“It’s a purse,” he repeated, as if I couldn’t possibly love an inanimate object.

“It’s not a purse, it’s a Birkin bag.” I took it out only for special occasions like this one. I’d had more than one nightmare about what my second graders might “accidentally” do to it if I was ever foolish enough to bring it to school. “It’s a very special type of bag by a designer who made a limited edition a long time ago and my grandmother gave it to me when I graduated from college. It’s easily my most prized possession. You should have seen my mother’s face when—”

I was cut off by the sight of my actual mother’s face. She was with my father talking to the mayor.

This was the problem with society events. Society tended to show up.

And I did not want to see or be snubbed by my parents. I didn’t want them to notice Tyler or have my two very separate worlds colliding. Because I knew they would automatically jump to the worst conclusion—that I was here with Tyler on a real date and at some point they would give me an earful over my “cheating on Brad and disgracing the family name.”

Not only that, much as she hated making a scene, there was a very real possibility that my short, pink-clad mother would try to physically fight me to get this bag. I never took it anywhere that I thought she might be.

I let out a little cough. “Hey, I’m suddenly not feeling all that great, could we go?”

Tyler said yes so quickly that I felt guilty for not suggesting it sooner.

When we got to the front of the building, he told me to stay put, that he’d get the car and bring it around. The museum had not provided valet service, something I’d overheard being repeatedly criticized. I believe the phrase “having to park like peasants” had been used.

It was a little nerve-racking waiting for Tyler to come back. I was afraid with every moment that passed that my parents would spot me and this evening would turn into a whole thing that I didn’t want to deal with.

Fortunately, he drove up a minute later, opening my door from the inside.

When I got in I said, “Thanks. You didn’t have to go get the car alone. I could have walked with you.”

He pulled forward, making his way through the parking lot and back out to the main road. “You said you weren’t feeling well. I was happy to do it. Besides, what are friends for?”

There it was. My daily reminder as to how he felt about me.

But if he was trying to make sure we were only friends, he was failing pretty miserably. Because the more time I spent with him, the more I liked him.

 

Before I went to bed for the evening, I’d put up a note on Tyler’s door (after our night that most definitely was not a date, especially considering that I’d ended up with a dog as my only sleeping companion) reminding him that we needed trash bags. I couldn’t help but add:

Also, Pigeon says to tell you she loves me more.

There was a reply from him on my door when I woke up the next morning. He said:

Lies. Don’t try and brainwash my dog.

My response?

Too late. She has a deep and abiding love for Snausages and I’m the one who provides them.

I went to work and started trying out the positive reinforcement plan. At first it felt unnatural for me to be constantly verbally praising the children for doing what I asked, but I could tell the kids weren’t sure what to think about it, either. But they quickly adapted and I saw that even Denny began to respond to it. I’d have to thank Tyler and his stepsister for the advice.

Lunchtime I’d had to bail on my friends to go to the gym to get my cancellation straightened out. Shay was particularly displeased since she had wanted to go over my conversation / museum outing with Tyler minute by minute so that we could analyze everything he and I had said under a microscope.

I wasn’t really in the mood. Or maybe it was the fact that I was spending so much time in my own head trying to uncover any possible subtext that I was tired of doing it and didn’t want to rehash the lies I kept telling myself and the truths Tyler kept forcing me to acknowledge.

When I arrived at Standford Fitness and Training, I asked the woman at the front desk to please get the manager.

“Is there anything I can help you with?” she asked.

“Yes. You can get me the manager. That would be the most help.” I was being rude, which she let me know from her expression, but I wanted this to be over.

She came back with a guy so buff I could barely see his neck. He shook my hand with a grip so hard he might have actually bruised some bones. He introduced himself as Billy. I explained the situation, including my financial hardships, and told him that I really needed my membership to be canceled.

“Tell you what,” Billy said. “How about we sign you up for six more months at only half price. If you’re not happy then, we can reconsider.”

Anger bubbled up inside me and I clenched my teeth together before saying, “Considering I’ve already paid you two years’ worth of membership fees for a gym I haven’t stepped foot in since I initially signed up, under duress, I might add, by a boyfriend whose idea of a good time is spending four hours looking at himself in mirrors while he works out, I think you probably owe me quite a bit more than six months at half price. I’m not interested in any specials or deals. I’m not going to change my mind. Can we please cancel this?” I was past being polite; I wanted it done.

Billy must have recognized my determination, because he didn’t offer me any other deals and simply said, “I’ll get the paperwork.”

And I decided no matter the outcome here, I was going to stop by my bank either today or tomorrow and get a new debit card that the gym wouldn’t have access to.

It would be worth the hassle to know that this wouldn’t happen again.

Speaking of things that wouldn’t happen again, I heard my name being called.

It was Brad.

This was the problem with Houston. It was supposed to be a big city, but it so often felt like a small town where I was constantly running (or almost running) into people I did not want to see.

It looked like Brad had just finished his workout and showered, and was probably headed to his father’s offices. For his “job.”

Since I was already on a canceling kick, I decided to add Brad to my list.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. “Did you come to see me?”

It was the delight in his voice that threw me. Like he was truly happy that I’d finally made the effort to come to his gym. But this place was another reminder as to why I needed to end things; we were not made to be together.

Like, for example, Brad loathed television and spent all his time watching videos on social media.

“I’m here to cancel my gym membership.” I hoped he caught my double meaning there, that by ending one thing having to do with him I was also planning on ending the relationship, but I figured it was probably too subtle. “Because I never wanted to be a member here.”

“Sure.” He sounded disbelieving. “The same way our relationship is ‘over.’” He made air quotes and I had never wanted to punch somebody more.

“It is over. I don’t know how else to explain it to you so that you’ll understand.” I wanted to tell him that I liked someone else so much more, but that would be humiliating if I was somehow forced to admit that Tyler didn’t like me back.