I awoke alone. The love of my life had gotten up early probably already in the living room ravishing the invitation design website. One thing I never knew about planning a wedding was that it took over a week to pick a bloody font. I’d suggested an actual blood font but was silenced with a glare. I got up, showered and threw on some sweats. I didn’t have to go back to the hospital for 8 more days. That alone was worth celebrating. As I picked out a purple t-shirt I couldn’t help, but glance at the scar on my abdomen. If I’d done the surgery it would’ve faded by now, but my anger never would.

I smiled. I didn’t have to think about them anymore. So, I decided on some music. I was in the mood for something mellow, so I went with Second Coming and wandered to the kitchen.

As I suspected the love of my life was sitting on the couch though the laptop screen showed flower designs, so maybe she’d finished the education. She was short, slender, almond skin, and raven hair. She was my third proper attempt at romance and the third time is the charm.

“Tommy, what do you think of yellow roses?”

“I think I want waffles. I take it the invitations are done.”

“Yeah, want to finalize the guestlists though. Do you have your parents’ address? Or do I need to text your mom.”

I had my hand outstretched for the pancake mix when I heard the impossible, “Ara ... repeat what you just said.”

“Don’t take that tone with me.”

“Ara, give me your phone! Now!”

“You never yell, what the fuck is wrong?”

“Phone.”

She grabbed at it on the coffee table and held it out to me. I opened it and started searching through the text messages, finding to my horror she had been texting my mother. “Pack a bag.”

“Are we going on a trip?”

“You are.”

I screencapped the text convo from the last three months and texted them to my own phone before I set hers in front of her and picked up mine. I pulled up my contacts and set up a three-way call between my Lawyer and the pi firm I’d come to use due to their efficiency and lack of scruples. Eventually both parties answered and after a brief greeting, I gave instructions, “My mother has been in contact with my ex-fiancé for at least three months. I need a cease-and-desist letter for her and I’ll need a deep dive on every one in my orbit.” Eventually they gave me a turnaround time of six days. And I noticed Ara was still on my couch, “Why are you still here?”

“Ex? You’re calling off the wedding cause your mom texted me? I know you said you don’t talk, but what could be that bad?”

“I don’t owe you my trauma. You’ve got an hour. Pack a bag and decide whether you want me to call your mother to come pick you up or if you want to go to a hotel. The first night is on me, you’re on your own after that. Your dad can call me to make arrangements to pack and pick up the rest of your shit.”

“You’re really breaking up with me.”

“I gave you three rules when we agreed to be monogamous. No infidelity. No contact with my family and you don’t ask questions about them. Three rules. You violated one of them. You’re done. We’re done. I’m going to go get some breakfast. Be gone when I get back or I’ll call the cops.”

I moved back to the bedroom and got properly dressed. She followed and uttered a quick, “You can’t be serious?”

“I’m always serious. It’s over. I’m going to get breakfast. Be gone when I come back. Make a list of your property and I’ll some professionals pack it up and your dad can come and get it.”

“Please?!? Can’t we go to counseling? Can’t you give me a second chance?”

“No, you blew the first chance to badly for that.”

I moved past her and I heard her start to cry as I headed outside to my car. A cherry red mustang may make me a cliché, but it was nice to have. I hopped in and headed towards the local Denny’s calling my bank en route to shut off the emergency only debit card I’d given to my now ex-fiance.

I parked, entered, and was seated. I’d slam would substitute for the waffles I’d craved. I sent out a group text to the wedding party and her family stating that the wedding was off and the relationship was over due to a boundary violation. After the waitress brought my food I called her father.

It rang twice and then, “You can’t be serious.”

“Yes, Charlie I am. You should come by my house and pick her up. I’ll make arrangements for the rest of her stuff soon and you can pick it up.”

“What the hell is a boundary violation?”

“When we started to become serious I gave her three things that would be an automatic relationship ender. She’s broken two of them.”

“Did she cheat?”

“Worse. For the record I’m sorry. I really thought things were going to work out.”

“Okay ... I’ll come get her ... can you at least talk to her in a few days.”

“I doubt it, but after you’ve gotten her stuff, we’ll see how I feel. Bye.”

I ended the call. It was a shame cause I’d liked him.

