The Break-Up Artist

Epilogue, i.e. Thirty Minutes Later

When we get back to town, I drive us over to the Queen Elizabeth Diner. I don’t know how it got its name since I doubt the queen has ever been to New Jersey. And I doubt she would eat anything on the menu. Cigarette dispensers and a revolving case of layer cakes greet us upon entrance. I’ll take it over Windows on the Water or a Starlight Cruise any day of the week.

Val scoots into a booth while I head to the bathroom. Pink tiles line the bathroom floor and walls. I check my makeup in the mirror, and I see Bari exit the stall behind me. I drop my Plumful lipstick into the pink sink.

She washes her hands in the neighboring sink, shooting me the look of death. “Don’t you have some lives to ruin?”

“Not anymore.” I try to out passive-aggressive her, but she’s good.

“Thanks to you, I’m having dinner with my parents on a Friday night.” She shakes off excess water. “I can’t believe this is my life now.”

“I’m sorry.” But when I think about, I’m not. Not anymore. I can’t keep letting myself be the bad guy.

“You want to know why I did it?” I ask. I don’t care who hears. I’ve had enough public scenes of humiliation that it’s become old hat. “I broke you guys up because I’ll never forget the look on Calista’s face when she came to me. She wasn’t angry. She was devastated.”

“Devastated?”

“You made her feel like she was nothing.”

Bari softens and unclenches herself. “I did?”

I use air quotes: “‘You just don’t understand because you’re single.’”

Bari’s stone-cold demeanor shrivels away.

“Sometimes, we take friends for granted,” I say.

Bari leans against the wall and sinks down into a squat. She rests her chin on her knee, just like Calista. I exhale quietly.

“Call her,” I tell Bari. “She misses her friend.”

“She does? She told you?”

“Yes.” What’s one more lie?

“I didn’t even like Derek that much. He was so pompous and controlling,” Bari says.

He wasn’t that into you either, I want to say.

“He’s not like Jay,” she says.

“Jay who?” I ask. I pick up my lipstick and reapply. (Don’t give me that look. It fell unopened into the sink, and I wiped off the tube.)

“Wolpert. He’s so hot. But I don’t think he likes me like that.”

Jay Wolpert... I rummage through my memory for some intel.

“Isn’t Jay a huge Nets fan?” He sat behind me in bio class sophomore year. All he would talk about was basketball. It was like having your own personal ESPN. What little I know about sports, I eavesdropped from him.

“Yeah, he’s big into sports.”

“I think the NBA play-offs are coming up. You should just chat him up about that.”

“I don’t know. I can’t just bring it up randomly.”

“Guys love when girls talk about sports. It’s like their fashion.”

“I can’t just walk up to him and start talking about point guards.” Bari stands and checks out her hair in the mirror. Half is blond, the bottom half, brunette. Her head is a duplex. “I really need to get this fixed.”

At least she knows it.

“He and his friends watch games at that bar and grill place the Hydrant. They always talked about it because the bartenders don’t card.” A plan forms in my head. Details sketch themselves out without trying. It’s habit, like people who can’t stop singing along to the radio. “They’ll probably watch the play-offs there.”

“So maybe I could watch the play-offs there, too?” Her face lights up with excitement, and I can’t believe this was the girl who wanted to give me a swirlie a minute ago.

“No, no, no. That’s too obvious. You need to build up to that. You need to bond with Jay about basketball first, then get him to invite you to watch with him.” I gaze at both of us in the mirror, unsure what I’m getting into, but enjoying it.

“You think you can help me out?” Bari asks.

“For a hundred dollars via PayPal I can.”

She shoots me a nasty look.

“Okay. Maybe this one’s on the house.”