I keep staring at the box.
It has sat on my bedside table ever since I got home.
Douglas didn’t come with me. The whole night he didn’t say much, despite the gift. I assume that he didn’t know what to say when I opened it and looked at it.
Even Malcolm, Sophia’s ex, knew the look of mixed confusion and disappointment from a mile away.
And when the dinner was over, Douglas gave me a kiss on the cheek, to match the one at the start of the night, got in a taxi, and left. James put his arm around me as I watched him disappear into the night.
“He’s not going home with you?”
“No. He said he had somewhere else to be. If you ask me, he’s got more Tiffany’s boxes to give out.”
James bit his lip, the expression he gives when he knows I’m right but doesn’t want to say it.
“Surely not. He’s mad about you.”
I wasn’t buying that lie. Men who are mad about you don’t avoid calling you for a week and don’t show up until 5 days after your birthday.
I’m not an expert on relationships but you don’t need a degree to realise these actions are speaking very fucking loudly.
The bag is also speaking very loudly to me, too. Not the bag itself but what’s in it. I couldn’t bring myself to look at it again last night after opening it.
But today, now in the privacy of my bedroom at 1 Lovelock Drive, I have the courage to examine it.
I should’ve known by the weight it wasn’t a piece of jewelry. You could say I fooled myself when I assumed it would be a necklace or bracelet or pendant.
Or anything I could wear.
But as I removed the paperweight from the box and placed the crystal heart-shaped dish on my dresser, I hated myself for thinking he would gift me with such a trinket.
A piece of jewelry would be sentimental, meaningful, and given with love. This paperweight, which James pointed out to me was the cheapest in the shop, was something you give to a person you don’t know that well. It was impersonal.
He knew me better than a paperweight.
I wish he had said it to me. This paperweight was our break up, right? Without words of course. It was a crystal dead weight representing the futility that had become our relationship.
This was by far the worse week I had ever had, in my personal life, for a long time. And this paperweight was the last straw.
Taking the tissue and wrapping back around the piece and back into the box, I put it all back together as it was. Grabbing my phone, I called James. He answered quickly.
“Hey, do you mind if we start late tomorrow?”
“Yeah, that’s fine. I can work from home until you’re ready. Everything ok?”
I wasn’t sure whether to tell James or not. “I have to take something into the city. It shouldn’t take long.”
There was a pause. I waited for James to respond, wondering why he was stalling. “I’ll come with you. Best not to be a gift horse alone, right?”
You’re reading The Andie Chronicles, the 2023 romance-fiction series from the 1 Lovelock Drive (1LD) universe.
By the way, this all started when Andie turned thirty-five, and her then-boyfriend didn’t call her.
Or the day after that.
Or the day after that, too.
Everything started to unravel when her BFFs got into bed with her ex, too… ⬇️ ⬇️ ⬇️
Just a moment! 1 Lovelock Drive is a reader-supported publication (I can’t do this without you!). If you love what you read, and want to receive the next instalment and support my work, consider becoming a subscriber!
Want to read the next instalment? Or the last one?
Use the “Previous” and “Next” buttons below! ⬇️