The Birthday Present Was My Evidence
What does it truly mean to be loved and elevated?
Someone in the comments offered a reply.
I can answer that. My admirer got close to me by becoming my best friend's boyfriend.
When we were in school, I needed money for a designer bag. As the class president, he secretly pulled my best friend's scholarship application and replaced it with mine. I got it, and that silly girl thought there was something wrong with her own application.
Later, when my best friend's acceptance for graduate school was posted, I whispered one word of dissatisfaction. He reported her directly, and she ended up having to test two more times to get in.
The blatant pride in her words, the smugness of being the favored one, instantly drew a tidal wave of outrage.
The post blew up. Instead of feeling shame, she doubled down, arrogantly showing off a picture of a pave-set diamond ring.
You can glare all you want. It wont matter. Today is my best friend's birthday. He gave me this diamond ring, and she got my hand-me-down.
In fact, all I have to do is say the word, and hell even postpone her birthday celebration.
My phone vibrated violently. A text from my boyfriend, Liam Cole.
Babe, a work emergency came up last minute. Im cashing in a Late Pass.
Your present is on the bedside table. Hope you love it.
I opened the box. Inside, resting on the velvet cushion, was a plain silver band. A simple, elegant circle.
On an impulse I couldn't explain, I took a picture and ran a reverse image search.
The first result was a jewelry registry page. Promotional Gift: Plain Silver Band. The search also pulled up a listing for the identical diamond ring from the social media post.
Scholarship. Grad school. Birthday. Diamond. Silver Band.
It hit me with a sickening, dizzying clarity. I was the "stupid friend," the "great fool" in that post.
1
Im excessive? How am I excessive?
If it weren't for our deep friendship, I would have made her boyfriend dump her ages ago.
I haven't broken them up to this day. Isn't that saintly enough?
Facing the accusations of thousands of anonymous users, the posterSienna Wellswas still declaring the love of her "simp" with utter audacity.
Netizens were disgusted by her brazen shamelessness. They pleaded with the algorithm to push the post to the victim.
But they didn't know. The victim had been here, scrolling and reading, from the very beginning.
I wanted to believe it was the universe intervening, perhaps, that fate couldn't stand to watch me be deceived for the rest of my life. That on the eve of our ninth year together, just before we were set to file our marriage license, the truth had been shoved into my face.
Ugh, Im done talking to you losers.
Gotta run. Taking my boy out for a candlelight dinner.
Sorry, bestie. Your man is booked for the night. Tee hee.
Meeting the next round of angry comments, Sienna rubbed it in further, posting a photo of a restaurant interior.
I recognized the sleek, high-end decor of a Michelin-starred spot. I saved the image and searched.
The restaurant name, The Monarch Room, quickly appeared on my screen. And next to it, the average price: Five figures per person.
They say that when you truly love someone, you give them the very best of yourself.
In my nine years with Liam, our most frequent date night was the local hole-in-the-wall Thai place. Our most expensive meal was the $45-per-person brunch at the Sunny Diner downtown.
And tonight, on my twenty-eighth birthday, he was buying Sienna a diamond ring and taking her to a five-figure restaurant, all while telling me he had to work late.
The old adage was undeniably true: The money goes where the love is.
2
Liam came home just as I was drying my hair.
He was holding a tiny box of a cake with a single candle, presenting it to me like a treasured relic.
Babe, its not midnight yet. Come on, make a wish.
I recognized the pathetic, palm-sized thing. It was from the bakery across the streeteighteen dollars, reduced to twelve on the end-of-day markdown. The little strawberry on top was already starting to wilt.
I blew a quick breath, and the candle went out.
Liam's eyes crinkled with relief. He scooped up a bite of the frosting and held it to my mouth.
I turned my head away. I already brushed my teeth, Liam. Im not hungry.
His hand froze. He stared at me for a long moment, then placed the cake carefully on the dresser.
Its my bad about missing your actual birthday. But the project is crunch time, I couldnt step away. Thats why I used the Late Pass.
Work was Liams most reliable excuse; Id always believed him.
But this time, I didn't brush it off or wave it away.
I looked directly at him. Youre out of Late Passes, Liam.
He blinked. What?
My tone was completely level. The fourth of this month, the movie night? You said the client called, so you used one. The tenth, the dinner at your parents? We waited an hour and a half for you, so you used one. The fifteenth, the gallery opening? You claimed your car broke down, so you used the last one.
You burned through your passes in the first half of the month.
Liam was busy, and I was busy. To maintain our relationship, wed agreed to four dates a month. But he was perpetually late. So, we instituted the "Late Pass" system. Three per month, and if he exceeded them, he owed the person he stood up a favor. He was always the first to run out.
My sudden cold recollection of every specific date made Liam fall silent.
After a beat, he wrapped his arm around my shoulder, trying to be casual.
The more overtime I put in now, the more time I can tack on to our honeymoon. We can make up all the time then.
You love Hawaii, right? Let's do the big trip there.
Hearing his supposedly thoughtful words, I felt Liam deserved an Oscar for acting. Even while lying, he was composed, his voice warm as a summer breeze.
I remembered the year after graduation, renting an apartment to work on my design exhibition. A male neighbor, seeing me alone, harassed me late one night. While waiting for the police, I was trapped behind the door, listening to an adult mans desperate threats. The first person Id called was Liam.
He had used that exact gentle, soothing voice to calm my terror. But now, I remembered something else with unsettling clarity. I had been hysterical, pouring out my fear. Liam had only uttered a few meaningless filler sounds.
It was the same practiced distraction he was using now. And then I realized: He forgot that I hated places with too much sun due to my UV sensitivity, that I was always dreaming of snow and mountains.
The person who loved Hawaii, who owned a closet full of brightly colored bikinis, was Sienna.
Looking back, the signs had always been there. Id just been too blind to see them. Sienna casually mentioned how beautiful Hawaii was, and he remembered it forever. I constantly talked about the Oakhaven Crest ski lodge, and he completely forgot.
The conclusionhe doesn't love mewas now stamped indelibly on my heart.
I turned off the hairdryer. The last wisp of warm air seemed to blow away the final shred of my lingering affection for him.
I stood and walked toward the guest room. Liam followed.
As he closed the space between us, I caught the sickeningly sweet scent of his cologne and another, unfamiliar scenta cloying, sugary perfume.
I coughed, turning my head, and pushed him gently back from the door. I think I'm coming down with something. Let's sleep in separate rooms for a bit.
Liam started to protest, but I didn't give him a chance. I decisively nudged him out and shut the door with a sharp click.
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