Idiot and I had been going out for about six months.
Three months earlier, we had suffered through a conversation (and subsequent hell-raising argument) about the fact that his ex-girlfriend was expecting his baby.
That bit of our relationship had been smoothed over by a sob-story about how he didn’t want to be like his own pathetic excuse for a father, which ultimately ended up with me not only standing by him, but actively encouraging him to be involved with the pregnancy and his hag of an ex-girlfriend.
We were lying in bed one morning, at the six-month-ish point of our relationship, when he turned to me and said, “Oh, by the way, I’ve asked my hag of an ex-girlfriend to move in with me.”
Only he didn’t call her a hag. He used her name. SAME DIFFERENCE, IF YOU ASK ME.
“But don’t worry.” He continued. “She won’t be moving in ‘til the baby’s a few months old.”
Now, I don’t exactly remember what happened next, because the mother of all red mists descended upon me. But, basically, I think I got upset.
“Well,” I concluded, when the red mist had started to fade, “We’ve got three or four months left of this relationship, so enjoy it while you can.”
Because I knew, you see, that once she’d moved in, that was it for me. I would no longer be the centre of his universe. He wouldn’t be the weekend dad that I’d sort of almost convinced myself I was ok with. He’d be a proper dad. And they’d be a family. And I’d be the girlfriend he occasionally made time for.
The next few weeks were filled entirely with arguments. I cried my pathetic little eyes out. We used to spend four or five hours on the phone EVERY SINGLE DAY, just running over different scenarios – him offering a million different compromises to keep me around. I was determined that, once she moved in, that was it for us.
But I still loved him.
Sometimes I wanted to hear everything about the baby – I tried to convince myself that I could support him when it came down to it – but as soon as he said his ex-girlfriend’s name, I felt sick. That wasn’t going to work.
We tried not telling me anything. That also worked for a bit. Turns out though, that when I am left to my own devices, I will make up stuff to be upset about.
A couple of months later, I gave up.
The baby had been born – which, by the way, he neglected to mention until the thing was ten days old – and I realised I couldn’t win. There was no way for me to win. Not without him hating me, anyway. I deleted his number, I turned off my phone and I left it that way.
Two days later, things started arriving. Flowers, at first. Then shoes. A purse. And, finally, a diamond necklace.
As you know, we were together for two years, all told.
A couple of months before we broke up, I found out that he was sleeping with his ex-girlfriend. They were engaged at the time, so I suppose she wasn’t really his ex at all.
Looking back, I could have avoided all that.
I blame that diamond a bit.