Chapter 7 Margot
Margot
“Margot, what’s going on? Is everything okay?” Emma asks as soon as I answer her call on Sunday afternoon.
It’s been so hard for Emma and me to connect ever since she left for this trip. I’m happy for her, but I also miss my best friend.
“Everything’s fine,” I say because truthfully, it is. As long as I stay focused on work and keep my mind off the breakup, I’m fine.
“Okay,” Emma says, drawing the word out. “But did something happen with you and Jeremy?”
“Yeah, um, we broke up,” I admit.
“And you didn’t call me?!”
“I tried a couple of times, but it went straight to voicemail. I figured you didn’t have service on your hike.”
Emma blows a long breath into the phone. “I’m so sorry, Margot. What happened?”
I tell her the entire story but leave out the part where I got fall-down, yell-at-an-office-plant drunk afterwards and woke up at Ethan’s house… then proceeded to stay for another week.
“Jeremy is such an asshole,” Emma says when I finish.
“Yeah, I guess you warned me,” I say, trying not to sound bitter. Emma never came right out and said that she didn’t like Jeremy, but she wasn’t very good at keeping it a secret either. She must’ve seen the warning signs long before I did.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Emma says.
“I know.”
A quiet moment passes between us where all is forgiven and forgotten in the span of a single breath. Neither of us are the type to hold grudges, with the notable exception of the massive grudge she held against Garrett right up until the moment she decided that kissing him sounded more fun.
“What can I do?” Emma asks softly. “What do you need? I could come home for a few days…”
“No, Emma, don’t do that. I’m fine, really. Ethan’s been helping me out a lot.”
I regret the words as soon as they leave my mouth. Emma has always not-so-secretly hoped that Ethan and I would date. If for no other reason, because it would potentially make us sisters-in-law.
“Ethan?” she asks with piqued curiosity.
“Yeah, um, just with getting some new furniture and stuff,” I explain, downplaying everything that’s transpired over the past week. Not that there’s anything that requires discussion or disclosure. Ethan’s been extra nice to me. That’s all. End of story.
Nothing happened, and nothing will ever happen between the two of us.
I know it’s easy for people to see how well we get along and assume that we would make a good couple, but we wouldn’t.
There are a million reasons why it would never work.
First and foremost, because Ethan’s idea of a relationship spans the course of approximately two or three hours.
Mine spans the course of eternity. I’m not completely sure if there’s a heaven, but if there is, I’m hoping for a cottage on a riverbank with a cat and my one true love.
I’m that sort of person. Ethan is not, and I don’t even want to know what his idea of heaven would entail. MILF porn and sex dungeons, probably.
“Why did you need new furniture?” Emma asks.
It’s a valid question, but not one that I feel up to explaining at the moment. “It’s a long story. Do you mind if I save it for another time? I’m kind of tired of thinking about it all right now.”
“Of course,” Emma says softly. “Talk soon?”
“Yeah,” I tell her. But just as I’m about to hang up, something occurs to me. “Wait, Emma… how did you know?”
“Know what?”
“About Jeremy?”
Emma’s long pause warns me that I’m not going to like the answer.
“Someone tagged him in some photos online,” she eventually says. A long beat passes, then she adds, “It was another woman.”
My stomach drops. It has no right to, but my stomach freefalls, nonetheless.
I shouldn’t be surprised. Jeremy slept with another woman before our relationship was even over.
I wonder she’s the woman in the pictures, or if he’s already moved on from her as well.
It doesn’t matter, but somehow it feels like it should.
“Oh” is the only word I manage to force past my lips. The rest are caught in my throat.
“Margot, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine. I promise I’m fine,” I say in a hollow voice.
Somewhere deep down, I know it’s true. Every day I feel a little bit better. The little pinhole of light in the darkness opens up a little wider. But right now, I can feel it dimming inside my chest.
***
That night, I curl up on my bed with a glass of wine and wrestle with the urge to look at Jeremy’s social media, which I promptly unfollowed after our breakup.
Part of me thinks that seeing him with another woman might give me closure.
The other part suspects that it would obliterate any progress I’ve made, like picking at the edges of a scar that’s just begun to heal.
My finger hovers over the stupid little icon of Jeremy’s stupid face on my phone screen. If I don’t look, I’ll just keep obsessing over it. I take a huge swig from my wine glass and press my finger to the screen.
The first photo hits me like a brick straight to the chest, painfully stealing the air from my lungs.
Jeremy is smiling widely at the camera, hair rumpled like he just got out of bed.
Beside him, a blonde woman presses her smiling cheek to his.
Her eyes are tired, but her makeup and hair are perfect.
My throat goes dry.
I recognize her.
We’ve only met a couple times, but I recognize her as one of Jeremy’s coworkers. The same coworker who “accidentally” sat on Jeremy’s lap at the Christmas party last year because she got a little too tipsy. Jeremy laughed it off, so I did too because I trusted him completely.
So much for that.
I take another gulp of wine and swipe to the next photo. Jeremy is kissing her temple while she poses for the camera.
Nope. That’s enough of that. I close out of the app and toss my phone down.
With my pulse still racing and my head starting to swim from the wine, I get an idea. A really bad idea, probably. If Jeremy is already moving on, then so will I.
Picking my phone back up, I search the app store for Sip, a popular dating app that promises to “quench your thirst” in their cheesy ads. While it’s downloading, I top off my wine. Then I settle in and start filling out my profile.
Name? Easy.
Location? Denver.
Interested in? Men.
Wow, I’m really good at this. Look at me go.
Picture? Um, we’ll come back to that. All of the photos on my phone include a certain Asshole Who Shall Not Be Named.
About me? Easy-peasy.
My thumbs fly across the keyboard, crafting a biography that is both earnest and charming. When I’m finished, I go back and read it out loud.
Fresh out of a long-term relationship that didn’t end very well, but still searching for my happy ending. I’m a bit introverted, bookish, and obsessed with cats, even though I don’t have one yet (working on it!). I’m looking for someone kind, smart, funny, and who will make a great cat-dad one day.
Okay…
So, maybe that’s a little too earnest.
I sound like a desperate cat lady who doesn’t even have her own cat.
My wine glass is mysteriously empty, so I refill it again and set it on top of my plastic drawers, which I’ve been using as a nightstand. After deleting everything I just wrote, I start typing again.
It needs to be a little sexier, I decide.
After all, this app is primarily known for one-night stands.
Maybe that’s what I need, a fun night to cleanse my palate before I move onto something more serious.
If so, my bio needs to at least make it sound like I’ve heard of sex before and I’m not one spam email away from sending all my money to a Nigerian prince.
Just out of a long-term relationship and ready to try something new. The only long thing I’m interested in right now is a nice, long…
A nice, long what, Margot? You are not seriously about to type penis.
Yikes.
I delete it again and start over. By the time I’ve finished my third glass of wine, I am so sure that I nailed it, I don’t even bother re-reading what I wrote.
I take off my glasses and snap a quick selfie to complete my profile and hit publish.
Setting my phone down on the bed, I curl up with a pillow and drift off to sleep, looking forward to the multitude of potential suitors that awaits me in the morning.