by BB Easton
I ended the call and stared at the arched window above the garage.
See, Ken? Even Juliet tells me she loves me. What the fuck is your problem?
It only took me about two minutes to grab the few things I’d been keeping at Ken’s house. A bottle of Jameson. A few cans of beer. A lighter. A toothbrush. A handful of travel-sized toiletries from under his bathroom sink. Every room held a little piece of me, but just like my presence in Ken’s heart, it was a lot less than I’d realized.
The only signs I left that I’d ever been there at all were the framed pictures of us on the mantel—the ones I’d put there in the first place—and my key on the kitchen table.
Good-bye, house, I thought as I locked the front door and pulled it shut behind me. I’ll miss you.
As I drove to my parents’ house, I wondered what Ken would think when he got home from work and saw my key sitting there.
Would he even notice? Of course he would. Fucker had a photographic memory. I couldn’t move a coaster without him noticing.
Would he realize that it meant I was breaking up with him? Probably not. That would require him to interpret my feelings, which would be like asking a blind man to describe the color chartreuse.
Should I go back and leave a note? Set up a time for us to talk in person?
You know what? Fuck that, I thought and reached into my purse.
I was exhausted. From school. From work. And from chipping away, day and night, at the fortress Ken had built around his heart.
But it turned out, there was no fortress.
There wasn’t even a heart.
“Hey, Ken. I know you’re at work. I just…wanted to let you know that I came by and got my stuff after school. Like, all of it. I know that breaking up with somebody over voicemail is considered a shitty thing to do, but I figured you, of all people, might actually appreciate it. This way, you won’t have to talk about your fucking feelings, which you’re obviously incapable of doing, or—I don’t know—maybe you just don’t have any. Either way, you made it abundantly clear this morning that you don’t feel the same way about me that I feel about you, so I’m gonna stop wasting my time now. And yours. My key’s on the table. Bye, Ken.”
Click.
I tossed the phone back into my purse and felt a tiny glimmer of hope—just a speck, like a piece of glitter in an ocean of self-pity—but it was there. I’d survived yet another breakup, and this time, I hadn’t even thrown anything or slapped anyone or gotten kidnapped at gunpoint or anything.
I was going to be okay.
No, I was going to be better than okay because I was going to get a new man, a fun one—one who drank and smoked and had more tattoos on his knuckles than ties in his closet—by the end of the week. And, if there was one thing I knew for sure, it was that the best way to get over a man was to find another man.
As quickly as fucking possible.
I stood, facing my bed, with my hands on my protruding hip bones as my mother tied the silky straps on my skimpy black halter top.
“So, let me get this straight,” she said, tightening the bow. “You have a date with a bartender tonight, but Ken doesn’t even know you guys are broken up yet.” My easygoing hippie mom wasn’t a judgmental person, but I was definitely picking up some notes of disapproval in her tone.
I spun around and gave her a death glare. “He might know, okay? I left him a voicemail.”
She raised one orangey-red eyebrow at me.
“Don’t give me that look! What am I supposed to do? Stick around for another six months just to see if he accidentally trips and falls into some feelings? Fuck that!”
My mom held her hands up. “Okay. Fine.”
“Sorry.” I gave her an apologetic half-smile and gestured to the clothes strewed all over my bed. Pointing between two different pairs of pants, I asked, “Tiger stripes or pleather?”
My mom glanced between the garments. Then she pointed to a pair of python-print pants on the floor by the closet. “Snakeskin. Those are my favorite.”
“Good call.” I snatched the tight vinyl pants off the floor and began shimmying my shapeless legs into them.
“You know”—my mom cleared her throat—“bartenders tend to be very promiscuous. If anything happens with this boy tonight, be sure to use protect—”
“Mom!” I glared at her as I zipped up my pants.
Her freckled face was bright crimson, and she was twirling the end of her long red hair in her fingers.
“I know, okay? God!”
“I just want you to be safe.” She blushed.
