How to Get Over Your Ex in Ninety Days

by Peel, Jennifer

  I made my way up the brick walkway with my treats. I was in Southern heaven. The white plantation style home was dream worthy. I rang the doorbell and it played this joyous tune that I knew rang throughout the home. It reminded me of Miss Liliana. I didn’t have to wait long for her housekeeper to answer the door.

  “Presley.” Fiona smiled. “Miss Liliana is waiting for you in the sunroom.” Here in the south, they had all sorts of different rooms than I had growing up—parlors, sunrooms, and keeping rooms.

  “Thank you. I’ll see myself back.”

  Fiona went on her way and I walked back through the magnificently decorated home. My favorite part was the intricate dark wood crown molding throughout the home. And her furniture looked like it belonged in a museum.

  I was filled with sadness as I made my way back. I had pictured many years of celebrating the holidays here, but now that would never happen. What day was I on?

  Miss Liliana sat prim and proper at her small round table, basking in the sunlight that streamed in through the sunroom windows. She smiled as I entered. “Presley, darling.” She started to stand up.

  “You stay there. I’ll come to you.” I added the lemonade and dessert I brought to the finely set table before making my way to her and hugging the little white-haired woman I adored. Her blue eyes still twinkled. “You’re looking gorgeous today.”

  She waved off my compliment. “Poppycock. You, on the other hand, are beautiful. You’re looking a little sad, but I intend to fix that.”

  I sat down across from her. “What’s done is done. I’ve moved on.”

  “Such a pretty little liar you are.”

  “So maybe I’m working on it.”

  “Darling, just leave it to Nana.”

  “It’s past the point of no return.”

  “There is no such thing. He loves you.”

  I placed my hand over my heart and rubbed. I felt a piercing pain there. “No. Love doesn’t act like that.”

  “Love does a lot of stupid things.”

  “Maybe we shouldn’t talk about him.”

  She reached across the table with her soft, aged hand. I gladly took it. “You’re hurt. With good reason. My grandson is clearly not thinking straight, but don’t give up hope. There is something special between you two.”

  “Was,” I corrected her.

  The wrinkles increased in her brow. “I stand by the ‘is’.”

  I gave her my best pressed-lip smile. I hated to argue with her and it would have done no good. “How about we change the subject? Your peonies look lovely.”

  She gave me a little wink and squeezed my hand.

  Day Seven

  Monday, August 2

  Dear Mr. Bingley,

  The worst possible thing happened yesterday. And, like always, a man was involved. Men. I’m thinking perhaps Jane would have been better off had you stayed in London. But anyway, there I was having a lovely lunch with one of my favorite people, and I suppose she still is even after what she did. I can’t blame her, and I’m even flattered that she loves me so much she’ll do whatever it takes to make sure the man in question and I get back together. Even if that means being deceptive and sneaking off to call her grandson to tell him I was “hurt.” She failed to mention it was the emotional kind, the kind he inflicted on me.

  The jerk came running over and raced through the house. Before I knew it, there he was in his athletic shorts and a sweat-soaked tank top, looking like he had been in the middle of working out. Did I mention how great he looked while panicked? Before he noticed there was nothing wrong with me, or even that I was there, he asked where I was and if I was okay. He sounded worried, beyond worried. Why would he come rushing over like that?

  We locked eyes and confusion replaced his worried expression. Miss Liliana smiled like the devil. “I never said she was physically hurt, you ninny.” His head dropped. All I could do was shake my head. My plan for eradicating him from my life is not going as planned. To add insult to injury, Miss Liliana ordered him to apologize and take it back. He stood there looking pained. All he could say was, “I am sorry, truly.” For some reason that only made me feel worse, and I wasn’t so kind. I said, “Don’t be. You did me a favor. I don’t want to be with a man who isn’t his own man.”

  For split second I saw a flash of regret in his eyes before he angrily turned around and slammed the front door as he left.

  The stupid man made me cry in front of his nana. That did not go how she planned, but she said maybe it went better. How could it be better?

