Things I've Learned From Women Who've Dumped Me - Ben Karlin [9]
“Oh, I went to dinner with friends.”
“Thank God. I thought you were hurt or something.”
“Sorry, no. It was just a late dinner,” she explained. “And then I went out for drinks after that with Steve . . .”
The name Steve hung in the air for what seemed an eternity.
“. . . so I didn’t get your message until this morning.”
Hm. Steve? I’d never heard of “Steve.” And they went out for drinks? Alone? I mean, couldn’t they have talked some others into joining them? I had so many questions to ask Michelle about Steve, but didn’t know how to ask without sounding like an asshole. After a long pause, I finally found the perfect way to word my concerns:
“So . . . uh . . . Steve?”
Michelle sighed, as if she knew I was going to say that. “Relax, Will. We’re just friends.”
“Hm . . . Okay, that’s good enough for me.”
It wasn’t. As we got off the phone, I wondered about Steve. Was he some tattooed clubber guy? Was he on a collegiate sports team? Would a representative for a modeling agency approach him on the street and give him their card?
I walked back to the van and, in a jealous mini-rage, slammed the door hard enough to provoke a “Trouble in paradise?” comment from one of the ski teamers. Could be, ski teamer, I thought to myself. Could be.
That night, I slyly asked Michelle all about Steve. I didn’t like what I heard. Apparently, Steve was a blond-haired, blue-eyed surfer. He was nice, smart, and funny. But nothing scared me more than the information I found out next: Steve played bass for a popular campus band called the Brewmasters. Oh, great, a fucking musician. When pressed, Michelle admitted that she found Steve attractive, but claimed she didn’t think of him in “that way.” As I went on with my questions, Michelle became annoyed. Didn’t I believe her? They were just friends. Steve was helping her with her studies. If anything, he should be thanked—I mean, the more solid grasp she had on her math theorems, the quicker she would do future math theorem homework, and the quicker she could meet me for romantic date nights at local taco establishments.
“Sure. You’re right. I’m sorry.” But I wasn’t sorry. Deep down, I knew the truth: Steve was not a man to be thanked. Steve was the enemy. Their friendship had to be terminated, and it had to be terminated quickly.
I immediately began trying to fill Michelle’s calendar with events. I figured any open time could potentially be “Steve Time.” I’m pretty sure Michelle knew something was up. I had never been a big planner and here I was suddenly planning 6:45 coffee dates and 9:15 campus strolls. But even during this barrage of scheduling, Michelle carved out a little study time with Steve—all the while insisting they were just friends.
The next week, Michelle and Steve increased the frequency of their study dates. I was not happy, but with finals approaching, I had to admit there was some validity to this “studying” alibi. So I hunkered down—soon finals would be over and Steve and Michelle would have nothing more to study. Michelle would be all mine once more.
During finals week, Michelle and I saw very little of each other. I was busy learning an entire quarter’s worth of history in a four-day period. She was preparing in her own way, via late-night cramming sessions with Steve. Michelle called me after her last final on a Thursday night. She was going out to celebrate with friends. Would Steve be among those friends? The answer was yes. I cringed. But there was nothing I could do. I had a history final the next day for which I was hideously unprepared. I tried to block it all out as I dove into my textbooks. And for a while, it worked. But then there was a knock at my door.
“Dude, I think I just saw Michelle