crushed right now.”
I scowl. “Thanks for all your sympathy.”
“You’ve gotten plenty of sympathy. But no sense in stewing in self-pity.” She glances at her phone. “I’ve got to have dinner with my parents soon, but we should do something afterward.”
“You can come back over if you want.”
“Nah. Better if you get out of the house.”
“I’m not sure I feel like—”
“I’ll meet you at Millhouse around eight.”
Millhouse is one of the local bars. Our favorite in Green Valley. I don’t really feel like going out tonight, but maybe it’s better than hanging around here and wishing things were different. Joey is right. I’m not brokenhearted. I’m just disappointed and embarrassed.
A distraction might be just the thing I need.