Okay, it was forty-three. Forty-three snapshots of me, taken with my iPhone in the full-length mirror hanging on my bedroom door, to get that perfect shot. Which I then immediately posted on Facebook with the caption: “Ready for a night out on the town!”
Sixty seconds after the post went live, I was stripping off my slinky red dress and my heels, washing off my makeup, and settling in for a marathon of Top Chef on my sofa. Alone.
But it paid off. This morning when I woke up, there were twenty-seven “likes” of last night’s update and multiple comments. Yes, several of those comments were condescending remarks like, “Good for you, getting out there again!” I wasn’t concerned about that. The only thing I cared about was that one of those “likes” was from Joel Broder.
In the five months since our breakup, Joel and I have not remained friends, but we are still Facebook friends. He is able to see my carefully orchestrated photographs and updates that show I’m having the time of my life without him. If he sees enough of these photographs, will he eventually start to feel regretful over what he gave up? And maybe decide he wants me back?
It’s pathetic. I know. I need to stop. But until Joel changes his status to “in a relationship,” I keep trying. I can’t help myself.
So when I walk into Starbucks and see Joel sitting at his usual table in the back, dressed in his usual scrubs, hunched over his Android with the fingers of his left hand wrapped around a Caffe Mocha, I don’t turn around and walk right out the door. Fortuitously, I’m dressed in my best pair of acid-washed skinny jeans paired with a top I got from the discount rack at Macy’s last week that shows the perfect amount of cleavage. My hair is gleaming from the highlights I put in last week—the salon is far too expensive but worth it. The box just isn’t the same.
Okay, it’s not entirely fortuitous that I’m running into Joel while looking my best. The truth is, about two years ago, Joel got sick of me texting him whether he’d left the hospital yet, so he installed an app on my phone called WhereAmI. This app allowed me to locate him anywhere he goes via GPS with startling accuracy. If he goes into a Starbucks, it can even tell me which one.
I had assumed when Joel broke up with me, he’d have turned off WhereAmI on his own phone. But he hasn’t. I can only assume he’s forgotten all about it, because I’m still receiving minute-to-minute updates about his whereabouts.
I should delete the app. I definitely should. It’s not healthy to be tracking my ex-boyfriend around the city. I’m no psychologist, but I know that much.
I’ll delete it. Soon.
As casually as I can, I get on the Starbucks line. I don’t look in Joel’s direction and pretend I don’t even know he exists. When it’s my turn, I order my usual: a vanilla latte. Then I take out my phone as I wait for my drink to be made.
Don’t look in his direction. Pretend he isn’t even here. He will come to you if he wants to talk to you.
“Hey…”
I glance up from my phone, and sure enough, he’s gotten up from his seat and he’s standing in front of me. And God, he looks so good. He didn’t engineer this meeting—how does he manage to look so great? I lower my phone and throw my shoulders back, reminding myself he saw the photo of me dressed to the nines last night and “liked” what he saw. And as his eyes sweep over me briefly, I can tell he likes what he sees yet again.
“Hey!” I flash an easy smile. Easy, breezy. “How are you? It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
“I’m good.” He rakes a hand through his dark hair. Are those slight purple circles under his blue eyes? Maybe he’s not doing as well as I’d thought. “But you… you look great.”
I check his tone for pity, and there’s none. He means it. “Thanks. I’ve been… pretty busy. You know, work… life…” Television… ice cream… alcohol…