Cheating on Myself by Erin Downing Page B

and ran his hand through his hair. He and I were both getting ready to go out—he was meeting some girl who had come into the office for a massage earlier that week. Despite all his apparent expertise with Internet dating, Anders refused to go out with anyone he met online. He said the women he met online were often stupid. I countered with the fact that maybe he just attracted that type, and he had slugged me. “You haven’t called him, have you?”
    “No. But why hasn’t he called me? Doesn’t he miss me?” I knew he did—both Laurel and Cat had told me so. But without Erik actually calling and begging me to come back, I seriously questioned his misery and loneliness. I wanted him to grovel. I wanted him to beg. I wanted him to tell me his life was miserable without me, and that he was a shriveled piece of shit without someone as wonderful as me in his life. He hadn’t even called to tell me I’d forgotten a pair of socks at his house—and at this point, I’d be happy with that. Without any of those things, I wondered if we’d wasted more years than I thought we had together.
    Anders sighed and flopped down on my bed. “I’m sure he misses you. But he’s a stubborn ass, and doesn’t want to admit how much he needed you.”
    “You’re just saying that.”
    “Yeah.” Anders nodded and took a swig of his beer. He flashed his adorable gap-toothed smile at me and I rolled my eyes. “You know I’m not an Erik fan,” he said, only slightly apologetically. “I’m not going to give the guy the benefit of the doubt and assume he’s sitting at home, full of regrets.”
    “You don’t think he’s dating, do you?” I said, terrified my ex was kissing some other woman. What if he had fallen for a spontaneous vixen who had taught him all about sexiness and living for the moment? What if Erik had learned how to have fun without me? “Oh god, what if he’s happy ?” I sobbed, just a little.
    “You’re actively getting ready for a date. Need I remind you that you’ve moved on?”
    “That doesn’t mean I want him to be seeing other women. There’s an appropriate amount of time one is supposed to wait before starting to date again.”
    “Apparently there’s a different standard for men and women?” Anders finished off his beer and placed the bottle on my bedside table. I shot him a look and he folded up a tissue to use as a coaster. “Why do you get to start dating after two weeks, and he has to wait—what, a year?”
    “That would be best.” I stepped into my closet to slip out of my robe and into the wrap dress I’d bought for that night. “The thing is, I was the dumper. That means I am supposed to get over him faster than he’s supposed to get over me. I had the weeks of build-up leading to the split, but he should still be processing.”
    “That is completely unfair.” Anders gave me a look that was probably supposed to mean something, but I looked away so I could ignore it. “You don’t think Erik had any sense that a breakup was imminent? Seven weeks without sex was so normal he didn’t suspect something was wrong?”
    “Let’s not talk about sex,” I said. “It’s irrelevant.”
    “I disagree. A multi-week dry spell is very relevant.”
    “Not for us.”
    “Are you serious?” Anders sat up, obviously alarmed. “Was he just bad in bed or something?”
    “No, he was fine.”
    “Fine?” Now my roommate looked like he was going to be sick.
    “That’s not the kind of couple we were. We were very deliberate and predictable in our sex life,” I said, holding up two pair of shoes I was debating between.
    Anders pointed at the black Aerosoles heels. “Go with those. But honestly, they’re both ugly. Get Lily to take you shopping at lunch. You have too many ‘sensible’ things in your closet.”
    I sat down on the edge of bed. “Sensible shoes, sensible boyfriend, sensible sex. It’s the story of my life.”
    “All things that are fixable,” he said. He sounded