“Does your dad not know we broke up?”
“That’s not your business,” I say. The explosion is budding. A heat rises within my chest.
“So no?”
“Yes, he knows. I told him I was moving and gave him my new address,” I say. “Is that a satisfactory answer? Is that sufficient?”
I don’t think I’ve ever raised my voice to him before. I don’t like the way it feels. I’m out of control. I’m burning.
“Annie,” he says. His voice is calm, and somehow that’s worse. “There are going to be pictures.”
“We broke up five minutes ago.”
“We broke up five months ago! Six, actually.”
“After almost ten years!”
“No,” he says. “It was eight years, and the last two barely counted. We were together, but we weren’t really. You know what I’m saying. It wasn’t how it used to be between us. It wasn’t the same.”
I smell the smoke. I can taste it.
“This was your decision,” I say. “And you made me leave.”
“It was our decision,” he says. “Don’t pin this on me. It wasn’t working and you know that.”
“I thought we were going to get married! You blindsided me. You just gave up!” I’m yelling now. Crying and yelling.
“Annie. Come on. That’s not true.”
“It is true. You gave up, and I was the one who had to suffer for it. Pick up my whole life and start over. And you’re just there. Doing the same thing. In our apartment. At bars with random girls.”
“Shannon isn’t some random girl,” he says. “She’s my girlfriend. We’re together.”
I look down, expecting to see my skin blistering. Fat translucent bubbles. Visual proof of the sensation I feel, of the pain. I touch my face, and there are no lesions, no gaping wounds, no sticky recessions of skin. I’m on fire. I’m on fire, but I have nothing to show for it.
“Annie?”
“Okay,” I say.
“It happened,” he says. “Sometimes things happen sooner than you expect.”
“Sure.”
“Sure?”
“What else do you want me to say?”
“Fair,” he says. “I don’t want this to change anything. She knows that we’re close and that you’re a part of my life. As friends. She’s good with it.”
“Good,” I say. “I’m glad she approves.”
“Annie, don’t be like that.”
“Like what?” I ask.
“All right,” he says. “I reached out as a courtesy.”
“A courtesy? A courtesy! Wow,” I say. “Should I send a picture of you in to the National Enquirer? ‘Good guys! They do exist!’？”
“Why are you being so sarcastic?” he asks.
“I’m sarcastic. Did you forget this fun fact about me?”
“You’re never sarcastic to me,” he says. “We were always nice to each other. Always.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “It’s hard to be nice right now. I’m sorry.”
There’s a faint sensation on my hand. It’s a spider. A big one. Big enough that I can see its individual eyes. So many of them, all looking up at me.
All of a sudden, it rears back. It lifts one of its front legs and waves it back and forth. It’s also shaking its head.
It does not approve of my apology.
“That’s okay,” Sam says. “It’s a weird situation. It’s hard. I just thought you should hear it from me. Now you know.”
“Now I know.”
The spider plops back down on all of its legs. It’s still shaking its head.
I wonder if it’s Sophie. I wonder if she can see what the spiders see. She’ll be so mad if she finds out that I called Sam. So disappointed. I can’t tell her. I can’t face her.
I move my hand over to the coffee table and gently wiggle the spider off. It crosses its front legs and turns its back to me to signal its discontent.
“Nothing’s changed,” Sam says. “We’re still friends.”
“Nothing’s changed,” I echo. How dense can he be?
Or is it me? Am I the one who’s being unreasonable? We have been broken up for about six months. How did I not anticipate this? It actually never crossed my mind that he would move on. That he would really go on to date someone else. To fuck someone else. To get a new girlfriend.
I guess I was operating on the phantom hope that we might get back together.