My phone was down to 1% battery when I saw a post from his cycling friend, Jane. It was a selfie of her and Max, all smiles, making hand signs together.
[Someone ditched meeting his parents just to make my winter cycling dream come true. Guess who’s getting punished tonight!]
Ditched the meeting?
Max said he’d postpone meeting his parents, but did he even bother telling me?
I cut off my hair to please him, to impress his parents. But he abandoned me, on what was supposed to be an important day.
Then my phone buzzed.
It was Max, probably remembering me at last.
"Where are you?" he said casually, "Oh, forgot about meeting the parents, right? Perfect timing—Jane and I are cycling at Quentin Lake. We’ll meet them some other day."
There was no apology, no remorse—just a statement, as if he were merely informing me of a change in plans.
Quentin Lake, of course.
How could Max leave Jane for me?
Max and I had been college sweethearts, dating on and off for six years. We were so close to marriage, yet here I was, abandoned again, as if the universe was playing a cruel joke on me.