Philip Siegel - The Break-Up Artist

“Becca? What are you doing here?” Val asks.

I’m flanked by Monica and Isabelle, Ezra’s exes, the girls he suddenly decided to call it quits with one day.

“Mind if we join you?” I ask.

“Ezra’s parking. He’ll be here any minute.” She says it like a warning, but I know Ezra can’t hurt me. I’m not the one he’s hurting.

Val holds her purse in front of her, as if shielding herself from us. I’ve never seen her so rigid, so prepared for a fight. I summon my courage and move on. “I’m quitting the break-up business, almost.”

“Almost?”

“Before I retire, there’s one couple I want to try to break up. You and Ezra.”

“Goodbye, Becca,” Val says sternly, but underneath, I see the real Val—my best friend—trying to climb out.

“Hear her out,” Monica says. “Trust me. I wish I’d had a friend who’d done the same for me.”

“Listen,” Val says to me. “He told me what happened with you guys was a stupid mistake. He said his world wasn’t in the same vicinity—”

“—of complete because he couldn’t share it with you,” Isabelle says. “Yeah, that one’s from Jerry Maguire.”

“It’s all just one big movie for him. Until one day the movie ends and suddenly the lights come up,” Monica says. “Believe me. If you were given no warning, if everything seemed perfect until one day it was over, on to the next, you would’ve doused him in Diet Sprite, too.”

“Becca wanted us to warn you, Val.” Isabelle tries to put a comforting hand on her, but Val steps back.

She can’t do stone-faced for too long, though. Her face is on the verge of crumbling into tears. And now I feel like an even worse friend. She’s just trying to enjoy her evening. “I’m sorry, Val.”

“Why are you doing this?” she squeaks out.

“Because if you get on that boat with Ezra, you’re going to regret it. Maybe not today, or this week, but eventually, you’ll see that this isn’t it.”

“Isn’t what?”

“Love.”

Val dabs at a tear before she lets it fall. “Becca Williamson talking about love?”

“It must be the apocalypse,” I say. “It’s like handbags. You would never buy a knockoff. Even if nobody could tell the difference. You would only get the real thing.”

“Of course.”

“So why aren’t you holding out for the real thing?” I heave in and out. I feel like I’m fighting for my life, and in a way, I guess I am. “Because you deserve it.”

Val sits down, her face frozen in solemnity. For the first time in our friendship, I can’t read her expression.

I keep talking: “People always spout those ridiculous sayings about love. ‘You can’t control love’ or ‘they’re meant to be.’ I think that can also apply to friends.” I dab at my eyes, but that doesn’t stop the tears. “I don’t know why or how you became my best friend, but I can’t imagine anyone else in your place. And even if you never want to talk to me again, I want you to be happy above all.”

The splashing of the water against the dock fills our silence. I think about all the eight million times Val and I have cracked up over the most random things, and how I don’t want the last time we talk to be a downer like this.

“What’s going on?” Ezra stands behind us in a blazer and gelled hair. Yes, he’s still cute, objectively speaking. But there are lots of cute guys out there, and I have to hope that most of them aren’t scumbags.

“Hey there, ex-lover,” Monica says. “We were just having a chat with Val.”

“About handbags,” Isabelle says.

“If you’ll excuse us, ladies,” he says, voice cracking. I guess dumping girls via email leaves you ill-prepared for face-to-face confrontation. He takes Val’s hand. “We have a date.”

“Five minutes to departure! Last call for boarding!” a Starlight employee yells over a loudspeaker. Couples make their way aboard.

I gesture to the cruise ship, with Chinese lanterns strung around the deck and a pianist playing classical music in the main room. “It’s just dinner on a boat,” I say.

“It’s a great date for my girlfriend,” Ezra says. He spins Val to face him. “For the girl I love.”

“You love me?”

“I love you, Valerie Hurst.” He rubs her hand and smiles.

It’s hard not to swoon when a guy says that to you. I get a little light-headed, and it wasn’t even for me. When you hear those words, it’s like being picked out from the crowd. That was his secret weapon, and he fired it. So I can’t blame Val when she follows him onto the boat.

I have to sit down for a minute. Isabelle and Monica console me, which is nice but not at all helpful. My body feels hollow, and I recognize the hole in my heart. I’ve been ditched by my best friend. Again. Maybe this time I deserved it. I’m not just losing the person. I’m losing all our memories, this whole timeline. Memories are meant to be shared. And the worst part is—

“Hey.”

