foreheads, only to run back to the living room to cuddle up with my husband on the couch in front of a cozy fire. Is that really too much to ask? I don’t want a mansion or a million dollars. I don’t want some fancy car or dream job. I just want a family of my own.
I have to admit, as happy as I am for Harley, I’m also a little jealous. She’s found someone great who loves her for who she is. And now she’s pregnant and has everything I want. Giving them my honeymoon was no big deal. I didn’t pay for it, and it was the least Jimmy could do . . . in my eyes, anyway. There’s no way I would’ve been able to take that trip alone. I would’ve done nothing but cry the whole time, and I’ve done plenty of that from the comfort of my own apartment.
I’m happy that Harley got the trip. And I’m happy that she’s with Foster and that they’ll soon have a child of their own. But how the hell did my life end up this way? I did everything for Jimmy that a good fiancée should do. I waited on him hand and foot. I thought I was being supportive and loving—listening to his problems and trying to offer any advice I could. I bent over backwards taking care of his place and mine. I even budgeted his accounts for him. I did his laundry and made his lunch every day. Most of the time, I cooked dinner for him too. I was so sure I was convincing him of how awesome a wife I’d be. I had no idea that what I was really doing was changing myself to fit him. I was completely neglecting my own needs and desires in my attempt to keep him happy. From now on, I won’t do that anymore. From this point forward, if a man wants me, he’s going to have to realize that it’s a partnership—it’s give and take. I’m no longer going to be that girl who completely forgets who she is for someone else.
I think back over the course of my dating history, and in every single relationship, I was always the one doing the changing. If my boyfriend liked football, I was suddenly an avid football fan. If he hated a TV show, I hated that same show and stopped watching it, even if it was something I’d loved before. I changed the type of music I listened to. I changed my diet and exercise routine. Hell, I even cut my hair because Jimmy didn’t like long hair. He said it was always getting tangled around him.
I decide to push all these thoughts away. All I’m doing is depressing myself, and now that I’m good and relaxed, I’m sure it wouldn’t take much to fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.
I sit up and crawl out of the tub. I dry off and replace my robe, then turn on the ceiling light and drain the tub before blowing out the candles. I exit the bathroom and fall into bed. I don’t even think I pull the covers up my body. My eyes close and I’m dead to the world.
My alarm goes off the next morning, and for a moment, I’m annoyed that I have to deal with the emotions I’ve been wrestling with all week. But then I remember the promise I made to myself last night and force myself to pep up. I get up and go to start a pot of coffee before slipping into the shower. I feel my chest tighten again as I think about the memories I made with Jimmy in this same shower. Before the tears can fall, though, I shake the thoughts away and turn the water to COLD to make my ass hurry up. Before long, I’m shivering and it’s all I can think about. Hey, a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do to make it through the shittier moments of heartbreak.
I hold a mug of piping-hot coffee close as I flip through my closet trying to decide what to wear. It’s time I start putting more effort into my appearance. Truthfully though, even before my breakup, I’d started to slip into a bit of a lazy morning routine . . . if you could even call it that. I would brush my hair and put on whatever wasn’t wrinkled and call it a day. I just