How to Get Over Your Ex in Ninety Days

by Peel, Jennifer

  Through my tear-filled eyes, I started to read the article. “You probably feel like you’ve been hit by a truck.” I nodded my head. That’s exactly how I felt. The next part, though, was bad news for me. It suggested I break off all contact for ninety days. How was I going to do that when we worked together? It said our bodies craved that person on a chemical level and seeing them would only fuel that desire. “How can I stay away from him?” I turned to Capri for guidance.

  “We’ll figure something out. I’ll try and run interference at school.”

  I didn’t know how well that would work. The drama department and theater were on the same floor as the art department, but they were on opposite ends of the school.

  “What if I petitioned to get out of my contract?”

  Her face dropped. “Presley, you can’t leave now. You’re doing such great things with the drama department. I thought you wanted to enter the kids into the one act play competition this year?”

  “I did. I do. But how can I work with Jackson?”

  “They could take away your teaching credentials for a year for breaking your contract,” she reminded me.

  I sighed. “I do like eating and paying my bills.”

  “Don’t let him take this away from you. The kids love you and you love them.”

  I rubbed my face with my hands. “Okay, what else does this article say?”

  “Stay off social media, especially Facebook.”

  “Good idea.” I didn’t need to see him living it up while I was dying inside. “I can do that. What else?”

  “Keep a daily journal marking your progress and venting out your frustrations.”

  I nodded my head. I already kept a journal.

  “Try and remember the things you liked to do when you were single and revisit those activities.”

  In theory that sounded good, but everything I liked to do as a single girl was made better when Jackson was involved.

  “Be careful about rebounds. Think carefully about starting any new romantic attachments.”

  I couldn’t even think about being with anyone else at the moment.

  “And wine, lots of wine.”

  I took the laptop back from her. “Does it really say that?”

  “No,” she laughed. “But it couldn’t hurt, right?”

  “I think it says here that, actually, it can.”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “Fine, no wine. It does suggest, though, that you be mindful of anxiety and feelings of hopelessness. You need to remind yourself that your mind takes ninety days before it can switch gears and you can picture your life in a different direction.”

  “Ninety days, huh? They make it sound so easy,” I cried.

  “Oh, honey, I don’t think this will be easy.”

  “Right now I can’t picture my life without him in it. What happened?”

  “I don’t know. Sounds like he lost his damn mind. I mean, bless his heart.”

  “I love it when you swear in your Southern accent.”

  She took my hands. “You can do this. By October 24th, you’ll have forgotten that Jackson Montgomery ever existed.”

  “Ninety days?”

  “Ninety days.” She smiled.

  Day One

  Tuesday, July 27

  I felt like I was dying. The truck not only ran over me, but it backed up for good measure and crushed me over and over and over again.

  I barely slept, and when I woke up, I immediately reached for my phone. Jackson always texted me, Good morning, beautiful. All there was this morning was an empty screen.

  I sat up, rubbed my swollen red eyes, and remembered what the article advised. I needed to erase Jackson from my life. I hesitated deleting him from my contacts. I had kept every text and voice mail he had ever sent me or left me. I tortured myself and read through the last few texts:

  Have I told you lately how much I love you?

  I’m such a lucky guy.

  Are you up? I can’t stop thinking about you.

  I loved our late night calls after he would drop me off. What happened? How could he walk away? I selected every text and my thumb hovered over the delete button for more than a moment. I reminded myself he’d called me a distraction. In an instant, nine months of happiness was wiped away. I forced myself not to listen to any of his voice messages before I deleted those, too. Finally, I deleted him completely as a contact and blocked his number, not that he would ever use it again, but I wanted this hurt to go away, so I added that step as a precaution. I was going to do as the article said. Ninety days from now, he was going to be a distant memory, a stepping stone to greater happiness, a blip on my radar. I didn’t know how that would be possible when my heart was still telling me he was the one, but the ache inside was telling me I had to try.

  Next up, social media. I pulled out the tablet my parents had given me as a graduation gift when I’d received my master’s degree. My older sisters had all cried foul. Perks of being the baby. I felt like an infant now. I wanted someone to wrap me up in a blanket and hold me until the pain went away. A vision of Jackson holding me in the back of his truck wrapped up in the comforter he had torn off his bed popped in my mind. This had to stop. I couldn’t remember those nights star gazing while we planned our future—a future where we were together. Facebook, I needed to get on Facebook, I reminded myself.

  I knew I was supposed to stay away from it, and I had planned to, but I had to get on it and turn off all the Facebook notifications my phone kept sending me. Just a few days ago I had posted a picture of Jackson and me taking a tour of Cathedral Caverns, this amazing cave not too far away. They took us all the way to the back of the cave and turned off all the lights. I couldn’t even see my hand in front of my face. We used the time to . . . well, I shouldn’t be thinking about it. What happened between then and now? Does ninety-six hours really make that big of a difference? He had to have been thinking about it even during our date. Did I do something to tip the scales? No. You know what? This was him. All about him, and that was the problem.