I look up slowly, because I know that voice.

Val stands in front of me.

“Val?” My eyes dart to the ship. Ezra runs to the back deck and waves his hands frantically.

“Val! Val, what are you doing?” he yells. He grabs a crew member and points out his girlfriend ashore, presumably to get them to return to the dock. They pull him into the dining room.

Isabelle records his meltdown on her phone. “Love it.”

I’m speechless. Val glances at the ship stoically. I’m reacting enough for the both of us. The ship gets smaller as it lunges farther into the Hudson.

“Are you hungry?” she asks me. I spot the beginnings of a trademark Val smile bubbling up on her face. “My dinner plans fell through.”

When we get back to town, I drive us over to the Queen Elizabeth Diner. I don’t know how it got its name since I doubt the queen has ever been to New Jersey. And I doubt she would eat anything on the menu. Cigarette dispensers and a revolving case of layer cakes greet us upon entrance. I’ll take it over Windows on the Water or a Starlight Cruise any day of the week.

Val scoots into a booth while I head to the bathroom. Pink tiles line the bathroom floor and walls. I check my makeup in the mirror, and I see Bari exit the stall behind me. I drop my Plumful lipstick into the pink sink.

She washes her hands in the neighboring sink, shooting me the look of death. “Don’t you have some lives to ruin?”

“Not anymore.” I try to out passive-aggressive her, but she’s good.

“Thanks to you, I’m having dinner with my parents on a Friday night.” She shakes off excess water. “I can’t believe this is my life now.”

“I’m sorry.” But when I think about, I’m not. Not anymore. I can’t keep letting myself be the bad guy.

“You want to know why I did it?” I ask. I don’t care who hears. I’ve had enough public scenes of humiliation that it’s become old hat. “I broke you guys up because I’ll never forget the look on Calista’s face when she came to me. She wasn’t angry. She was devastated.”

“Devastated?”

“You made her feel like she was nothing.”

Bari softens and unclenches herself. “I did?”

I use air quotes: “‘You just don’t understand because you’re single.’”

Bari’s stone-cold demeanor shrivels away.

“Sometimes, we take friends for granted,” I say.

Bari leans against the wall and sinks down into a squat. She rests her chin on her knee, just like Calista. I exhale quietly.

“Call her,” I tell Bari. “She misses her friend.”

“She does? She told you?”

“Yes.” What’s one more lie?

“I didn’t even like Derek that much. He was so pompous and controlling,” Bari says.

He wasn’t that into you either, I want to say.

“He’s not like Jay,” she says.

“Jay who?” I ask. I pick up my lipstick and reapply. (Don’t give me that look. It fell unopened into the sink, and I wiped off the tube.)

“Wolpert. He’s so hot. But I don’t think he likes me like that.”

Jay Wolpert... I rummage through my memory for some intel.

“Isn’t Jay a huge Nets fan?” He sat behind me in bio class sophomore year. All he would talk about was basketball. It was like having your own personal ESPN. What little I know about sports, I eavesdropped from him.

“Yeah, he’s big into sports.”

“I think the NBA play-offs are coming up. You should just chat him up about that.”

“I don’t know. I can’t just bring it up randomly.”

“Guys love when girls talk about sports. It’s like their fashion.”

“I can’t just walk up to him and start talking about point guards.” Bari stands and checks out her hair in the mirror. Half is blond, the bottom half, brunette. Her head is a duplex. “I really need to get this fixed.”

At least she knows it.

“He and his friends watch games at that bar and grill place the Hydrant. They always talked about it because the bartenders don’t card.” A plan forms in my head. Details sketch themselves out without trying. It’s habit, like people who can’t stop singing along to the radio. “They’ll probably watch the play-offs there.”

“So maybe I could watch the play-offs there, too?” Her face lights up with excitement, and I can’t believe this was the girl who wanted to give me a swirlie a minute ago.

“No, no, no. That’s too obvious. You need to build up to that. You need to bond with Jay about basketball first, then get him to invite you to watch with him.” I gaze at both of us in the mirror, unsure what I’m getting into, but enjoying it.

“You think you can help me out?” Bari asks.

“For a hundred dollars via PayPal I can.”

She shoots me a nasty look.