The Breakup Artist

  “I’m saying that in cases such as these, where the person is really hopeless, you’re only doing a disservice to yourself by not accepting the business offer.” His wicked grin was still in place, and I knew he just loved the idea of taking money from someone who delighted in throwing it away so freely. “In fact,” he went on, “if you want, I’ll help you out . . . not that you need it, but it seemed to work out nicely last time.”

  “What last time are you referring to?” I asked, not quite on the same page as David.

  “With Blane. You do whatever it is that you do, and I sweep in as the long-lost boyfriend so that you don’t have to worry about getting rid of the boy afterward. It’s perfect!” His enthusiasm made me smile, and I couldn’t deny that it sounded like a pretty good idea.

  “And you’d really be willing to help me out?” I asked doubtfully.

  “Like I said, there’s nothing morally wrong with it if the person we’re doing it for is already socially crippled for life. We’re not going to cure the world of rich spoiled kids by refusing them service.”

  I laughed at this justification but still couldn’t believe that he had changed his mind so suddenly. “Well, if we’re doing this together, are you free to sweep in on Tuesday? I’ll try my best to end it on Monday at dinner, but if he tries to stick around after he and Rachel are through you’ll have to work your magic.”

  “Or we can just assume I’ll be working my magic on Tuesday. After all, you want to really show this guy that you aren’t available after you’ve finished the job, that way you don’t run the risk of bumping into him later,” David said, obviously having thought this through in the short time he had changed his mind about my business.

  “Deal,” I said simply.

  We spent the rest of the night talking about how we could hone our plan to perfection and at least get Alex and Rachel broken up by Monday night. I explained the basics of what I did to David and made sure he had a clear understanding of exactly how this would all work out. By the time we parted in the parking lot that night, I had almost forgotten about the unflattering biography David had written about me. It wasn’t until he walked me to my car and noticed the laptop on the front seat that our happy reunion turned somber once more.

  “Oh,” he said simply, seeing the laptop waiting for him to take it back and continue his exposé. “Where was it?” he asked, nodding toward the computer. He looked almost as if he was afraid to touch it, like it would burn him if he tried to take it back.

  “Under the couch. You left it there after you made me dinner.” I tried to keep my voice neutral, not wanting to ruin our newly stabilized relationship. Although if he really was just after a story, the stability of our relationship was pretty much gone.

  David sighed deeply and ran his fingers through his hair. I loved it when he did that.

  “All right, well . . . I don’t know if you read what I was writing or not . . . but it doesn’t matter . . . because I should just come clean either way.”

  “I read it,” I said in a voice barely above a whisper. I was focused on him so intently that I had been holding my breath. The next few words that came out of his mouth were going to define what our relationship would become.

  “All of it?” he asked, his brow furrowed as if he were confused. I looked down for a moment, I was a little ashamed that I had read his article without asking . . . but he should probably be the one who was more embarrassed in this situation, considering what he had written.

  “About half . . . After hearing what you had to say about me . . . Let’s just say I didn’t really need to read the whole thing.” I looked back up to him and the expression he wore surprised me. He didn’t look angry or relieved. Instead he just looked sad. I couldn’t quite understand where his sadness came in to play but as he came over to me and hugged me, I felt tears welling up in my already red, puffy eyes. This was it. He was leaving me.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said into my neck. I exhaled deeply. I knew this moment was coming eventually, but that didn’t mean I was any more ready for it. “This must have been so hard for you this whole time tonight,” he said finally. I nodded silently, still hugging him tightly. I didn’t care that he was breaking up with me. I just wanted to hold onto him a little longer.

  “It’s been hard. I was just hoping somewhere in the back of my mind that you would tell me it was a joke . . . or something,” I said thickly, my voice wobbly from the tears streaming down my cheeks. “I didn’t even want to bring it up because then all the progress we made tonight would be worthless.” David pulled me away from him slowly. I dropped my eyes to the ground, not wanting to meet his gaze as he said the final word in our relationship.

  “Amelia?” he asked, tilting my head up so that I would meet his eyes. “How are you so frustrating?”

  “Seriously?” I asked, a slight anger mixing with my sadness. “You don’t think breaking up with me is enough? Now you have to insult me while you do it?” David simply shook his head, frustration lining his beautiful face.

  “Amelia, you aren’t understanding me. I’m not breaking up with you . . . I mean . . . I’m sure you might want to break up with me after reading the horrible things I wrote about you . . . but I’m not going to be the one to leave tonight.” I looked at him quizzically, not quite following what he was trying to tell me.

  “What are you talking about?” I asked, wiping the tears away from my face. Now that they were drying, the salt was beginning to sting my cheeks.

  “You said you only read half of the article? Judging by your very emotional reaction, you only read the bad things I wrote, back when I was observing you . . . before I actually got to know you.” He looked down guiltily. “Not that it excuses the things I said. I was really awful . . . I went on and on about how you judge people based on their appearance when I completely judged you before ever speaking to you.” As he spoke I started to feel that same creeping hope come back to me. Maybe things really weren’t as bad as they seemed.

  “So the second half is nice?” I asked hopefully.