“I will be. I am! Jeez.” I shoved my feet into my unlaced combat boots and sat on the edge of my bed to tie them.
“I also don’t want you giving poor, sweet Ken the clap when you guys get back together.”
“Mom!” I snatched a pillow off my bed and threw it at her.
She chuckled as she turned sideways, letting it bounce off her tie-dye-covered shoulder.
“Get out!” I shouted, pointing at the door. “Get out of my room! You’re banished for life!”
“Tell Ken I said hi,” she teased, twiddling her fingers at me as she slipped out the door backward.
“We are NOT getting back together! Do you hear me?” I yelled after her. “Fuck Ken Easton!”
I stomped back over to my floor-length mirror to give myself one last look before heading out to Fuzzy’s Bar & Grill.
What the hell is wrong with her? I thought, straightening my tank top. She’s always been there for me whenever I’ve gone through a breakup. Now, she’s acting like I’m not even serious. Well, I am. I’m dead serious.
I applied another swipe of mascara and prayed to the universe for low humidity so that the two-tone nightmare I’d just spent half an hour straightening wouldn’t frizz up. Semi-satisfied with my slutty appearance, I grabbed my purse and headed out the door on a mission to secure the world’s fastest rebound guy.
Fuck Ken Easton. Fuck him right in his dick hole.
As soon as I walked into Fuzzy’s, the smoke hanging in the air stung my eyes, and the noise from the crowd of men shouting at the TV above the bar assaulted my ears.
From somewhere to my left, I heard Juliet yell, “Hey, skank!”
I looked over and saw her standing at a table, obviously in the process of taking someone’s order. Juliet’s long black braids were pulled up in a bun, and her work attire consisted of jeans, a Smashing Pumpkins T-shirt, and a pair of old Chuck Taylors.
Pointing at me with her pen, Juliet gestured to an empty booth behind me. “Sit there!” She grinned, her drawn-on eyebrows arching manically. “I’ll be over in a sec!”
“Yes, ma’am.” I gave her a little salute and did as I had been told.
Juliet had always been bossy, but she cranked it up whenever she was at work. You wouldn’t stiff a waitress if you thought she was crazy enough to chase you to your car and shake you down for more money.
I sat down in a wooden booth that looked like it had fought alongside Ulysses S. Grant in the Civil War and began perusing the drink menu.
Which was only about ten items long, including the beer section.
“Long time no see.”
I looked up and felt heat rush to my cheeks as Zach himself slid into the booth directly across from me. He looked exactly the way I remembered—light-brown faux hawk, smiling eyes, dark gray vest, tattoos peeking out of his open collar. He was the quintessential sexy bartender.
But what I hadn’t remembered was how fucking much he looked like Ken.
Jesus.
The resemblance was uncanny. If Ken drank beer instead of Gatorade and spent his free time getting tattoos instead of hitting the gym, that was. Zach’s body was a little softer, his look a lot edgier, and his personality, well…he had one, which was more than I could say for Ken.
He really was the perfect rebound.
“Hey!” I chirped, far too cheerful for a place that drab. “Zach, right?”
Oh, real smooth. Pret
end like you don’t already know his full name and social security number.
“Yep.” He grinned. “And you are…” Zach rubbed his scruffy chin and stared at the ceiling before raising a finger in the air. “CC!”
I beamed like an idiot and rolled my eyes. It was the first time I’d smiled all day.
“So, Juliet tells me you’re havin’ kind of a rough day.”
What? She told him!
I shot daggers at my bestie with my eyes, but that bitch acted like she didn’t see me.
“Uh, yeah.” I tucked my hair behind one ear and returned my gaze to Zach, who was doing a bang-up job of at least pretending to be concerned.
His dark brown eyebrows were pulled together, and the corners of his full lips were turned town.
“I broke up with my boyfriend today…but it’s fine. I’m fine. It’s not like the cops were involved or anything.”
Zach laughed. A real belly laugh with his head tipped back and everything.
Ken didn’t laugh at my jokes like that.
