The Break-Up Artist

28

I’m woken up, not by it finally being light at this hour of the morning (hello, daylight savings!), but by the buzzing of my phone at five forty-five in the morning. From an unknown number. Curiosity overtakes grogginess, and I answer.

“Two-point-oh. Did I wake you?”

“Aimee?” Diane’s friends always called me Two-point-oh, a newer version of my sister. Leave it to her to call apart from Erin and Marian. She always did her own thing, even if that included calling at insanely early hours. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

“The baby loves to kick.”

“Wow! It’ll be born before you’re twenty-five. You’ll be more of an older sister,” I say with a laugh. I don’t get why people want to have kids so young. I’ve heard your twenties are the best years of your life. Why do you want to waste them changing diapers? But Aimee always had a competitive streak, and if Erin could pop one out, then so could she—without gaining as much weight.

Wait—why am I making chitchat with my sister’s alleged friend at too-early o’clock?

“What do you want?” I ask. That sounds rude, but she can attribute that to lack of sleep.

“I want to talk to Diane. We all do. This has gone on long enough. I don’t know why Diane is so mad at us, but it’s time to clear the air.”

She makes it sound like Diane’s some little kid having a tantrum. “It’s been a tough year for her.”

“I wouldn’t know. She hasn’t spoken to me.”

“You don’t know what she went through.” My heart speeds up. I wasn’t expecting a fight this morning. I stay on the defensive. Even though what Aimee’s saying is technically true, like with my mom, Diane doesn’t have anyone else in her corner. It’s forever us versus the couples. “She was devastated. She was in shock for weeks.”

“I don’t know why,” Aimee says.

That puts me into shock. No need for coffee. I am awake.

“The writing was on the wall for months with them. I’m shocked they didn’t call it off sooner.”

“First of all, they didn’t. He did. Six hours before! If he knew from the beginning that his family wouldn’t let him marry a non-Indian girl, then why did he continue to string my sister along?”

“A non-Indian girl?”

“Yeah. His family said that if he didn’t marry an Indian girl, he would lose his inheritance.”

Aimee doesn’t say anything. I’ve heard of pregnancy brain, where you forget certain things, but did she honestly forget about that? “Is that what Diane told you?”

“Sankresh just wanted some fun before finding a traditional Indian wife.”

“Becca.” She lets out a long exhale, like people do when they have to say something they really don’t want to. “Two of his older brothers married white girls, and his family didn’t say a word.”

“Maybe not in public.”

“Being Indian had nothing to do with it. You think he would’ve waited until just before the wedding to call it off? Trust me, that was the least of their problems, and Diane knows it.”

“Then why didn’t she break it off?”

“Because she wanted to get married.” Aimee stops herself. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s not true.” I grip my phone until I feel the plastic buckling. “It’s not like you care.”

“But I do! We all care! Diane is one of my best friends. Even though she won’t talk to any of us, I still consider her one of my closest friends.”

“Seriously?” I wonder why they kept trying, when Diane wasn’t giving them anything back. Was their friendship really that strong?

“She was there for me when I was in a dark place, almost as dark as where she is now. It’s a weird-ass bond we all have, and now she won’t even talk to me. Do you know what that’s like?” I find myself nodding without realizing it. Diane can be stubborn, but she needs the maxipad girls.

I have some time before I need to hop in the shower. “I know how you can see Diane again.”

With ten days to go until opening night, rehearsals have been stretched an extra hour, which feels like an extra decade. Each minute is another challenge to not look over at Ezra, and to stop wondering if he’s looking at me. In those moments (and there have been plenty) when I succumb to temptation and turn my head to him, he’s distracted with painting or talking to his crewmates.

“Huxley, can we take a break?” Ally says, wobbling around. “I’m feeling a little dizzy.”

“If you must,” Huxley says, looking unimpressed. “Let’s take a quick water break.”

I’m relieved. Most of my hydration has sweated onto my clothes. I stumble to the water fountain with my empty bottle. Who knows what kinds of germs rest on it, but I don’t care. Must have water.

Kerry fills up hers and Ally’s water bottles. “Did you hear that another girl came forward claiming that she hired the Break-Up Artist? Urban legend, my ass.”

“I think between her, Sarah, Bari and Calista, they should find her in no time,” Ally says. I suddenly feel fully hydrated, but I can’t move. I must keep eavesdropping.

“Seriously, how sad and pathetic do you have to be to break up couples for money? She must be uuugly.” Kerry caps the bottles. “It’s all yours,” she says to me.

I check myself out in the reflection of my bottle. Isn’t it sad and pathetic that people in relationships act so horribly that they force people to contact me? I inhale a gulp before filling up my bottle. When I finish, I jump back, startled that it’s not a girl waiting behind me. It’s Ezra.

I look at him. I have to. He’s right in front of me. It’s the perfect excuse.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hi.”

“I was just getting some water.” He points at the fountain.

“Yeah. I just got some. It’s good.” I squeeze my bottle until the cap almost pops off.

“Good.”

“Yeah.”

“Um, you looked... You guys were good out there.”

“Yeah. Ten more days.”

“Cool.”

“Yeah.”

“Good,” he says.

“I’m really excited.” We’re just two people having a conversation. Totally normal. Just talking about...I’m not really sure what we’re talking about, but it’s of the G-rated, non-home-wrecking-slut variety.

“I’m gonna get back to the squad and drink my water.”

“Cool.”

“Yeah.” I run-walk back to the bleachers. I remember that I’m still thirsty and take a sip. I would love for us to kiss again. (Wow, I did not know what I’d been missing out on!) Instead, I pucker up to my water bottle and chug.

“Rebecca,” Huxley says. I stop in my tracks. She waves me over.

I do as I’m told. “What’s up?”

“I have a question for you.”

“What is it?”

“How long have you and Ezra been hooking up?”