  “Well, that’s the thing. I was trying to write a story about perception. You know? Like how I felt about you and what you did before meeting you and if that idea changed after finally meeting you. I thought it would make an interesting article to have a before and after point of view . . . just to see if my perception of you changed at all.”

  “And did it?”

  David smiled at me, pulling me close to him once more.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever been so wrong about a person before,” he said, kissing the top of my head lightly. “And the thing is, I don’t even want to turn the article in anymore. I kind of want to keep it just to remind me how wrong I can be sometimes . . . but for some odd reason, I’m really not that intent on destroying you anymore.”

  “Oh, well, that’s good to know,” I said with a laugh. “Because it’d be nice to not worry about my boyfriend being a soul-crushing, life-ruining leech.”

  “I just said I wouldn’t turn the story in . . . not that I was changing who I really am,” he said sarcastically. I smiled up at him, letting myself feel relaxed for the first time in a few days.

  “So are we still on for Tuesday then?” I asked with a grin.

  “Let’s bring this guy down.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Monday night came with all the anticipation of a high-risk bank robbery. Rachel was still faking sick and said she hadn’t seen Alex since the last time she was in school. I had somehow gotten him to agree to take me out to his and Rachel’s favorite restaurant, which I thought was a bit bold of him. This boy was definitely overconfident and needed his ego taken down a few notches.

  I decided to go for a classy look for the date and chose a black and white tweed pencil skirt that came up high on my waist with a tucked-in light pink blouse. The cream colored high heels tied the whole thing together and made me look like something straight out of the 1950s. It took quite a bit of convincing to get Alex to just meet me at t
he restaurant instead of picking me up, but there was no way he’d believe I was as rich and well connected as him if he saw my house. I was hoping I could get there early enough that he wouldn’t even see me get out of my car that was clearly not worth millions of dollars. I finally told him there was a lot of construction going on with our house with the new home theatre we were putting in and I didn’t want him to have to walk through all the dust and debris. This seemed to work because he then quickly agreed to simply meet me at the restaurant.

  ☼☼☼

  Walking into the restaurant that night was a bit jarring. I was sure the hostess would see right past my façade and tell me to get out because they didn’t serve my kind there. Luckily when I told her who I was meeting, she made sure I was comfortable at an intimate table for two. Alex arrived right on time and seemed to be surprised that I was already at the restaurant. Apparently he was used to waiting on high-maintenance dates.

  “Marie,” he said with a charming smile, “you’re here early.”

  “Actually, Alex, I’m here right on time,” I replied, giving him a wink and my most inviting smile. I had to try to keep the small talk up for a while since Rachel said she might be a bit late. We had decided that the best way to get this whole thing done would be to bring her parents along with her so that they would see just how “horrible” Alex was and forbid her from seeing him anymore. Sadly this meant the scene that played out here would probably be very dramatic and loud, but I didn’t mind too much since I was positive I wouldn’t be coming back to this restaurant again any time soon.

  I made sure to rest my hand lightly on the table so that Alex could place his hand gently over mine. Our conversation wasn’t particularly exciting, but I pretended to hang on his every word, leaning over the small circular table to get closer to him. The waitress had already come around and taken our orders, which worried me since I had expected Rachel and her parents to be there long before that happened. I was sorely tempted to take out my phone and call her to ask what was taking so long but I knew that would look far too suspicious, not to mention low-class. Instead I let Alex order for me (since I definitely didn’t speak French) and continued to lean into him as if everything he said enthralled me.

  After forty-five minutes of listening to him ramble on about why the public school system was so beneath him and he liked when people knew their place in society, Rachel and her parents finally arrived. As much as I didn’t want a scene, I was desperate to get out of that restaurant so I decided to help things along a little. I snuggled up closer to Alex so that I was practically sitting on his lap and made a small, innocent observation.

  “Alex, why is that girl looking over here? She just keeps staring and it’s starting to make me uncomfortable. Could you do something about that?” I asked, looking up at him from under my eyelashes.

  “Where?” he asked, obviously surprised that I had spoken, since it was the first time since this date started that I had been able to get a word in. As Alex looked around the room, I saw all of the color drain from his face faster than I thought was healthy. After that it didn’t take long for the fight to begin. Rachel strode over to the table like a bull on a rampage with her parents in tow behind her. Alex stood up with his arms spread wide as if trying to say that he had no idea how he had ended up at a nice restaurant with a girl who was definitely not his girlfriend. This, however, didn’t seem to work because Rachel drew her hand so far back that she almost hit her startled mother and slapped Alex hard enough to quiet the whole restaurant.

  Though I knew there would be a scene, I hadn’t expected such a forceful reaction, especially since Rachel had planned the whole thing. I thought she would at least cut the boy some slack since she knew he wasn’t technically cheating. This knowledge didn’t seem to faze her at all.

  “Daddy, do you see what I have to put up with?” she shrieked, drawing the attention of everyone who hadn’t already been alerted by the slap. “He’s disloyal! I’ve been trying to tell you for so long. I deserve so much better than him, Daddy!” After this proclamation, Rachel broke down into what I can only describe as the most poorly acted fit of crying I had ever seen. Her mother wrapped an understanding arm around her daughter’s shaking shoulders, which I found at least slightly endearing. They might be filthy rich and spoiled rotten but they still possessed human emotion, which was more than I expected. The “human emotion” coming from Rachel’s father, however, was less endearing and more terrifying.

