Strawberry Crème

A breakup.

     "I want to break up with you."

     He says this slowly, as if the concept was too difficult for me to understand. Then he doesn't say anything more, waiting for my response. I stare at him. I'm waiting for my response, too. I did not see this coming. I should be angry, yelling at him so loudly that I attract the attention of everyone in the small Starbucks we were sitting in. But that's the thing. I didn't feel anything. 

     I can tell he's getting frustrated that I'm not answering, because his look of sympathy is slowly transitioning into a glare. So, I avert my eyes to look at the Strawberry Crème in front of me on the table. I haven't taken a sip yet or messed with the straw stuck in the middle of the whipped cream. The perspiration is slowly dripping onto the wooden surface.

     I think about my feelings for him, and the events that have lead up to today.

     When I first met him, he was so sweet and funny. I had told him that I was a writer, and he had bowed low and said, "I, am a gentleman." I had to stare at him confused for a few moments, not quite understanding the joke.

     "Ever seen the Tale of Despereaux?" he asked. I felt like a complete idiot, but I laughed anyways and apologized. 

     We've had good times, and I thought we were happy together, but I guess I was wrong. Over the past few days, he's been really distant, avoiding me. I don't know what I did wrong. 

     "Well?" he asks. "Aren't you upset? I'm breaking up with you."

     "Okay," I say softly.

     "That's all you have to say?" he asks. "Don't you wanna know why?"

     "I don't need to."

     "Oh. So you're a mind reader now?" he says.

     "No."

     "Then - "

     "Okay, fine. Tell me."

     "I met someone else."

     I take a deep breath. "Who?"

     He hesitates. "You know Amy Summers?"

     "Yeah. Is it her?"

     "Yes."

     In my head I picture a short, petite girl with long blond hair and blue eyes. Tiny waist. Big b***s. Figures.

     "Alright."

     "You're not mad?"

     "No, I understand," I say.

     "You do?"

     "Yes. She has what I don't. She is what I'm not... She's beautiful," I say, standing up. "Don't worry. I wouldn't choose me either."

     I grab my Strawberry Crème and walk out.

Author's Note

Please be kind.