“Hazel, why did you give me a forty-count box of condoms?”
“If you’re going to have sex, I want you to be safe. That’s what the sticky note on the box says.”
“First of all, even if I was going to have sex, I won’t be doing it with an army of?—”
“You never know.”
“Also, I don’t know how I feel about having sex with some stranger on what is supposed to be my?—”
“Yes, your honeymoon, blah blah blah. A vacation fling with some himbo who has muscles for days is the ideal way to getback out there. Let some hottie throw you around a bit…you might feel differently about dating when you get back. Or at least after letting someone give you a decent orgasm.”
“Todd—”
“Don’t even. That jar of mayonnaise couldn’t find his way to a pleasure zone if someone mapped it out for him. Get some head and then we’ll talk.”
I involuntarily snort-laugh. Todd was…a tidy lover. There wasn’t a lot of foreplay. I don’t miss the sex, that’s for sure. I put Hazel on speakerphone and set my phone on the bed to talk to her while I change into my favorite red bikini.
“Okay, fine, but what about the stranger thing? I listen to true crime podcasts—this is how women get kidnapped,” I say.
“Get a name and Winnie will run a background check on him.”
Winnie is a lawyer, and probablywouldrun a background check if I asked.
“Look, I’m sure there are some bachelor parties at an all-inclusive. Just slide up to someone at a bar, exchange a few flirty words, and get your business on. If you’re open to it, the universe might send you the ride of your life.”
I can hear her winking through the phone.
While she’s talking, there’s a buzz—someone is texting me.
“Ride of my life, yeah yeah. Are you texting me something?” I ask.
“No? It’s probably your parents checking in on you.”
I tilt the phone toward me, but it’s not my parents.
It’s Todd.
T: Did you send that box???
Shit.
“Who is it?” Hazel asks.
“Todd.”
“What the fuck does he want?”
After I moved out of the apartment Todd and I shared, I lived with my parents for a couple of months. I didn’t touch any boxes, nothing outside of what was in my suitcase. I moved into my own place in March, the same month I was supposed to be getting married. It’s taken me a while to fully unpack, and earlier this month, I realized that a box I thought was mine is actually his.
He asked me to mail it to him, said he couldn’t come get it and didn’t want me to come by to drop it off. But the last few weeks have been insane, and I never got around to it.
“The box,” I say, and Hazel groans. She knows about the box.
“Not this stupid box.”
“You don’t think you could…”
“Absolutely not, Abby. And that’s not because I won’t do anything for you; it’s because this is too generous a favor for a man who unceremoniously dumped you. This is too much for someone who did nothing for you but broke your heart.”