  I couldn’t quite understand what he was saying but he was definitely turning an unhealthy shade of scarlet as he bellowed at a still-dumbfounded Alex. I didn’t quite know who I should feel sorry for in the situation that was playing out before me; though I was quickly starting to suspect that I shouldn’t really feel sorry for any of them. Instead I sat awkwardly at the table, fully aware that many of the eyes were turned on me. I was officially cast as the “other woman” in this scenario. I twisted my cloth napkin into a small pillar in my lap before finally deciding it would be best to just get out of there. My usual apologize and dash strategy didn’t seem appropriate for this situation so I had to think quickly.

  Standing up I shot an icy death glare at Alex and threw my cloth napkin down on the table. Rachel’s father had stopped yelling for a moment, presumably to catch his breath, so I took that opportunity to say in a high-pitched, indignant voice, “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you had a girlfriend,” before stomping out of the restaurant, hoping I wouldn’t trip over anything and draw even more attention to myself.

  Once I reached my car, I turned and looked behind me to make sure Alex or Rachel’s family wasn’t coming out of the restaurant to see my old, unimpressive car. Much to my delight they were nowhere to be found.

  I drove home with a grin plastered to my face, excited to recount the night’s events to David and discuss our plan of attack for the next day, though I suspected that after that performance, Alex wouldn’t find me quite as appealing as he had just moments ago.

  ☼☼☼

  I wore a low-cut, teal, silk blouse to school on Tuesday with black skinny jeans and open-toed teal heels. It was easy to spot Alex in his normal spot by the tennis courts. He looked eager as I walked up behind him, which I thought was odd since I had just caused him quite a bit of grief the night before. I had to think of a good excuse as to why I would be coming around after I had declared my loathing so forcefully just a day ago. He glanced around often; apparently looking for someone that I assumed was me. I decided not to disappoint him. Leaning over behind him, I whispered a quick, “Looking for someone?” in his ear. His cheeks instantly turned red when he saw me, though he kept himself beautifully composed.

  “Hey, Marie,” he said casually, though by the way his eyes kept wandering to my lips, I knew I’d snagged him. “I’m really sorry about last night. I should have told you about that little detail,” he said casually. I figured that when he said “little detail” he meant the fact that he had a girlfriend who he was cheating on with me. Instead of showing my true disgust for this boy, who apparently hadn’t learned his lesson, I simply shrugged my shoulders.

  “I’ve already forgotten about it,” I said sweetly.

  I spent all of my energy that morning being as openly flirtatious as I possibly could be without literally throwing myself at Alex. David spent the day away from the spot because, according to him, just because he’d agreed it was a worthy cause, it didn’t mean he’d be able to stand by and watch some other guy ogle me. I found his jealousy endearing.

  I left school Tuesday afternoon (David and I had agreed not to meet in the parking lot in case Alex showed up) and drove down to the park, slipping out of my heels and exchanging them for the black flip-flops I had tossed in my car that morning. David was waiting for me in his car, and I got in the passenger seat. We had decided that since we weren’t able to make our date a few days ago, we would celebrate our inevitable victory tonight by going to dinner. It had been my idea to meet in the parking lot of the par
k rather than at my house, after our last experience there. David assured me that wasn’t likely to happen again but agreed to the park.

  We went to the same Italian restaurant he had taken me to on our first “fake” date. The food seemed better this time, and the conversation was infinitely better. We sped through the list of “favorites” (favorite movie, color, animal, food) and worked our way into goals for the future. I had much more to say about my goals, since I didn’t posses any favorites of my own. The conversation continued as we migrated back to the park and ended up lying on a blanket in the grass.

  David had his arm around me, enabling me to rest my head on his chest as we spoke. The lights around the park made it difficult to see the stars, but I wasn’t looking at the sky anyway. With my eyes trained on the perfect boy beside me, I asked him to tell me about his family. I knew it sounded like an oddly masochistic question coming from someone in a broken home, but I actually enjoyed hearing about normal families.

  “Well, you already know about my parents. I’ve got one little sister and no brothers, but I do have a rather amusing grandma,” he said, sounding very much like someone telling a bedtime story. “She grew up in the south but moved down to Simi Valley when my dad moved to Thousand Oaks. She always says the most inappropriate things.” He laughed softly at some unspoken memory and continued. “Most of the time she’s pretty funny, but we have to be careful when we’re out in public. Some people don’t understand where she’s coming from.”

  I closed my eyes and listened to the steady beat of David’s heart, never wanting this moment to end. “What about the rest of your family?” I asked, just wanting to keep him talking. The way he talked about his family was so loving that it made me wish I had that kind of relationship with my own.

  “The rest of my family is pretty normal. We try to get together every few years, but it’s difficult with everyone spread out all over the country.” He shrugged and fell silent, and we both listened to the wind blowing through the trees for a little while. After a few more moments of silence, I voiced a thought that I had been entertaining since our talk a few days earlier.