“Remind me never to break up with you if getting the cops involved is standard practice.” Zach chuckled.
I could feel my nose beginning to tingle.
Oh my God, I’m blushing in my nose!
“Okay…” I said, batting my eyelashes and swinging my hair in what I hoped was a Beyoncé-esque move. “Don’t ever break up with me.” I smiled coyly and held his grinning gaze for approximately three seconds before I felt my armpits begin to sweat.
Zach bit his bottom lip in a classic smolder. “I would say we should drink to that, but you don’t have a drink. What can I bring you, killer?”
I suddenly couldn’t remember a single one of the ten items on the drink menu, so I shrugged and said, “Surprise me.”
Oh, super smooth!
Zach winked at me—he fucking winked!—and slid out of the booth just as gracefully as he’d arrived.
Juliet’s ass replaced his almost immediately and with much less grace.
“I need a cigarette and a summary, stat.”
I couldn’t contain my smile as I pulled two Camel Lights out of the pack in my purse and lit both. Handing one to Juliet, I said, “So, basically, we’re in love, and he already promised to never break up with me, so I guess we’re engaged, too. I’d say things are getting pretty serious.”
Juliet exhaled through her nose as her mouth curled up into a wicked, wicked smile.
“What?” I asked, my lips mirroring hers.
“I fucking love being right.”
Just then Zach showed back up, holding some hot-pink nightmare garnished with everything behind the bar. “Excuse me, miss. That seat’s taken.” Zach gave Juliet the same twinkly eyes he’d given me, and I watched her squirm in her seat.
Nobody was born with game like that. Homeboy had honed those skills. I remembered my mom’s warning about bartenders being promiscuous, and now, I understood what she meant. I wondered how many girls he’d bedded with his flirty banter and free drinks.
Sober BB decided she was going to make Zach work a little harder. Then, sober BB drank two of Zach’s mystery drinks, and an hour later, she was ready to book a flight to Las Vegas to get hitched.
“Hey, what’s your last name?” I blurted randomly, too caught up in my fantasy elopement to listen to whatever Zach had been talking about.
“Brooks.”
If there had been anything in my mouth at that particular moment, I would have sprayed it all over his face.
Brooks? Brooks!
I couldn’t run away to Las Vegas with a guy named Brooks! If we got married, my name would be Brooke Brooks! Brooke…motherfucking…Brooks! I might as well start wearing prairie dresses, learn to play guitar, and join a folk band!
That was it. The night was ruined. Zach wasn’t the one. His last name might as well have been Butthole or Baby-Eater. I couldn’t do it.
“Oh, man. I’m exhausted.” I stretched my arms over my head and yawned. “I better get going. I’ve got a long drive back. Thanks for the drinks.”
I tried to ignore the surprised look on Zach’s face as I got up and scanned the restaurant for Juliet. She was behind the bar, where Zach should have been, handing a beer to one of the guys yelling at the TV. She pulled her penciled-on eyebrows together when she saw me stand up and marched over to give me a hug. She didn’t say anything about me leaving, but I could tell from her frown and the tightness of her embrace that I’d catch hell about it later.
Just as I was about to leave, Zach darted between me and the door, blocking my exit.
Shit.
I knew how the world worked. Slutty clothes + free drinks = expectations. Zach expected something from me now, but what? A kiss? A quick hand job in the parking lot? Sex?
“Hey,” he said, giving me his smarmiest bartender smile and placing a tattooed hand over his heart. “I’ve been a terrible boss. I totally forgot to get your number when I hired you.” I frowned for a second until he added, “Emergency Body Burial Supervisor BB.”
I burst out laughing as recognition struck. And relief. All he wanted was my number! Hell, I’d give that to anybody. It wasn’t like I answered unknown numbers anymore anyway, thanks to Knight.
Pulling a pen and an old receipt out of my purse, I scrawled down my number and handed it to him with a fake scowl. “Emergency body burials don’t just supervise themselves, you know. I’d advise you to take my career a little more seriously.”