  I opened up my Facebook account. There are few things I have regretted more in life. He didn’t even have the decency to make his change of relationship status private. I was inundated with messages: What, PB and J have broken up? Say it isn’t so. Are you dying?

  Yes, I’m dying. I was stupid and I went against the rules. I clicked on his profile. Why oh, why, did I? His wall was filled with old girlfriends happy at the news and buddies willing to take him out and show him a good time. There were all sorts of congratulations for his job promotion as well. But the one post that struck me the most, and maybe brought me some pleasure, was his grandmother’s. I loved Miss Liliana. The fact that she was eighty and on Facebook only made her more endearing.

  Jackson Duff Montgomery you better get yourself over to my place and explain yourself. Do you have rocks for brains? I’m cutting you out of my will.

  That was always her joke whenever he did anything to her displeasure.

  Her post to me: Baby doll, don’t you worry, Nana is going to take care of everything. There are going to be wedding bells, or there will be hell to pay.

  If only she could. Jackson would never go against his dad. I unfriended him, deleted my PB and J photo album, curled into a ball, and went back to bed.

  Day Two

  Wednesday, July 28

  Dear Mr. Bingley.

  All my journal entries have started this way since I was a sophomore in high school and Mrs. Greene, my most beloved English teacher, unlocked the world of Jane Austen to me. She was the reason I decided I wanted to be a teacher. She had this ability to unleash a writer in anyone. She gave me the courage to try out for my first play. And when I got the part, she sat in the front row with my parents.

  Men suck, suck, suck, suck, suck! That’s right. How could you leave Jane just because Mr. Darcy told you she seemed indifferent, that her affections weren’t what they were supposed to be? And so what if her family wasn’t rich or well connected? She really
loved you, you pompous twit. How dare you leave her with hardly an explanation, especially since you told her things that made her blush in the dark of the cave and you held her like she was your world and you kissed the nape of her neck and whispered, “I love you.” I mean, since you danced with her all night at the ball and made her feel like she was important and your intentions were real. Really, how could you?

  I hate your guts!

  Presley

  That was probably enough journal writing for now.

  This was my final day of summer vacation. Tomorrow, in-service began, and in eight days school started. I didn’t know how I could face it. How could I face him?

  My parents were no help, they said I had made a commitment and I had to follow through. As much as they liked Jackson, they had warned me about the complications dating a coworker could cause. Now I was reaping the consequences.

  I threw off my covers; I couldn’t waste another day in bed. I was a Benson, my dad reminded me. But I wanted to be a Montgomery. No, no. I was getting him out of my head. I had survived one day. Well, sort of. I looked around at all the used tissues and the remnants of the two dozen chocolate-covered strawberries I ate last night. It was somewhat healthy. Dark chocolate was practically medicinal and strawberries were a good source of nutrients. So I had a stomachache. It went well with the headache, not to mention the ache in the core of my chest.

  Last day of freedom. What do you want to do? I texted Capri.

  Sorry PB, David took the day off so he could take me to the new exhibit at the Huntsville Art Museum. Do you want to come?

  I didn’t need to hear her voice. I knew she was begging me to say no. She wanted to spend the day with her husband. I couldn’t blame her. But in my head, I wished them and their cute love-filled marriage to fiery depths.

  Have fun. I’ll pick you up for the retreat at 8:00 tomorrow morning.

  Someone had the bright idea that our training should be more like a retreat. I thought it was brilliant until a couple of days ago. I was looking forward to sneaking off with you-know-who in the woods, maybe taking a dip in the lake under the dark of night.

  I hated him.

  Showering seemed like a good first step on the ninety-day road to recovery, and probably changing out of my pajamas. It was on days like today that I wished I had a bathtub to soak in. My little apartment only consisted of one tiny bathroom with a shower barely big enough for me. Perks of being a teacher, I guess.

  I sat cross-legged on my made bed with my wet hair wrapped up in a towel, trying to decide what to do with my day, my life. You don’t know how tempted I was to break my contract despite the ramifications, but I looked around at my tiny apartment that was completely open except the bathroom, and a sense of pride filled me. I was on my own. Maybe I didn’t have much now, but it was mine. I had worked hard to get here. Was I really going to let a man take that away from me? A man who so carelessly dumped me? A man I loved with all that I was and am.

  I lay back on my bed and begged myself not to cry. I could do this. What choice did I have?

  Day Three

  Thursday, July 29

  Dear Mr. Bingley,

  Today, I must face him. Remember when you left Jane? You didn’t even bother to tell her yourself. You had your sister do it—by letter, I might add. It was cowardly. You should have at least asked her if Mr. Darcy was right. She could have told you then how much she admired you. Jackson is a coward, too. He’s afraid of his father and of failing. But you see, he could have just come out and said it. Then I could have told him we would work it out together, because together is better than apart. But he called me a distraction and, worse, he knew how I felt about him. I’m no Jane. There was no question how I felt about him. Now— at all costs—I have to hide my feelings, even the hateful ones. Jane was so lucky that she never had to work for you. I’m determined, though, to get over him. Eighty-seven days from now I’ll be saying, Jackson who?

