Amazingly, we made it back to the city without dying in a car crash. Jason found a spot in front of my building, and we got out of the car together. It was cute that he wanted to carry my bags, which he did by putting them in his lap. The weight of the bags made it a little harder for him to jump the step to get inside my building, which somehow made the whole thing more endearing.
“I just need to check my mail,” I tell him.
He nods and takes his hand off a wheel to slide it under my shirt and up my back. My whole body tingles when he does that. “Hurry,” he says.
My mailbox is filled with the usual accumulation of bills and junk mail. I toss the junk mail in the garbage and wish I could do the same with the bills. Then I see one other thing: a key. It’s the key to the large mailbox that contains packages.
“I got a package!” I say excitedly. Because I’m still like five-years-old.
I put the key in the large mailbox, and my heart sinks when I see the impressive array of flowers inside. It would have been great if I knew Jason sent them. But he didn’t. There was only one person who could have sent these flowers.
“Wow,” Jason comments, sounding a little uneasy. “That’s a lot of flowers.”
I pick up the card nestled between a rose and a daisy. I open it up.
“Larry?” Jason asks.
I nod.
He sighs. I hate to admit it, but this huge bouquet of flowers from my fiancé has kind of killed the mood. Larry may not be the man for me, but he’s very sweet and thoughtful. He doesn’t deserve to be cheated on. What Jason and I are doing to him is really wrong.
“I can’t cheat on Larry,” I blurt out. “It’s a horrible thing to do.”
A shadow falls over Jason’s face. “I see . . .”
“That’s not what I mean,” I quickly amend. “I mean that . . . I can’t see you while I’m still with him. It’s not right.”
“So . . . you’re going to break up with him?”
I take a deep breath. “Yes. I will.”
“When?”
“Soon,” I promise. “The next time I see him, I’ll do it.”
Jason gives me this look that I can only describe as pure longing. “I guess I should go then.”
I don’t want him to go. I really, really don’t. But one thing I’m not is a cheater.
Okay, actually, I guess I am a cheater. But I’m not going to cheat again, at least.
“Yes, I think you probably should,” I say. I see the doubt on Jason’s face and say, “I swear I’m going to do it. Tomorrow.”
He sighs and nods. I feel awful sending him away, but I’ve got to do this the right way. Anyway, it’s not like I’d really consider staying with Larry. Jason’s got nothing to worry about.
I pick up the phone to call Larry like a hundred times the next day. And each time I put it down.
It’s not like I’ve never broken up with a guy before. In my twenties, I was way picky about guys, and I once dumped a guy because his Valentine’s Day gift to me was a heart-shaped box of chocolates, probably from the drug store, which I thought was really tacky and unoriginal. Okay, I was a bit shallow back then. No wonder Lydia thought so little of me.
But it’s different with Larry. I mean, he wanted to marry me. He wanted to spend his whole life with me. I need to do this right. But is there really any right way to break up with a guy?
Finally, I chicken out so many times with the phone, I decide to just go to Larry’s apartment. I figure once I actually see him, I’ll somehow miraculously know what to say.
I take a cab over to his apartment in the evening, because I’m way too nervous to sit through a subway ride. Unlike me, Larry has a building with a doorman rather than an intercom, which is a sign of the upper echelon of New Yorkers. Fortunately, Larry’s evening doorman knows me, so he waves me upstairs without my having to wait for the usual buzzing upstairs ritual.
Larry’s apartment is on the 19th floor, high enough to have a very good view, which is yet another sign of the upper echelon. Growing up in Pittsburgh, I would have thought that being on a high floor wasn’t good, because you had to spend more time in the elevator getting to your apartment. And what if the elevator broke down or something? (This was something I was desperately afraid of when I first moved to the city.) But no. The higher up you live in this city, the more money you have. So 19 wasn’t bad at all.
I ring Larry’s doorbell and he doesn’t answer right away. For a minute, I think he might be out, which is kind of weird since it’s like ten o’clock at night. It’s too late for him to still be at work (although admittedly, not impossible) and where would he go outside without me? And it’s too early for bed. I mean, Leno hasn’t even been on yet.
Finally, I hear fumbling of locks turning and the door swings open. When I see Larry, I realize that he’s decided to have an earlier night. His hair is tousled and he’s wearing just a rumpled T-shirt and boxers. There’s actually something sort of sexy about the way he looks right now. His cheeks are sort of flushed and suddenly I feel sort of . . .
Oh God. Stop it, Tasha. No, I’m here to break up with the guy. He’s totally wrong for me. I can’t do something stupid just because he looks sexy at this moment.
“Tasha . . .” He’s looking at me in surprise. “I thought you were still in Pittsburgh.”
I shake my head. “No, I’m back.” Duh.
Larry wipes his hands on his boxers. “Oh, um . . . when did you get back?”
I’m still standing at the doorway kind of awkwardly. Larry is completely blocking the entrance. “Can I come in?”
“Oh, yeah, of course,” Larry says, backing away from the door. Although he’s still somehow kind of blocking my path and I practically have to shove him out of the way to get inside. “Uh, sit down.”
“Thanks,” I say, as I plop down on his dark leather sofa. Larry is acting kind of weird. Weird even for Larry, who always acts a little subnormal. Does he know what I’m going to tell him? Did someone clue him in?
“You look great,” Larry says.
I don’t think I look particularly great. Actually, I was intentionally trying not to look great when I came over here, so he wouldn’t feel as bad when I dumped him. I’m not wearing any makeup, my hair is swept back in a messy ponytail, and I’m sporting my “fat” jeans. “Thanks,” I say anyway.
“Hey, Tasha,” Larry says, hovering awkwardly above where I’m sitting on the couch. He scratches his face. He looks very serious all of a sudden. “Listen . . .”
I’m listening, except I’m not listening to him anymore. I just heard something. A noise. Some kind of creaking noise coming from the other room. And that’s when I remember how Larry’s bathroom door always creaks when it opens.
“Is there someone in your bedroom, Larry?” I ask him.
Larry’s cheeks turn scarlet and I realize that there is someone in his bedroom. I look him over, from his messy hair to his rumpled underwear to the guilty look on his face, and I come to a horrible realization: Larry is cheating on me. Larry is cheating on me. What the fuck is going on here?
“I’m so sorry, Tasha,” he says. He doesn’t deny it, so at least he’s not total scum. “While you were gone, it just . . . happened. I feel so awful about it.”
I feel dizzy. I had pictured this scene with Larry in my head a hundred times, but I had never imagined this particular scenario. I’m having trouble wrapping my mind around it. I mean, if Larry the Golden Boy cheated on me, what chance do I have with anyone else? Jason’s probably fucking another woman as we speak.
“Who is it?” I ask him.
“That’s the hard part,” Larry says. “It’s . . . Melissa.”
“Jason’s ex-girlfriend?” I gasp.
Larry nods miserably. “The thing is, I’ve been in love with Melissa for . . . God, for years. I never thought I ever had a chance with her. And then while you were gone, she came over and . . . well . . .” He heaves a sigh. “I’m really sorry. I never meant to hurt you, but I can�
�t lie to you. I’m in love with Melissa.”
I’m so stunned, I can only manage a squeak. I thought Larry would be on his knees, begging for forgiveness. But he’s not. He’s actually dumping me.
It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. Not that I was looking forward to dumping Larry, but this is somehow way worse. I’m seized by the urge to hurt him. “You know,” I say, “she’s just doing this to get back at Jason.”
Larry gives me a confused look. I guess what I’m saying doesn’t make sense to him, because he doesn’t realize that I was the cause of Jason and Melissa’s breakup. He has no idea that Melissa is totally playing him. She just wants to break up my relationship because she thinks I broke up hers. Larry’s in for a huge surprise.
“I’m really sorry, Tasha,” Larry says again.
