Just Friends

You never thought that when he said, “Let’s still be friends,” that he actually meant it. After he broke your heart on your two year anniversary, he told you that as a last resort. You didn’t want to look at him without listening to  “Hungry Eyes” by Eric Carmen playing in the background, remembering the night your eyes met for the first time. 

But there you were, an hour and a half late to your ex’s engagement party. You no longer had to hide back the tears behind your eyes, simply because there weren’t any left. You’d spent hours, days, weeks crying over him until it clicked that things would never change. He was happy with her. And she was happy with him. 

You were the one who set them up in the first place, anyway. He made you happy when you were together, and he treated you well. You wanted to stay friends, too. Because deep down, you still thought he was a good guy. And he was worthy of your best friend. 

That didn’t mean that hearing the news of the diamond on her finger sting like an angry bee. You didn’t think that they would fall in love, or even stay together longer than 3 months at most. You wanted to be able to bond over your hatred for him for breaking your hearts. Now you’d never stop hearing about the flowers and chocolates he bought “just because” or how he called every time he ate lunch when he was out of town just to say “I love you”. What hurt the most was when you heard that he had bought two first-class tickets to Paris for their honeymoon. You always told him that a trip to France and getting a picture under the Eiffel Tower was at the top of your bucket list. You didn’t think you had heard her mention it once. 

You decided to show up an hour and a half late to the party -- the perfect amount of time for everyone else to show up, but not too late for people to shine a spotlight on you when you crossed the threshold. As maid of honor, you were supposed to show up early to help set-up, but you were terrified of the “small talk” that you would have to make with him. Sure, it had been two years since you two parted ways, but that pain would always be there, no matter how many times you convinced yourself you were over him. 

You made up that ridiculous excuse that your boss wouldn’t let you get out of work because of “that big meeting with an important client”. When the truth was you just sat in your pajamas, submerged under two blankets and a comforter, embarrassed at yourself for needing to lie to the one person you’ve never lied to before. Even when you had those pimples on your back and couldn’t reach them with your medication cream. Good times, the two of you had together. 

You made small talk with the people you would inevitably have to get along with for a year to help plan the wedding. Still, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you weren’t meant to be there. You wanted to be happy for her -- and him too, sure -- and had told yourself so many times that you were that you finally began to believe it. “You are happy” and “This is what happiness feels like” repeated so many times it became your personal mantra. 

But you just weren’t. 

You showed up late because you didn’t want to go. You couldn’t look at him for longer than half a second because you still saw the entire ocean behind his intoxicatingly blue eyes. You couldn’t shake hands with him without feeling them tangled in your hair. You couldn’t even stand next to him without breathing in the same cologne he wore when you were together. Everything was more difficult than it should’ve been. 

When he told you he wanted to remain friends, a part of you wanted to believe he didn’t mean it. That he was doing what every guy who says that does: gives you a false sense of hope that things may rekindle between you two if he couldn’t find someone else. But he actually wanted to just be friends. He never wanted to get back with you. In a way, it just made things worse. 

Usually when you break up, the worst-case scenario is seeing them in the supermarket while you’re rocking an oversized hoodie with sweatpants and slides, frantically trying to make your hair look adequate as you slowly walk past him. Best-case is just never seeing them again. But with him, you’d have to see him every time you went to go hang out with her. They were a packaged deal, and you didn’t want to think about all the negative emotions swirling around in your subconscious at that very thought. 

When you were with him, the idea of marriage always seemed so far off in the distance to talk with him about. But that didn’t stop you from picturing the kind of ring he would buy you -- cushion cut --, the type of dress you would graciously walk down the aisle in -- ball gown with pockets, even though you’d wear a jumpsuit for the reception -- with your father on one arm and your older brother on the other. The more you thought about it, the more confident you were that he would pop the question. 

He took you to the French restaurant on Sunrise Boulevard, where you had your first date. When you asked for his jacket because you were cold, he denied, which he never did. You wanted to assume it was because there was a ring box in his pocket. And never thought that it was because he didn’t want to lead you on before dumping you. 

“It’s not you, it’s me,” he said. “This isn’t working anymore,” and “I’m not happy,” were his reasons. “But let’s stay friends, okay?” was the last thing he said on his way out the door, leaving you with a broken heart, and the bill. 

Showing up an hour and a half late was perfect. You were fashionably late, as usual, and no one thought twice about it. It wasn’t the first time you had lied to show up somewhere late, and it quite definitely wouldn’t be your last. 

At least you knew he was a good guy. She would be happy. She would know what happiness felt like. And you’d just be friends.