The Opposite of Purple

Chapter One

It's not you, Jules... it's me. I mean, I love you— I'm just not IN love with you anymore. I'm sorry. It isn't fair to either of us to keep this thing going. You deserve better. You deserve someone who will genuinely appreciate you.

I play the voicemail again, and just like all the other times, I count four "Are you fucking kidding me?" platitudes.

1. It's not you; it's me. (Damn right, it's you.)

2. I love you; I'm just not IN love with you. (What does that even mean, anyway?)

3. It isn't fair to either of us. (Stop pretending you care about my feelings, douchebag.)

4. You deserve better. (Really? I mean... REALLY????)

"You're doing it again, aren't you?" Bex says, returning from the bathroom and collapsing on the other end of the couch.

I fling my phone into the cushions beside me. "NO! I mean, doing what?"

"You're listening to Dandroid's voicemail again, right?"

I don't answer.

"Seriously, Julia. You HAVE to stop doing that."

I still don't answer.

Bex places her plate of half-eaten Chinese food on the coffee table in front of us, and I nudge Kevin, my boisterous Labradoodle out of the way. "That voicemail is what? Five months old now?"

Six months, one week, and two days, but who's counting?

Bex holds out her hand, palm up. "Come on. Give it to me."

"Excuse me?"

She rolls her eyes. "Your phone? Give it to me."

Instinctively, I snatch my phone from between the cushions and clutch it close to my heart. "What? No!"

"You need to delete that voicemail, Jules. It's not healthy."

"I just..." I stammer. "I keep it to remind myself of what an asshole Dan is. You know, in case I'm tempted to backslide and..."

"You need to be reminded?"

"Well, I—

"Dandroid is the proverbial poster boy for asshole-dom, Jules. Like, if an alien teleported to our planet and picked up a dictionary, wanting to know the definition of ASSHOLE, they'd see a picture of Dandroid right underneath."

Dandroid. Bex had always called Dan that because she claimed he was robotic, emotionally crippled, and stunted. I always argued that he was on the spectrum, and then she would tell me I was making excuses for his behaviour. In hindsight, she was probably right.

"And anyway," Bex continues, "he's seeing someone else now. That willowy thing with the diamond nose stud and the Elvis tatt. She's named after some herb, right? Parsley or Cilantro or something."

"Sage," I say acidly. I reach for my fork and the almost empty carton of almond chicken. It's cold, but I eat it, carefully avoiding Kevin's pleading eyes. "Who gets a fucking Elvis tattoo, anyway?" I snort.

"I know, right?" Bex chuckles. "What is she, seventy-five years old?"

"Twenty-four, actually," I say, seething. I mean, at 32, I'm not exactly over the hill, but still... getting dumped for a fresh-out-of-college girl called Sage with a diamond nose stud still stung.

"She's so young!" Bex says, and I wish she'd just shut up.

"Anyway," she continues, NOT shutting up. "My point is this: that ship has sailed, Jules. And you need to get back on the horse."

"I'm not really a fan of equestrian activities," I say.

"Figuratively speaking, obvi!" Bex says. "And I know just the horse."

"Oh, God." I push the carton of chicken away and drop my face into my hands. "Please stop, Bex."

"No. Seriously. He just started working in my building last month on the 5th floor. He's some financial analyst or something. I've had coffee with him twice, and he's super cool."

I look at Bex as though she's grown a second head. "My finances are abysmal, Bex, so hanging out with a financial analyst would be kind of like shutting the barn door after the horse has bolted, you know?"

Bex looks pensive for a moment and says, "I wonder what's with all these horse metaphors?"

"Can we just change the subject?" I plead. "Because I don't want to date a financial analyst who works in your building."

"Are you sure? He's pretty cute. Not in a Tom Hardy way, though. He's got more of a Jake Gyllenhaal vibe going on."

"Wait. That's the guy who ditched Taylor Swift and broke her heart, right? Didn't she make a film about it not too long ago?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"So, maybe not a great fit for me."

Bex sighs and shakes her fist in the air. "God, Jules! You're not even trying! Will you please agree to ONE date with Todd? I've told him all about you. I showed him your picture. He said he thought you were, and I quote, extremely attractive."

I almost choke on my chicken. "Wait. Seriously? His name is Todd?"

"Yes. Todd Munroe, I think."

"But that's a terrible name."

"Why? It's no worse than Dandroid."

"It IS. Guys called "Todd" live in their mother's basements and still have Star Wars posters on their bedroom walls."

Bex sits up a little straighter and stares me straight in the eye. "You know something? You're beyond hope, Julia. You don't even want to try to get better."

I don't say a word. Instead, I reach for the remote and turn on the TV. It bursts to life as a herd of wild mustangs gallop in slow motion up a grassy slope, manes and tails flying.

A moment later, a Winston Churchill quote rolls across the screen:

"No hour of life is wasted that is spent in the saddle."

Bex nudges me in the ribs with her elbow. "See? Horses, again. It's a sign."