I’m currently sitting at my computer. My fidgeting is uncontrollable; the scratchy fabric on my swivel chair is irritating the backs of my thighs. My mouse has been hovering over the same link for the last twenty-three minutes. My best friend Nikki forwarded it to me. She really shouldn’t have.
I feel like I’m at the top of the biggest, scariest roller coaster of all time. But instead of knowing that I’m going to make it to the end of the ride safely I feel almost certain that we’re going to crash, burst into flames, and die a horrible death. Like how I used to play Roller Coaster Tycoon when I was a kid and purposely make the ride blow up. Looking back, I feel majorly sadistic.
Who does that?
Taking the present situation into my own hands, I click. Actually, nosedive is more accurate. In a flash, my screen is taken over by a bubble-gum—or Pepto Bismol, if you’re feeling as queasy as I am—pink webpage. As I move the cursor, a trail of red hearts follows.
Now I really am going to be sick.
I scroll to the very bottom, half convinced that this is some kind of sick joke. But it isn’t. This is all them: Josh and Rebecca. I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around this engagement information because the Josh I know—correction: knew—would never have been okay with this mushy-mushy sort of crap.
To make a long and painful story short, I’ll sum this up as succinctly as I can. I used to work with his now fiancée, the aforementioned Rebecca. I practically introduced them. It was after I graduated, couldn’t get a job, and did a brief stint in retail at a small boutique off Seventh Ave that sold trendy clothing plucked straight from AliExpress and marked up by at least seventy percent. I had to see this backstabber and her collection of Coach keychains every single day. 
I’m aware that I sound like a woman scorned, but you’d be too if your boyfriend left you for someone who thinks that body-con bandage dresses are appropriate for running weekend errands. I kid you not, I once saw her in Whole Foods wrapped tighter than a cucumber, teetering on six-inch stilettos through the cured meats section. I decided I was vegan for the night just so I didn’t have to walk by and make awkward, meaningless small talk about how she stole my boyfriend right from under me and my slightly crooked nose.
One night, a few of us went out for happy hour at this cute little Mexican joint around the corner from the store—just girls, tacos, and margaritas on a Thirsty Thursday. Josh had been out with some of his friends and decided to meet up with me so we could walk home together. At the time I thought that was cute. Not anymore.
As you would in any seemingly strong relationship, I introduced him to my co-workers. Rebecca happened to be one of them. We weren’t even friends, she was just there, and I felt rude not introducing her. Trust my chronic politeness to come back and stab me in the back. 
She slithered closer to us in her slinky, sequinned dress and began flirting with Josh right in front of me. Like, hardcore flirting. Talking about how he looked like he worked out and how smart he must be to work on Wall Street. I knew she was vicious on the sales floor, but that’s different. Although, apparently it’s not, as proven by how this story ends. I was upset about the whole thing and when we got home, he told me I was paranoid and that he only had eyes for me. 
What a gaslighting scoundrel.
A few months later, he was acting very suspicious. I went all Destiny’s Child on him when I called one afternoon—like, say my name, Josh. He did say my name, but it was to tell me that he was dumping me. He said he was in love with Rebecca. In love with her! He said he was leaving me to be with her.
The catch? He never actually left or went anywhere. He asked me to move out of our Upper West Side apartment and promptly moved her in. Nikki was gracious enough to let me stay with her until I found my own place. Eventually, I rented a shabby studio in Morningside Heights, which only took me a couple of months and a good chunk of my pride. 
Anyway, after everything that happened, it was pretty clear that I have the worst taste in men. Period. I’ve learned my lesson. Josh didn’t deserve me. I mean, I gave two years of my life to him. Two years! Do you know how much can change in two years? For starters, I developed a taste for bourbon, bought five new pairs of jeans, and my bangs completely grew out, which was totally life changing. However, Josh even liked me with bangs. Sigh. I didn’t even like me with bangs! I swear, if I’d had a middle part back then, I’d have been unstoppable. 
Although, through my heartache, I’ve made an important discovery: love isn’t only blind. It’s also deaf, dumb, naive, and misleading.
As I pick up my crystal tumbler, the ice makes its signature clanging sound. I knock back the rest of my drink and promptly move the wedding invitation to the trash. Something I should have done to Josh years ago. And now I’m off to murder Nikki for forwarding me that email, knowing exactly what it’d do to my self esteem. Not to mention, my liquor cabinet.

ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴅