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Top Seven Signs It’s Over
If a man ever tells you that he just decided to break up with you “today,” know that it’s a lie. Breakups are like bread—they take time to rise to completion. Whether it’s a divorce or the conclusion of a college cohabitation, the dissolution of a romance is a process—one that, unfortunately, the other party often isn’t privy to. While you may not know your significant other is trying to flee the coop, there are some signs to look out for before you come home to find the locks changed, the dog missing, and an envelope from the courthouse on the steps.
7. He wants space: If he asks for an open relationship, he already has one. If he asks for space, he needs it to put someone else in it. Translation: “I want you out of my space.”
6. You’re getting two-word answers: If you suspect something’s up and he says, “I’m fine” or “It’s cool” without trying to make a change, pack your bags. Translation: “I’m fine…but you’re not!”
5. He’s very busy: If he’s not President Obama, he has time to see you. He can sleep over or meet you for a twenty-minute cup of coffee next to his job. Translation: “I’m too busy for you because I’m looking for a new place.”
4. She’s just a good friend: And so were you! If she’s calling and he’s running out, pack your bags and get out of there. Translation: “She’s just a friend now….”
3. He’s too tired for sex: Sometimes it’s true—but most times it’s not. If he doesn’t want to get it on, it’s because he doesn’t want to handle the sexual baggage when he finally gets the courage to say, “It’s over!” Translation: “I don’t want to have sex…with you. But maybe you could call the girl from tip 4….”
2. He doesn’t want to go: If you don’t see his friends, family, or coworkers anymore, there’s a reason. Now they’re collateral damage. He doesn’t want to hurt them when he hurts you. Translation: “I’m not going, because I don’t want you to be with me!”
1. He says, “It’s over!”: While this is a no-brainer, it’s surprising how many women stick around after a man says she shouldn’t. Refer to point 16 of the BAP Declaration of Independence—Pack light and never stay where you aren’t wanted. You can’t change him. Translation: “No, like, for real…It’s over! I’m calling the police!”
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After seven days of the silent treatment from her husband, Tasha and seven boxes of her most prized possessions were busy building a new relationship in an old home. Wrapped in anger at everything, Tasha spent most of her time cursing Lionel for not seeing the big picture and convincing herself that one day he would see it and come crawling back to her, a baby girl on either hip as he smiled and remembered the life they used to have in this place.
Did she miss her children? Of course she did. So much so that she dreamed of being with them and when she woke up, she wasn’t ever really sure which part of her life was the dream. And she was partially sad when she realized which one was. But she kept telling herself that in order to have them with her forever the way she wanted to, she had to lose them for a little while. It was a part of her plan. Lionel’s season was over and he was with them full time, alone, day in and day out. He’d never had them alone like that. Didn’t know about the night feedings and fussy naptimes. How Toni would spontaneously faint if she couldn’t get gum in the checkout line at the supermarket and Tiara would send vomit shooting across the room like a projectile missile if he overfed her just one ounce of milk. And once he was tired of playing Daddy Dearest, he’d realize he couldn’t have the family he wanted without the wife he’d walked away from. And she was in New York.
But there was another side too. The side of free mornings, manicures that lasted more than two days, listening to music as loud as she pleased, and planning to do whatever she wanted.
Sipping on martinis at Lelabar with Lynn, Tasha thought of how chic and young and alive she must look to people walking by. Her hair in a bun and cocked to the side of the back of her head, she had on couture jeans and a cozy cowl-neck sweater. It was understated and cool. She didn’t look like she was trying to belong. She just did.
As promised, Lynn had invited her out to talk about the idea of them joining forces and starting their own marketing team after she built up her contacts working with the Knicks. Tasha was so excited to have an “in” in the industry. The way artist management and PR went in entertainment, once you were out, you became a dinosaur no one wanted to touch. It didn’t matter what you knew or who you knew, leaving was a sign of defeat and no one wanted to work with the defeated. While she didn’t know why Lynn was so interested in working with her, Tasha’s ego wanted to believe it was based on the small reputation she’d made working with Lionel. And really she didn’t have time to think about that anyway. She had to work the opportunity. She had to see what ideas Lynn had. What she wanted to do. What they could do together. But so far, they’d had two martinis and tapas and all Lynn had talked about was other people.
“Can you believe that? That Mr. ‘Put It Down on Me’ got both of those girls pregnant at the same time? Senator Long’s daughter and that actress?” Lynn said and Tasha
realized she hadn’t been listening to anything she was saying. “Now, Long won’t admit the guy’s the father, but I pledged with his daughter’s best friend and she said it’s true. They had pictures of him with the baby up on Facebook!” Lynn was oozing with excitement, her eyes sparkled beneath Lelabar’s dim light. Tasha could tell that she was the kind of person who loved to know things and share them with other people. A gossip. Not any kind of gossip—a black gossip—a bossip who gathered bits and pieces about every who’s who in the black “in” crowd and spread it up and down the coast. “God, these men are a trip. If you want to get your freak on, just let your lady know. Maybe they could’ve shared him.”
“Maybe they could’ve killed him.”
“You’re crazy!” Lynn giggled. “Things aren’t that dramatic anymore.”
“Dramatic? He got them both pregnant! He deserves to get his ass cut!” Tasha said.
Lynn nearly choked on her drink.
“Natasha—”
“Tasha.”
“Sorry. Tasha. If you’re serious about working with these people you have to know that things have changed. It’s not…2000 anymore.”
“2000? You make it sound like that was a century ago.”
“It kind of was,” Lynn said, pretending to pout. “Think about it. I was in junior high school in 2000…and so were the guys we want to represent. The ballplayers, the rappers, the R&B thugs…Hell, the ones that are just signing to the pros were hardly out of elementary school.”
“So what are you saying? I’m old?” Tasha said, cocking her head to the side and looking at Lynn squarely.
“Not old…just not up to speed on how we’ve…how black people…have grown,” Lynn said. “Look, like…you all used to vacation in Hilton Head…Martha’s Vineyard…right?”
Tasha nodded.
“We’re in South Beach now. We’re not buying mansions in the Hamptons anymore. That’s been done. We’re buying yachts. We’re spending the summers in South Africa, working from our laptops—if we’re working at all.”
