I knew it was her

I knew it was her. There was no one else it could be. Why was she here though? There was nothing left to talk about. It failed. I failed. She had every right to cut me from her life, but no, here she was, the same girl I left weeping on those concrete front steps three weeks ago. One brief phone call later that night and there was nothing to show for past three years but memories. On the way home I stopped at Home Depot and bought an impact wrench. The cashier asked me if everything was alright.

But here she was again, leaning against my doorframe and there I was, sitting at my desk, avoiding eye contact with her.

“How are you,” she asked.

“OK.”

“I just wanted to say a few things since we left it all so weird,” she said, moving to the edge of my lumpy Wal-Mart futon.

“Yeah we did.” I replied, staring blankly at the webpage that was on my screen when she walked in.

We spent the next few minutes making small talk about shit that didn’t matter as if she were a neighbor or co-worker and not the woman I had spent almost four years of my life with.

Then she paused.

“I know you won’t like this, but there’s something I need to tell you. It’s only fair.”

“What? Did you make out with some guy or something? That’s fine. We’re not together anymore as you know.”

“No, I.. I’m seeing someone else now. For about a week.”

It was all over, so why did those words have such an impact?

“That’s fine. Good for you. You deserve to be happy. Does he make you happy?” I replied, still staring at my screen.

“Yes, he does.”

“Great. Good. That’s good for you.”

I was going to vomit; blow chunks all over my fucking overpriced backlit keyboard.

“Well I’m glad you understand.” She stood up and stepped towards the door. “We can still be friends I hope.” She smiled back at me.

“Yeah, friends. I’ll see you around.”

“Bye,” she sang, stepping through the doorway.

The door swung closed behind her and snapped shut. I didn’t puke on my keyboard.