Read Confessions of an Ex-Girlfriend for Free Online

dream apartment, complete with wall shelves displaying our combined, heady collection of film and literature titles. It was that hope that kept me sane, and safely apart from my in curably psychotic and old, or annoyingly young and transient, neighbors.
    But once Derrick was gone from my life, I fell out of my Safely Coupled category and into…Something Else. And that something else was yet to be determined, I realized, as I entered the building.
    â€œEmma!” came Beatrice’s shrill cry as I stepped into the foyer and found her at the mailboxes, arms laden with every mail-order catalog you could imagine, and an assortment of envelopes.
    â€œHi, Beatrice, how are you?” I said in the usual singsong voice I reserved for small children and adults like Beatrice, who weren’t, as they say, all there.
    â€œOh, I’m all right—”
    â€œGood,” I replied quickly, starting for the stairs.
    â€œâ€”except for this crazy sinus condition. Every morning I wakeup, stuffed nose, clogged ears. And my molars. Oh—” Her gray eyes opened wide behind her thick glasses. “It’s unbearable.”
    â€œI hear what you’re saying, Bea,” I replied, bracing one foot on the steps, preparing for flight at the first opportunity. Beatrice did like to get into a thorough discussion of her ailments, and I still hadn’t managed to figure out how to effectively avoid listening to her litanies. She’s lonely and it means a lot to her that I listen, I often rationalized after a good ten minutes hearing about everything from nasal congestion to hot flashes.
    But instead of carrying on with the details of sinus drainage, which I thought was sure to come next, she abruptly stopped talking, her eyes roaming over me from head to foot in a way that made me feel faintly ill. Beatrice, with her thick, squat body shoved, more often than not, into flannel shirts and stretchy pants, always looked to me like the butch half of a lesbian couple—except she was permanently sans her other half—and so her inspection, especially during this vague Post-Derrick Period of my life, was anxiety-producing. “You do understand, don’t you?” she said, her mouth dropping open as it did whenever she was captured by some thought.
    As I started to proceed up the stairs with a hurried wish that she feel better soon, she called out, “Wait!” and turned her attention to the mail in her hands. Shuffling through the catalogs, she pulled out a thick, glossy volume and held it out to me. “I thought you might be able to use this,” she said as I reluctantly took the catalog from her.
    I stared dully at the cover, which featured a tall, large-framed woman dressed in a flannel shirt similar to the ones Beatrice favored, and dark jeans.
    â€œIt’s got great deals on styles for women like us,” she continued, staring up at me, a pleased expression on her face.
    Women like us? I started to get defensive, but thought better of it and made my escape. “Thanks, Beatrice. I’ll return it when I’m done.”
    â€œOh, no need,” she replied, beaming a mouthful of brown teeth at me as I fled up the stairs.
    Â 
    Confession: I’m not convinced a fish wouldn’t be happier with a bicycle.
    Â 
    â€œWhy aren’t we married yet?” I asked Jade later that night on the phone.
    â€œBecause we’re strong women,” she replied.
    This answer was beginning to bother me. “What does that mean, exactly? That I’ve got metal in my head and can withstand numerous blows?”
    â€œWhat are you talking about?”
    â€œMaybe we aren’t looking hard enough.”
    â€œOh, I’ve been looking all right.”
    â€œOh, yeah. So how are things going with Ted Terrific?”
    Big sigh. “Turns out he’s more likely to be Ted Bundy.”
    â€œWhat?”
    She sighed. “He didn’t call.”
    Needless to say, I