Ellie: Bennett, what the hell is going on?
Ellie: Are you serious right now?
Ellie: Please pick up. Or call me back.
Ellie: I can’t believe you’re actually doing this.
Today is my eighteenth birthday, and I haven’t heard from my boyfriendonce. He knows how much today means to me.
This would be the second birthday of mine that we spent together, but something tells me that’s not going to happen. I don’t know where he could possibly be.
What I do know is that things between us have changed recently. He’s been distant, flaky, and seems disinterested in anything I have to say. The number of times I’ve heard, “Sorry, what? I didn’t hear any of that” recently is making me lose my mind. I can’t remember the last time we went on a real date. I actually can’t even remember the last time we kissed.
I met Bennett at a book store right after the start of junior year. It felt like something out of a movie–I was browsing the fantasy section, when I looked up and saw someone who looked like he could be in an Abercrombie ad.
Bennett is the opposite of who I usually find attractive–I’m typically into boys with darker features who look a little rough around the edges.
Boys like Griffin Hart.
I shake my head, determinedly ignoring that thought.
Bennett was tall and blonde, with blue eyes like the Texas sky, and he was nothing like I’d ever seen before.
He was wearing slacks and a white polo, with expensive looking shoes and the type of fancy watch my mom got my dad for his fiftieth birthday. He looked like he had eithercome straight from a business meeting or the country club. Either way, my interest was piqued.
He must have felt me gawking at him, because he made direct eye contact with me from across the store. I smiled, embarrassed that I got caught, before quickly turning my gaze back to the shelf. A hand reached over my shoulder to grab the book I had been looking at, and when I turned around, I was face to face with Mr. Abercrombie.
“This one’s my favorite,” he said with a grin. “Have you read it?”
From there, we talked for hours about books, and he even bought me coffee at the bookstore café. It felt like a meet-cute from a Meg Ryan movie, and I went home with his phone number and the biggest butterflies in my stomach. We haven’t gone a day without talking since then.
Full disclosure–he’s twenty one. I didn’t know he was that much older than me when we met, and I certainly didn’t know that when I gave him my number. And yes, I’ve heard all the things they say about dating older men as a teenager.
And now that this is happening, I’ve officially become a cliché.
I was so flattered that an older guy was into me that I didn’t stop to considerwhyan older guy would be interested in a teenage girl in the first place.
Since that first meeting, everything has been wonderful. He’s a perfect gentleman, and incredibly thoughtful. They were leery at first, but once my parents got over the shock of the age gap, they were enthralled with Bennett Campbell.
The day after we met, he brought flowers to my house unannounced. I had never seriously dated anyone before, and this man was sweeping me off my feet. Since then, he’s made it a point to bring me flowers at least once a week, even if they are asters and impatiens. He has the worst memory for detail, and can never remember that it’s irises I love.
He calls me every night to say, “I love you honey, sweet dreams.” The first time he called me honey romantically, I nearly spit my drink out. It’s a name I had to get used to, since my grandfather has called me honey my whole life, but I’ve learned to find it truly very endearing.
Most importantly, last year he worked really hard to curate a perfect birthday for me from start to finish. Like I suspected, he did end up throwing me a huge surprise party. It was a little overwhelming at first, but the gesture was so thoughtful that I pushed past my discomfort to make sure I didn’t hurt his feelings after all the effort he put into planning.
Well, he used to do those things,I think to myself bitterly. He hasn’t brought me flowers in months, and those sweet late night phone calls have turned into a simple “Night.” text sent before 9 pm, letting me know he’s done texting me for the day.
Maybe those things have never actually been sweet. Maybe he does things he feels are expected of him. Or does things to give himself the upper hand. Maybe he’s never really understood or cared about me at all.
Finally, just as I’m walking out of Larkspur High for the day, my phone starts ringing. Bennett’s name and a picture from our one-year anniversary flashes on the screen.
I answer the call, but before I can even say hello, he barks out, “I’m in Houston for the week. Stop blowing up my phone. We can talk when I get back.”
Then he hangs up. I feel my jaw drop, and tears prick my eyes almost immediately. This is the Bennett I’ve been getting lately–a Bennett that’s short, impatient, and downright mean to me.
I’ve been dreading this for weeks, but this is it. This is the moment I recognize it’s over for me. And has been for a while.
I realize I’ve been staring at my phone for a solid minute, and my hands shake with anger as I tuck it away into my bag. Walking to my car, I decide to myself that we’re over.