  Presley

  I closed the journal and placed it in my overnight bag. Running home to Colorado was going through my mind. No. I could do this. I was three percent of the way there. Oh gosh, that was depressing. I headed to Capri’s before I changed my mind.

  Capri was kissing David on their porch when I arrived. That was uncalled for. I honked the horn. They broke apart. I could imagine the suction sound after that lip-lock. To add insult to injury, David pulled her back for one more kiss. It was going to be one night away, people. I was jealous. A few days ago I would have been oohing and ahhing at the scene, because someone who I won’t mention would have treated me the same way if we had to spend almost two days apart.

  Capri finally made her way to me. She looked adorable in overalls. Her whole aura screamed she was in love.

  I looked down at my outfit. I wore a short, capped sleeve summer dress. The less material the better. Alabama’s summers killed me. It was like living in a steamy shower all day long. This Colorado girl was still trying to adjust, if that was possible.

  Capri tossed her bag in the backseat and buckled herself in. “Sorry about the long goodbye.”

  “I’m happy you’re so happy.” I took off before I changed my mind.

  Capri began flipping channels on the radio. “What’s up with the country music? You hate it.”

  “I found a new appreciation for it. Do you know how many songs there are about women shooting, poisoning, and/or running over men with their cars? It’s pure genius.”

  She laughed. “So you’re feeling better then?”

  “Never better.”

  “Then why are you wearing his favorite color and looking like a runway model?”

  “What? I owned this dress before the mishap. Crimson has always looked good on me. But now that you mention it, I will be buying some Auburn t-shirts when we return. War Eagle!”

  “Whatever makes you feel better after what that man-whore did on Facebook. If he wasn’t the new vice principal, I would have left him a scathing comment. You should have seen what his grandma wrote.”

  I bit my lip. “I did.”

  She smacked my arm. “You’re supposed to be staying off Facebook.”

  “Ouch! I am. I had to get on to turn off the notifications, unfriend him, and delete all of our photos.”

  “You shouldn’t have read his status.”

  “I tried not to, but I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t believe he could be so cruel.” I had to hold the tears back.

  “I was surprised, too. But since you already looked, I should tell you that he deleted the whole thread.”

  “The damage has been done. Do know what an idiot I’m going to look like walking into in-service today, now that everyone knows?”

  “He did you a favor—now he looks like the jerk and you don’t have to tell anyone.”

  “Everyone loves him and now he’s one of our bosses, so I’m pretty sure there will be a lot of butt kissing going on.”

  “Just make sure you stay away from him.”

  “Oh, believe me, I plan to. But judging from his behavior, I don’t think it will be an issue. I’m a distraction he was only messing around with.” My voice cracked.

  She placed her hand on my thigh. “You look pretty distracting, super model.”

  “Stop it.”

  “I’m serious. He can eat his heart out.”

  “If only he had one.”

  “We should quit talking about him.”

  Yeah, we should.

  We drove the forty-five minutes to the lake resort with the radio blasting my death-to-men tunes. And when I say resort, I mean a rustic looking lodge with some primitive looking cabins. If the district was that short on money, we should have done this at the school like last year.

  Capri and I both looked at each other and cringed.

  Capri turned around to grab her bag. “I hope the cabins have air conditioning.”

  “What? Doesn’t everywhere around here? How can you survive in this state without it?” It was only nine in the morning and it w
as already ninety degrees with eighty-five percent humidity.

  “Don’t panic. I’m sure they’ll have AC.”

  “You don’t sound very confident.”

  “If there isn’t, one of us will pretend to faint from the heat during the motivational speaker’s speech. I choose you, since you’re a trained actress.”

  “Okay, just make sure my dress covers everything appropriately when I go down.”

  “Deal.”

  “This is why I love you.”

  She took my hand. “Everything is going to be okay.”

  I squeezed hers back. “I know. It just sucks right now.”

  “Eighty-seven more days.”

  “Yeah. It’s right around the corner.” My heart wasn’t buying it.

  Several of our colleagues were pulling into the worn-out parking lot. It had seen better days. I realized I may need to get the suspension on my car looked at when we got back. That end of summer gloom surrounded all of us. Or was it just my end of a relationship gloom?

  Several people waved at us and then politely turned to their neighbor, I’m sure to gossip about the demise of PB and J. I thought it was such a cute nickname, like Brangelina or TomKat. Looks like we were destined to go the route of both famous couples—splitsville.

  One of our fellow teachers was not shy. Sean Goldman, or Coach as everyone called him, ran up to us. He picked me right up and swung me around. “PB, tell me it isn’t so. I was picturing a proposal on the football field this year during halftime. J and I had already talked about it.”

  “Whoa, Coach.” I thought I might puke from the spinning and the info. What did I say to that? We had discussed getting married, but I didn’t know he had plans to propose. My heart beat wildly.

  Coach set me down and I righted myself. I looked up at his large, looming figure. A once very attractive man, I’m sure, that had let himself go. I was about to inquire further about his explosive piece of news, but Capri saved me.