I tucked into my eggs when my phone rang out,” She keeps her Moët et Chandon In her pretty cabinet “Let them eat cake,” she says Just like Marie Antoinette A built-in remedy” and I answered, “Not in the mood, Jen.”

“Considering you tanked a three year relationship 4 months away from a wedding your best friend is exactly what you need. Dibs on your bacon btw.”

“Where are you?”

“Look up.”

I looked up and saw my best friend. Jen was tall and a bit plump, mocha colored skin and a buzz cut. I’d known her since my first year of residency, she stuck to neurology while I dealt with surgery and the occasional er rotation. I trusted her or I would have any other day, today I wasn’t sure I trusted anyone. I’d had a crush on her early on, but after four exes and not a single y chromosome I figured I wasn’t in her ballpark and by then I’d met Ara anyway.

She pranced over and plopped down opposite me. I flagged down the waitress for her to order and to add an extra order of bacon to mine.

“So, what did she do?”

“Not aiming to be the subject of break room gossip.”

“I’m your friend, practically your only one and I’m supposed to offer you a shoulder to cry on.”

“More into punching than tears. She did two of the three things I find unforgivable in a relationship.”

“So cheating, contacting your family, or asking about them? What did they do to you? Did you ever tell her? Who am I kidding you never told me.”

“I don’t owe either one of you my trauma.”

“Have you talked about it with anyone?”

“No.”

“You should. Doesn’t have to be me, maybe a professional.”

“I’m not really equipped for therapy.”

“Then tell me. At least that way I’ll know how much to stress that’s a dealbreaker to the next one that works past your walls.”

“Probably go back to hook ups. No complications that way.”

“Till one of them gets attached.”

“No repeats, ladies and gentleman, please exit the condo before the coffee is made. No refunds or parking validation is offered.”

“Tell me. You need to talk about it. And I’ve literally known you for years.”

“Come to my place in a week. If my pi gives you a clean bill of health I talk.”

“You’re having me looked into?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time. And I’m having everyone done. Need to make sure the infection doesn’t spread.”

She changed the subject and we ate. Eventually I left and returned home. Thankfully Ara was gone. I made a few more phone calls cancelling various things I’d booked for the wedding and getting refunds where I could.

A text from my lawyer indicated that contacting Ara didn’t violate the terms of my agreement with my family which is a shame cause I was more than willing to go nuclear and send their dirty laundry to every news site I could.

The next day I had the locks changed, changed all my passwords, and the security code for the alarm.

Two days later I received Ara’s list. I paid extra to get a moving company in and her stuff packed up that day. Some of the furniture she wanted was mine, but I really didn’t care at this point. I could always order more.

Four days after that I had the reports. Ara had been in contact with my mother for almost a year, starting a few days after I proposed. No money had changed hands, she was just dumb and believed her bullshit. Only one other person in my immediate circle had contact and that was a resident that had assisted on a few procedures who had twice tried to give me coffee. Luckily, I learned my lesson about that. He’d gotten 50 grand for something. I’d have to pull some strings and make sure he was kept away from anything I worked on.

Jen showed up at about 15 after seven. She’d tried her key before banging on the door. She was carrying a large bag of Chinese food. We set up in the living room and spread out the feast. “So do you want the quick version or the whole thing?”

She smiled, ‘Oh, I’ll take it all.”

“My father was a plastic surgeon, a popular one. At his height he had franchised his practice into 27 different locations. He made about 20 million a year. He married my mother who was a drug rep and 10 years younger than him. A year after they got married, she got pregnant, but while they wanted one kid, they had two, My twin brother Michael and me. I knew my whole life that Michael was the favorite. Don’t get me wrong, I was never neglected. I had food, toys, video games, an allowance, and they had people come in to do what would’ve been our chores, but they definitely liked him more.

He’d get more and better presents. If we went out to a restaurant it would be whatever Michael wanted. Our birthday parties were all at places he liked. The cakes and decorations always had his name. I never held any ill will towards my brother, at least not till he earned it later. He hated me though I didn’t know it at the time.

We did make a deal where we wouldn’t do what the other was. If he played baseball, I wouldn’t that way we’d have our own identities. So, he did Baseball, Basketball, and track and field. I did cheerleading, tennis, and karate. The favoritism continued. My mother made all of his games, if my father showed up it would be one of his events.”