![]() ![]() They told me all the things I felt like I needed to hear: “I’m so sorry, honey. That’s why I love girlfriends they’re angels in a crisis, loyal as pit bulls. Should I hate him now? Tell me and I will.” My friend Renee texted me, “I’m so sorry you two broke up. In the wake of an emotional rupture like that, I sought the unwavering support of my girlfriends, who rallied around me, even coddled me. What else was there to do? I got off a stop early so I could call my sister who answered sleepily, from her cozy bed in a suburb of Massachusetts. I stood there, rigid, as he wiggled each key off the chain, dropping them into my hand with cold finality. Now,” I said, fighting back tears and failing. He resisted: “Can’t we wait till I come by and get my–” When we got to the subway station, I told him to give me back my keys. I was out the door in a shot with him on my heels. I nearly tackled the waitress (“We need our check! Now!”). This wasn’t a let’s-try-again reunion dinner It was our last supper. This candlelit dinner had seemed to be to signal things were on the upswing. When my boyfriend told me, just shy of our one-year anniversary, that he didn’t want a girlfriend anymore, I was still digesting my savory pork belly dish and $12 cocktail. ![]()
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