Alright, so maybe I exaggerated a little. I didn’t exactly punch Jack in the beezer when he said, “I wish you the best,” after I told him I’d be buying the condominium myself. In fact, I didn’t punch him at all. Yes, I wanted to go postal. I wanted to pretend he was an annoying Chihuahua and I a gun wielding mail carrier. I wanted to him to feel as powerless, hopeless, confused and scared as he’d made me feel. But I didn’t.
Chris Rock once said—and I’m paraphrasing here—that you’ve never truly been in love unless you’ve considered committing homicide. I guess no one could ever accuse me of loving Jack.
“When will you move out?” I asked him.
“I don’t know. There’s so much to do before then.”
“That’s an understatement,” I replied.
Jack was correct. Lots needed to be done before we said our final goodbyes. Our CD collection needed to be divided. He needed to disassemble and remove his office desk and the other tacky furniture left over from his dorm days. I’d always hated that furniture. On more than one occasion I’d threatened to burn it. Be careful what you wish for, I guess.
“I just thought of something, Avery.”
He spoke slowly and quietly, as though he were choosing his words very carefully. I immediately tensed. The tone was that same he used when telling me that he no longer loved me. He spoke just as succinctly when he said that he’d be moving out of our home. He delivered his “yeah” just as softly when he confirmed that there was another man.
“Yes, Jack?” I held my breath and waited for the next in the list of bombshells I’d received in less than 48 hours.
“Well,” he slowly replied. I hated the way he was dragging out his words. The mix of anticipation and dread killed me. This was not going to be good. “Get on with it,” I urged, unable to wait another second.
“Avery, I want to keep the cats.”
If Chris Rock’s words were true, I was more in love with Jack at that moment than I’d ever been.
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