sadness

by jennifer

despite sucessfully attracting male attention friday and saturday nights, i wake up sunday morning feeling sullen.
in less than a week, he will be married.
i spend the entire day curled up on the couch, alternately watching television and weeping on the phone to sympathetic friends.

it's not fair. he broke my heart. and now he gets to live happily after.
one of my friends gently explains that the broken ones are usually not first to get back in the game. another tells me that he might not be living happily after.

i continue to insist: i don't want him to get married. i don't want him to get married.

but i know that it doesn't matter what i want.

sometime in the early evening i force myself to leave my apartment to go to the laundromat.

when i come back i find myself looking at the business card i collected friday night from paul, the real estate agent. i call him. he is awkward in his sobriety. i am awkward in my sadness. we talk about getting together for lunch. he says other things that make me think he's trying too hard to sound impressive and aloof.

i can't remember what he looks like. i can't remember why i thought calling would be a good idea.

a distraction.

"is this your mobile number?" paul asks.

"it's my landline. you can call me if you want." i say the last bit in a non-commital tone.

"i will call," he says, earnestly.

"ok," i say, and genuinely do not care.