Three
My Revolving (Ex-)Boyfriend

Needless to say, I spent the next three weeks nursing the heartache curled up on the couch with my fat, fluffy cat in my lap and, pathetically enough, my own mother on speed dial. I was right in the middle of scarfing down a tub of ice cream when she rang, presumably to make sure I hadn’t died of lactose overdose yet.

"Hello, Mom," I answered dully.

And before pleasantries could even be exchanged, the subject of Kris and our dramatic breakup came. Cue the waterworks. It seemed like no matter how many times I told the story, she still had to hear it again and again, like she loved to see me in pain. And apparently I am a glutton for punishment because I always fell for it. I was right in the middle of detailing the blowup for the forty-somethingth time this week when I suddenly realized something I hadn't moped on yet before: he dumped me on our second anniversary.

The next thing I knew, I was howling into the phone, "AND HE DIDN'T EVEN MENTION OUR ANNIVERSARY ONCE. NOT ONCE. IT WAS LIKE HE DIDN'T EVEN REALIZE."

"Well, honey, you should have seen this coming. You're lazy, and men don't like that. No self-respecting beefcake is going to settle for a lazy housewife," my mom opined, going straight for the jugular. "Sweetie, I keep on telling you: those rich city boys are no good for a girl like you. Let me set you up with a nice, hardworking gentl—"

She was interrupted by a sudden beep, and I didn't really care about her so-called "advice" enough to ask her to repeat whatever it was she was rambling about, so I quickly stopped her.

"Hold on a sec, Mom. Someone else is calling."

As soon as I glimpsed the name on the caller ID, I instantly regretted not ignoring the call on the other line.

I should have let her finish.

I should have just listened.

Just by seeing that stupid six-letter name, it felt like my heart had been violently ripped out of my chest and thrown into a paper shredder with the nerves somehow still attached so I could feel every piece of it torn apart in excruciating clarity.

Kris Wu? What the hell? I thought I'd deleted his number—and all the pictures and texts he'd sent (except, of course, the ones with nudes attached; I'd need those for future blackmail purposes).

Huffing, I switched the line over and tried to put on a strong front, spitting into the phone, "What."

"Hey," he answered. Calm, cool, collected. "I was dying to hear your voice. We should meet up."

"Really?" I squeaked in a complete vocal 180, blinking in rapid succession. He wanted to hear my voice? He wanted to meet up? Now? Why? How?

There was only one possible explanation, and it excited my broken heart too much to be healthy: he wanted to apologize.

"Of course," he chuckled lightly into the transmitter. I could practically see his stupid smile lighting up the whole room around him. "I'm at the Starbucks right down from the street from your house. You wanna come grab a coffee?"

"Yes," I sputtered a little too eagerly, "Ireallyreallyreallydo."

I hopped off of the couch, dragging a blanket along with me as I dropped the tub of ice cream to the floor at the foot of it. I yanked a towel out of the linen closet as I stumbled toward the bathroom, quickly notifying him, "I'll be there right away."

I tossed the phone aside and shrieked in horror when I saw myself in the mirror, melting ice cream caked on my face and hair that looked like it hadn't been washed since last year. I had to get ready—and fast. The fate of my entire universe hinged on this coffee date. He was going to beg for forgiveness for breaking my heart; I could feel it in my bones.

Kris and I still had a future together.