Zach raised his hand to his forehead in a salute. “Yes, ma’am.”
Along with my number, I gave Zach a grateful smile and a super-awkward side hug. Then, I bolted out the door.
The sidewalks of Athens were filled with preppy girls in mini dresses that made my halter top and python pants look about as slutty as a three-piece suit. With every step I took toward my car, the high from my flirty banter with Zach wore off a little more. The cool air of approaching autumn sank into my exposed skin a little deeper. And the reality of my situation settled around me like an unwanted blanket.
I was single.
And would be forever.
I drove home in silence, preferring the elevator music of my own self-deprecating thoughts to the stupid love songs I knew were waiting to mock me on the radio. Maybe love was a crock of shit, exploited to sell pop songs and greeting cards.
Maybe Ken had been right all along.
Just as I pulled off the highway and onto the back roads near my parents’ house, an annoyingly cheerful scale of beeps breached my cone of silence.
I dug my phone out of my purse, expecting to see Knight’s name flash across the screen. Or maybe it was Zach, calling to make things even more awkward than I’d already made them. But, when I pulled my phone out of my purse, the name spelled out in black digital letters belonged to someone I wanted to talk to even less.
I sighed and hit the Talk button. “Hello?”
“Hey.”
Nope, not Zach. Just somebody who looked like Zach. A harder, colder, more infuriatingly stubborn Zach. With a much better last name.
“I just listened to your voicemail.” His voice sounded…neutral. Like it always did. Calm, cool, and collected. That was Ken. He couldn’t even show emotion in the midst of a breakup.
Probably because he doesn’t love you anyway. Remember?
I sighed louder. “Can we not do this?”
“Do what?”
“You know. Have the whole fucking…breakup talk. You made it clear how you felt this morning, and that’s fine. Let’s just…move on.”
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. What did I make clear this morning? I didn’t even talk to you this morning.”
“Are you really gonna make me say it out loud?” My cheeks flamed with mortification. “Fine! I know you fucking suck at relationships, so let me spell it out for you.” I said the next words slowly and with ample condescension, “I told you I loved you…and you didn’t say it back…so therefore…I am breaking up with you.”
; I turned off the heater in my car and cracked a window, suddenly far too warm.
“Brooke, I was fucking asleep.”
Brooke. The sound of my legal name on his overly formal lips made me see red.
“Don’t give me that bullshit!” I snapped. “You were so not asleep. You heard me, and you fucking panicked. Let me explain to you how relationships work, Ken. Either you fall in love or you break up. And if you don’t love me after six months, then—”
“I never said that.” Ken’s voice was softer than usual. Remorseful even.
“Well, you never said you did either.” I let my words hang in the air, a plea for Ken to remedy the situation.
I was giving him a second chance to say what he’d been unable to that morning, and for the second time in a single day, he broke my heart instead. I drove with the phone against my ear and bitter, hateful tears in my eyes as I relived Ken’s wordless rejection all over again.
When the weight of his silence finally became unbearable, I said, “I’m real glad we had this talk.”
Then, I hung up on him.
The next day, I managed to make it through an entire shift at Macy’s without talking to anyone. The kids were all back in school, so I had zero customers in the Urban Streetwear section. Just an endless loop of 50 Cent and Jay-Z songs to keep me company.
That night, I avoided my parents, fed my dinner to Ringo, and spent the evening researching eating disorders. As I stared at the sunken faces and protruding clavicles on the pages of my psychology textbook, I was racked with pangs of jealousy.
Pinching the tiny fold of skin that had developed above my waistband since I started dating Ken, I thought, They take laxatives to lose weight too? I’ll have to try that.
I’d engrossed myself in my studies to the point that I hadn’t thought about Ken in hours. I’d felt him—or rather, his absence—but I told myself the void I felt was just my empty stomach. That was the feeling of success. I especially liked it when the edges of my vision got blurry and my hands shook. It had been too long since I felt like that. I was always having to eat to keep Ken off my back.
Well, not anymore.