The Predictable Heartbreaks of Imogen Finch by Jacqueline Firkins

Author:Jacqueline Firkins
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group

HEARTBREAK #9

Lance Tipsword was the last guy I dated before moving back to Pitt’s Corner. Given his name, I anticipated he’d either have a big dick he’d wield like a jousting weapon or he’d be a fan of Renaissance festivals. Lance, sadly, fit neither description. But he was fun, and at that time in my life—with school nearing its end and a boatload of uncertainty about what came next, I was craving something joyous and mindless. Lance fit the bill.

We got together the old-fashioned way: by hooking up at a party. Despite it being a less than memorable night, I stayed over at his place, an apartment he appeared to be sharing with four other guys. The following morning, while nursing our hangovers at a nearby coffee shop, Lance confessed that he was only in town for a week, visiting one of the guys I assumed was his roommate while “taking a break” from his studies somewhere in Utah. The name of the school didn’t stick with me. He might’ve invented it.

I assured him I’d gone home with him with no expectations (other than my misguided assumption that he’d be hung like a piece of medieval weaponry).

Lance took a different point of view.

“I really like you,” he assured me. “Shouldn’t we at least give this a chance?”

I wasn’t sure what “this” was, but I was flattered by his enthusiasm and I figured, why not? Might as well give it a week and see what happened.

We spent a lot of time together that week, and doing things I hadn’t done with anyone else. We ran around town gluing googly eyes to objects that looked like they were faces. We took a free swing dance class in a park. We joined a flash mob. We got stoned at the observatory, where we also ate way too many fun-size Milky Way bars, a snack choice that made us giggle like idiots, given our view of the cosmos.

I drove him to the airport at the end of his visit, stepping out onto the curb to hug and kiss him goodbye. By then, despite our lackluster physical connection, and despite some natural skepticism regarding our long-term future, I found myself sad to see him go.

“I’ll text you every day,” he said while squeezing me in a tight embrace. “We’ll video chat. Plan another visit. Stay connected. Figure it out.”

“It’s okay if you end up wanting to date other people,” I said.

He drew back, brow furrowed. “Why would I want to do that?”

“Distance is hard. And we’ve only been together for a week.”

“But it’s been a great fucking week.” He grinned at me then, and I grinned back. I couldn’t help myself. He was so sure he wanted a relationship with me. He was willing to work to make that happen. He had no doubts. That kind of certainty was intoxicating.

For the next two months, we did stay connected. Video calls. Emails. Lots of texting. Phone sex. A visit planned for my graduation. I kept thinking, he can’t really be this serious.

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