Page 11 of Clinically Awkward

“I just...” Colton’s charm was starting to crack around the edges. I could see him scrambling for an excuse, any excuse, that would get him out of this. “Babe, come on. You know how I get when I’m working out. I just zone out and⁠—”

“And forget your girlfriend exists?”

“That’s not fair.”

“Fair?” I picked up the dumbbell. Colton exhaled in relief. I held it over his crotch. He stopped exhaling. “You want to talk about fair? Let’s talk about fair, Colton. Is it fair that I rearrange my schedule to make time for you? Is it fair that I sit alone in restaurants while you’re here taking selfies? Is it fair that every time I try to talk to you about this, you smile and apologize and promise to do better, and then you do the exact same thing two weeks later?”

“Viv, I promise, this time⁠—”

“This time, what?” I asked. “This time you’ll actually remember? This time you’ll actually prioritize our relationship over your biceps?”

“That’s not... I do prioritize⁠—”

“Your last three Instagram posts were gym selfies, Colton. Your last text to me was ‘rain check.’ When was the last time you asked me about my day? My work? Anything that wasn’t directly related to you and your workout schedule?”

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

“That’s what I thought,” I said.

“Babe, come on.” And there it was—the smile. The charming, disarming, “I’m-so-sorry-please-forgive-me” smile that had worked on me so many times before. “You know I care about you. I just got distracted. It won’t happen again.”

“You said that last time.”

“I mean it this time.”

“You said that last time too.”

“Viv.” He tried to sit up again, moving slowly, carefully, keeping one eye on the dumbbell in my hand. “Come on. Don’t be like this. You know I love you.”

“Do I?” I asked. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you love your reflection more than you love me.”

“That’s not true.”

“You have a gym selfie as your phone background.”

“That’s—” He paused. “Okay, that’s a really good photo.”

“It’s a photo of you flexing in a mirror.”

“A really good photo of me flexing in a mirror,” he corrected, and then seemed to realize that wasn’t helping his case. “But that doesn’t mean—look, I’ll change it. I’ll put a picture of us. Would that make you happy?”

“What would make me happy,” I said slowly, “is a boyfriend who actually shows up when he says he will. A boyfriend who remembers that I exist when I’m not standing directly in front of him. A boyfriend who values my time as much as he values his gym schedule.”

“I do value your time.”

“Prove it.”

“How?”

“Stop standing me up,” I said. “Stop forgetting our plans. Stop treating me like I’m an optional part of your life that you can just reschedule whenever something more interesting comes along.”

“You’re not optional⁠—”

“Then act like it,” I said. “Because right now? Right now, I’m starting to think my coworker was right.”

“Your coworker?” Colton frowned. “Which coworker?”

“The one who thinks dating is a trap and everyone should just stay single forever.”