And the girl on her knees in front of him, her head moving up and down, her hands on his hips, pulling him in, head bobbing in an all-too-familiar rhythm.

He gasps, “Honey, I’m so close.”

I can’t move.

“Baby, this was worth waiting for,” he groans.

Then he looks up and sees me, and there’s a strange kind of pause as we both process what’s happening.

I’ve had better days. The day I totaled my car in my senior year of high school? Better.

The winter day six years ago when my wallet was stolen and all my credit cards were used to buy Vuitton luggage and plane tickets to Tahiti? Better.

Every single day of my life up till today?

Better.

Chapter 4

Chloe

One month later

Carrie walks by my office door, then backs up and asks, “Hangover glasses two days in a row?”

“They are not hangover glasses, Carrie, there’s just a lot of glare in here. Morning sun.”

“Okay, whatever. Looking good, Chloe.” She moves on.

Today all of O’s corporate management team will be meeting with the investment team from Anterdec. They’re all coming here, on site, to check out the place in person and make decisions. In Boston, Anterdec is the biggest player in hospitality properties, ranging from international hotel chains to restaurants and so much more. I have to impress them. My career depends on it.

And so does impending motherhood. I’ve built up a ton of paid time off, and when the adoption goes through I’ll need all the maternity leave and flexible schedule time I can get.

If the adoption goes through, I chide myself. If.

If I just keep these sunglasses on, maybe they’ll think it’s a fashion statement? Because my eyes are so puffy, I look like Ronda Rousey after fighting Holly Holm. Worse, actually. Last night was another bad one, flashbacks and bitter tears.

And I’m slated to present the design scheme for O’s newest location in New Orleans, when all I can think about is Joe, that blonde head bobbing between his knees, and how he looked at me. A month has passed, a month of shame and anger, of self-flagellation and fury. I let myself be deluded because it was easier than facing the truth.

Which makes me human, I guess.

I still can’t believe it. He gave me a blank look, and then said one word to me. One.

“Oh.”

Just…“Oh.” Irony can be a real bitch.

It’s been a busy month, between social workers and lawyers and adoption agency workers arranging for paperwork for the adoption, and Joe turning into Joe Blow, for real.

I have accomplished a lot.

Block Joe on my cell? Done

Block Joe on Facebook? Done

Block Joe on email? Done

Call locksmith to change locks on my apartment? Done

Those were easy. Done on day one. He spent the next three weeks creating ways to contact me, from new accounts on OKCupid (yes, my profile’s still there...) to leaving messages for me at work. Carrie’s a reliable gatekeeper, though she’s recently taken to answering the phone in fake foreign languages whenever “Private Number” appears on caller ID.

One hundred percent success rate in guessing the caller’s identity.

Joe tweets, Instagrams, Facebooks under false names, calls my office, texts, and tries every way he can to weasel his way back in. Why wouldn’t he? It always worked before. Can’t blame him for that.

But I can blame him for plenty of other behavior.

The hard part came later, though, when the shock wore off and the anger really set in.

I couldn’t sleep last night, so at three a.m. I got up and collected the following items:

Tee shirts, 3 (two Princeton, one Coldplay concert which we attended together but he couldn’t take the souvenir home)

Boxer shorts, 3 pair

Princeton sweatshirt (okay, you went to an elite school, enough already). Here I had a weak moment. I admit it. A whiff of his French cologne made me bury my face in the sweatshirt and sob. The moment passed.

Running shorts, one pair

Nike running shoes, one pair

Socks, two pair

Shaving kit

One tube of athlete’s foot cream

One half-used bag of floss wand picks. Joe was obsessed with periodontal disease. He would pick his teeth after every meal, even if we were watching a show.

All the carefully chosen birthday and Christmas gifts I have given him that of course he couldn’t take home, including the small, signed Picasso etching of a cat that was his Valentine in February. Joe gave me my cat last year. He said she reminded him of me because she was so sleek.

I took a long, hard look at the cat. No, she stays. It’s the boyfriend that has to go.

It all made quite a big pile.

On second thought, I put the Picasso etching back on the wall. Let’s not be crazy.

There is an actual service that will come to your home and just get rid of it all for you. If you can’t bring yourself to part with his frayed boxer shorts—because he used to do that adorable little dance in them, or because you are hoping he will come back for them and suddenly realize you are his One True Love—you (or your best friends) can hire a team to come to your house and exorcise the demon.

NeverEver will go through your closets with you, gently pull each object from your clenched fingers, pack it up, remove it, and burn the appropriate herbs afterwards. If they could prescribe Xanax, I would have called them.

I did briefly consider selling some of it on Never Liked It Anyway, which I never thought I’d have a reason to use. After a breakup, you can go to their website and sell the crap your ex gave you. It’s monetized revenge and purging. A client told me about it.

It’s brilliant. But who would want Joe’s half-used bag of floss wands?

Don’t answer that.

Instead, when I felt myself losing heart, I just whispered, “This was worth waiting for…”

Except it wasn’t.

“Oh.” He really just said that.

Asshole.

I took the box of Joe’s crap and mailed it to his house this morning on my way to work. Now I have more closet space. Good.

All good.

No—not good.

Better.

* * *

If I never see another conference table, it will be too soon.

Much of my job requires me to stand in front of small groups of people and present my ideas for environments that are appropriate, completely unique, and undeniably beautiful. Spaces that no one could have imagined and no one ever wants to leave. Spaces that can be created on-time and on-budget. And thanks to O’s enlightened mission, spaces that are environmentally sustainable, actually contributing to our natural resources.