Chapter 2
Chapter Two
T he weeks moved one after the other, each more painful than the last.
The very first day I knew Jesse was at an away game, I moved out of the apartment and back home with my parents in old Philly.
I felt like I was dying without him at first, my bed so empty without his reassuringly warm body, the way he had always pulled me tight against him.
I had to stop myself so many times from texting him or contacting him that I finally blocked his number. I had held onto it way too long, in the hope that maybe he’d message me.
It was time to let that hope go.
And then each month was a little less painful than the last.
I was nothing if not stubborn.
Jesse was not going to win. And winning meant getting over him.
I threw myself into my work teaching 5 th grade. At first it seemed impossible to be able to ignore Philadelphia Heat’s superstar center Jesse Wi?niewski. Philadelphia was mad for its professional hockey team, and Jesse had almost immediately made the most of his opportunity. He had led the league in goals in his first season, and even made the All-Star team.
I had to face the fact. My unwavering support for him had been completely unnecessary.
He hadn’t really needed me after all.
The way I had encouraged him not to quit, told him his big break would come, spent hours filming and analyzing his form so he could improve? All unnecessary.
He now had the girlfriend fitting an NHL superstar.
With Taylor on his arm, he made celebrity gossip headlines with every trip to a sushi restaurant. At first I had to allow myself one thirty-minute period a week where I feverishly searched the two of them on every social media platform, gorging myself on her beautiful stylish outfits, his gleaming white smile.
The worst was the way his big hand spanned her lower back as he guided her past the paparazzi and into those fancy restaurants or movie theaters, because I remembered how it felt. Like I was the luckiest woman in the world to be loved by him.
Did he say all the same things to her at night?
Did he wash her hair in the shower, singing funny little songs about Rapunzel?
Did he kiss her after every game, smelling like heat and power and exhilaration?
I guessed he did.
They had been together a year and the headlines were all speculating about an upcoming engagement.
Well, why wouldn’t he wait?
He had exactly what he had clearly wanted.
5 years with me and no ring.
Only 1 year with her and he probably already had a ring picked out.
For a while I wallowed in this pointless misery, in every single picture of them together and every cute fit check and video Taylor posted on her Tiktok.
But slowly I began to realize that a man who flashed a $60K watch at the camera probably had nothing in common with me.
He was still a dog, but we hadn’t been compatible after all.
Then I began needing less than thirty minutes a session to gorge myself with internet stalking, and then one week I didn’t need to do it at all.
I began to start going out on dates again.
Bryan, one of my old friends from college, had messaged me to say if I ever needed a distraction, to give him a call.
I did need a distraction, and he was pretty damn good at it.
We became friends with benefits, and I stayed far away from dating any athletes at all.
And then one cold day in January, with the entire city bundled up as tightly as I was, my phone buzzed gently in the pocket of my slacks as I walked home from school.
I pulled out my phone with thick woolen mittens.
Oh damn, if this was the school calling to say I had to come back for a staff meeting. . .
But it wasn’t. It was a message from an unfamiliar number.
Can we talk? - Jesse
I stared at the words with undiluted horror, my stomach churning with nausea and revulsion.
That he would dare . Dare send me a message like that.
After a year not talking to me. A year with her.
What could this even be about?
Maybe he was about to ask her to marry him, and he wanted to warn me. Prepare me. Spare my feelings as much as he could.
What should I say?
I didn’t need or want his pity. What could I say to convince him of that?
Ugh.
Then my phone vibrated again.
I miss you
Can I call?
My jaw dropped.
What the fuck , Jesse?
Was he fucking drunk or something? At 3:30 in the afternoon?
My hands felt frozen as I ripped my mittens off to try to figure out what to reply, my steps slowing as I reached my street.
My fingers hovered over the letters, my breath catching in my throat.
But before I could decide what to say, I saw the three little dots lighting up to show he was typing something else.
I wrote back Stop drunk-texting me
Then I blocked him.