I am standing in the bathroom staring at my reflection for the fifth time this evening. Once again, I am trying to decide if the lipstick is too much. I never wore lipstick when we were together, but since the breakup, I have come to love it. My lips have always been one of my favorite features, and now I’m actually bothering to show them off. I know that the lipstick is not for him, but will he know it?
I’m not sure. His ego is so big that I could go to this stupid meeting in sweatpants and bedhead and he’d think I did it for him. I wear lipstick pretty much every day now. But he doesn’t know that. We haven’t spoken even once since I officially moved out. I deleted his phone number. I didn’t block it, though. It didn’t seem important to do that. I knew he wasn’t going to reach out to me anyway. At least, I thought he wasn’t going to.
I decide (also for the fifth time) to keep the lipstick. It gives me confidence. I do not know what to expect. Hell, I don’t even know why he wants to talk to me so badly. His messages were so vague. Something about “the air isn’t clear and I would like to be able to breathe again,” which was oddly poetic for him. Oh, and my personal favorite: “I don’t know what I’m looking for in this meeting, but doing nothing about it obviously gets me nowhere. So I guess I’m hoping to get somewhere with this.”
What? I didn’t even respond to that one directly.
He hasn’t changed at all, either. He’s still indecisive as an indoor cat facing an open door. I told him to pick a place to meet. He wants to talk, so he should decide where. I refuse to go anywhere near the place he shares with that two-faced hussy, and I don’t want him near my new place. It’s free of all things related to him (with the exception of the awesome record player he gave me last Christmas; my one indulgence), and I want to keep it that way. And, he didn’t want to meet in a public place in case things got “emotional,” though he failed to elaborate how. I wonder if he’s going to start crying again. God, I hope not.
Anyway, he didn’t pick a place. He said it didn’t matter where but that he “had to talk” to me. I ended up telling him that at 9:30p.m. I would be sitting on the jungle gym in the small park at my new complex. Why should I have to drive somewhere to see him? Also, this way, I can get tipsy beforehand. I’ve been working on my liquor cabinet, and it is becoming a thing of both beauty and variety.
I am back in front of the mirror, contemplating my lips, my black-lined eyes, and my newly auburn hair, which is straight today, something else I never did with him. What the hell does he want from me? If it were anyone else, I would say he wanted me back. But he’s too stubborn, and the aforementioned ego is too prominent, for that to be the case. If I thought there was a possibility of him begging me to take him back, I certainly wouldn’t be going. I like to think that I am over him, but sometimes… Sometimes, I’m not so sure. I’m moving on, certainly. But, how do you know when you’re truly over someone?
Actually, I only agreed to this because I’m curious. Well, that and I want him to see what he’s missing. I want him to know that I am prettier and happier than I ever was with him. I want him to see the confidence I’ve regained and how my personality has returned to the shining thing it was when we first got together. I want him to miss me. But I don’t want him to want me back.
Is that weird?