Secretly

Julie wondered why she didn’t need ice cream when she broke up with Mike, but had consumed two entire cartons of Ben and Jerry’s Phish Food already.

She’d seen it coming, but it still hit her like a ton of bricks. A ton of bricks that were now tied to her ankles, slowly pulling her deeper and deeper into the depths of a bottomless ocean.

What had she done wrong? She hadn’t cheated. She’d been a good girlfriend. Sure, she was busy at times, but so was he. And, okay, she’d been attracted to Jon, but that’s all it was. How could she not be? Patrick even said so himself they were a big deal. It’s not her fault Patrick was best friends with Jonathan stinking Toews.

Could Patrick somehow read the guilt on her face? Or Jon’s? They’d seen him coming down the elevator, grinning ear-to-ear and waving like a maniac. Julie had smiled wide, the force of how much she’d missed him knocking the breath out of her.

He’d hugged them both, and then he’d pulled her aside.

“Listen, Julie,” he’d started. Her stomach felt like it was going to regurgitate itself. Nothing good ever started out with those words. “It’s not working out. I swear it’s me, though, not you.”

She couldn’t believe he’d used that line.

Really? It wasn’t her? She stared, open mouthed, as he continued.

“I hope we can still be friends though. I brought you a souvenir. Here.” Then he’d stuffed a heavy, badly wrapped and bulky package bigger than her head into her hands, smiling proudly.

“Thanks,” she mumbled, taking the package and looking down at it. What else could she say? After that, she left. She glanced back once to see Patrick reunite with Jon, talking animatedly while Jon frowned in her direction. She took a cab home, silently trying to process everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours.

She’d walked over to the closest convenience store, planning on buying just one carton of ice cream. Instead, she’d ended up getting four, two of which were gone and a third in her lap. An “I love Lucy” marathon was on, but even Lucy and Ethel couldn’t cheer her up.

And it was her favorite episode, too, the one where they work in a chocolate factory.

Julie should’ve gotten some chocolate to go with the ice cream.

She never heard Patrick come home, and figured he was staying with Jon. It was a little surprising that he was avoiding her. He didn’t seem all that bothered with the break up.

And neither should I, she thought. It’s not like we’d gone out THAT long.

She took a breath (and just one more spoonful of ice cream) and stood up, wiping her wet face with the back of her hands.

It was okay to cry a little. After all, she’d just been dumped. The stupid thing to do would be to curl up into a fetal position on the couch and cry some more. The smart thing to do was take a long, hot shower, and attempt to get over this.

Time heals all, right?

Julie made her way out of the living room and into the bathroom.

She stood under the stream of warm water as it hit her bare skin. Steam formed and rose, fogging up the bathroom. She was wasting water, but she didn’t care.

This way, she couldn’t tell the difference between the water and her tears.

Half an hour later, she emerged from the bathroom, feeling a billion times better. Wrapped in a towel, she decided to finish that third carton of ice cream.

As she entered the living room, her eyes caught the brown package, which was still sitting, unopened, on her dining table. She’d been too shocked to open it, but now, it couldn’t hurt.

She was fine.

She slowly peeled away the brown paper to reveal a burgundy and gold jersey, wrapped up several times around a football. A ripped up piece of paper floated to the ground. She picked it up and read the note.

“Guess who I ran into doing a press conference in New York?” it said, in Patrick’s messy scrawl.

Julie felt her eyes getting moist.

Shit, don’t cry, she scowled herself. You’re fine.

The jersey had “Griffin III” and a huge number ten on it.

“To Julie, my biggest fan,” and then a signature was written on the zero. The football had a huge smiley face on it, and another signature.

The dam behind her eyes broke and she cried freely, thankful no one was here to witness her demise.

I’ve done the smart thing, she thought. Now, it’s time for a little stupid.

She unraveled the towel, letting it fall to the ground in a puddle around her bare feet. She shrugged the huge jersey on over her naked body. Shuffling to the couch, she laid down in a fetal position, hugging the football tight to her chest as her tears continued to flow silently.