“It’s okay,” I say through my teeth. I pull the ring Larry bought me from my finger and suppress the urge to hurl it at him. “Let me give this back to you.”
“Oh, no,” he says quickly. “I want you to have it.”
“I don’t want it,” I say. But because he seems reluctant to take the ring from me, I place it on his coffee table. I feel a rush of relief when the ring is out of my possession, like having a pair of handcuffs removed from my wrists.
“Goodbye, Larry,” I say, as I stand from the sofa.
“Goodbye, Tasha,” he says. I watch as his eyes flicker in the direction of the bedroom and I realize all he wants is to go back to be with her.
Sixteen “No way!”
It’s a little disconcerting that when I tell Jason the story later that night in his apartment, he can’t stop laughing. I mean, I did just catch my fiancé cheating on me with another woman. I don’t know if that’s what I’d call “funny.”
“It’s not funny,” I say indignantly.
We’re sitting on the couch together. Jason wanted to go straight to bed when I came in, but I wasn’t in the mood. I had to get the whole story out first.
“It’s a little funny,” Jason insists. “Come on, Tasha. You were going to break up with him anyway. Right?”
“Yes, but . . .” My hands are still balled into tight little fists. “He was cheating on me!”
“Well, weren’t you cheating on him?”
“That’s entirely different.”
“How so?”
I sat there, struggling to figure out a way to put our cheating on a higher moral ground than Larry’s offense. “Well,” I say. “We’re in love.”
“Larry’s in love with Melissa,” he points out. “I always knew he kind of was. I could tell by the way he looked at her. And at me.”
“Well, maybe,” I admit. “But she’s definitely not in love with him.”
“How do you know?” Jason retorts. “Maybe she really does like him. Now that I think about it, Melissa and Larry wouldn’t be such a bad match. They’re both workaholics, they both like boring documentaries, and they both want to get married ASAP. Maybe they’ll be perfect for each other.”
I make a face at Jason. “Right, I forgot you’re allergic to marriage.”
Jason gives me a wide-eyed look. “What are you talking about?”
“Nothing,” I sigh. “It just . . . kind of sucks to go from being engaged to being with a guy who has a history of commitment issues.”
“Commitment issues?” Jason raises his eyebrows. “Really? That’s how you think of me?”
I avoid Jason’s green eyes and fiddle with a tiny hole in the knee of my jeans. “Well, you have to admit, you’ve been with Melissa a long time . . .”
“I really thought you understood,” Jason says, shaking his head. “But obviously you don’t. Look, Tasha, you really want a commitment from me? Fine. Let’s get married right now.”
Well, that got my attention. I stare up at him. “What?”
“I want to marry you,” he says. “I don’t want to be with anyone else. So if you want to make it official now, that’s fine. We can go down to City Hall, get a marriage license and be married by the end of the week. I’m game if you are.”
I don’t know what to say. But then Jason takes my hands and I look into his eyes and I realize I feel the same way. I don’t want to be with anyone else but him. And it doesn’t make a difference if it’s official or not.
“No,” I say. “I’m not letting you off the hook so easy. I want a big fancy wedding.”
“A big fancy wedding?” Jason grins at me. “You realize I’m not a rich investment banker anymore? I’m just a poor graduate student.”
“Okay,” I say, smiling back. “I’ll take a small wedding, but we’ve got to have a honeymoon somewhere hot with lots of beaches.”
“You’re willing to be seen with me at the beach?” Jason says teasingly. “You realize I haven’t grown a six pack overnight.”
I slide my hand under Jason’s shirt and feel the paunch of his abdomen, the dark hairs, and his warm skin. I feel a stirring in my panties. He’s so hot. He’s not perfect, but he’s Jason, and for that, he’s sexy.
“I’m not going anywhere without you ever again,” I say as I fall into his arms.
Annabelle Costa is a teacher who writes in her free time. She enjoys the wounded-hero genre, involving male love interests with physical disabilities who don't follow the typical Hollywood perception of sexy.
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The Boy Next Door Page 16