  Now I have to go back to work today. How am I going to work with him? How bad would it be to have my teacher’s license suspended for a year? Living in my parents’ basement bad and waiting tables bad. Okay, so it would be bad.

  Curse you, Mr. Bingley, and your kind. Why do you make it so we fall in love with you when you know you have no intention of being honorable and handling our hearts with care? Jackson is just like you. One day we are dancing at the ball and thinking life is grand. Of course we love each other. Everyone can tell. Then, just like that, you close up your estate and never look back. You were not your own man, Mr. Bingley. Shame on you.

  Heartbroken,

  Presley

  I looked at my phone, it was only five in the morning. I lay back down on my bed. I grabbed a pillow for comfort and held on for dear life. One week down, and it had felt like forever. I wasn’t feeling better. I would say I ached more. Yesterday hadn’t helped. Why was it that he would come rushing to my side because he thought I was physically injured? He had to have known how much he had hurt me in a way that can’t be seen, in a way that is felt much deeper. Why wasn’t he trying to fix that? Or the better question, why did he do it in the first place? He was better than that. At least I used to think so.

  I was going to need some serious latte action, and not the fat free kind. We were talking the kind with whipped cream and a caramel drizzle. Something to look forward to, I guess.

  Maybe wake me up when September ends.

  Day Eight

  Tuesday, August 3

  I survived my first day back at school. It could be because there were no students there. Most likely it was because I didn’t see Mr. Montgomery. Sadly, I kept waiting for him to pop in and help me rearrange the furniture in my room, especially the couch, or as we used to call it, the casting couch. We might have made out on it a few times. I don’t have desks in my room, as we do a lot of role playing, games, practicing lines, and of course, acting. I have a small raised platform we can use when the advanced classes are using the auditorium stage.

  I was at least excited to get up my cutout of the New York skyline I had been working on all summer. Against the black backdrop, I put posters and playbills on it of all my favorite plays and musicals, like Wicked, The Lion King, and Les Miserables, to name a few. It took up one whole wall. It looked fabulous, if I do say so myself.

  The day gave me the courage to go back and face the staff meetings I would have today. I would sit in the back and avoid any contact with the new VP.

  Capri and I found an empty bistro table in the cafeteria as far away from the main action as we could. The cafeteria was the only place large enough for the whole staff. I did my best to keep my head down and to myself, but I swear to you, I could feel him. I knew the instant he walked in, and my head involuntarily popped up. Yep, our eyes met. Neither of us moved. I couldn’t read his expression from across the room, but he looked nice in his suit and tie. I wasn’t used to seeing him so formal at school. Who knew how long we would have stared at each other.

  Capri intervened. “Presley.” She nudged me. “Snap out of it.”

  Eight days and he still had me mesmerized. I shook my head and went back to looking at my pad of paper. I still loved him. And I hated him for it.

  Capri rubbed my arm.

  “I’m okay,” I whispered. I lied. I absentmindedly began doodling on my paper. Mr. Montgomery was going to find himself the tortured subject in my work of art. I
only had to decide his fate. Poisoning? Being run over by a car? That could work. I drew my Beetle with some legs under it, wicked witch style, except it was male legs with dress shoes that looked like his.

  Capri looked at it and laughed.

  Our twosome was joined by Mr. Crandall. “Ladies.”

  I smiled up at my mentor. “I love the new set of bowties.”

  He smartly straightened his moss green bowtie. “Thank you.” He sat down next to me and peeked at my paper before I could turn it over. He chuckled. “I love you, my dear.”

  “You probably shouldn’t say that out loud. Someone could mistake that for sexual harassment.”

  He waved his hand around. “I dare them.”

  “This is why I adore you.”

  Our beloved principal, Dr. Walters, entered to begin the meeting. He was a stately man in his mid-sixties. He walked with a slight limp from an accident years earlier, but his smile warmed the room. He waved to everyone like he was a celebrity, and he kind of was. He was the rock star of Riverton High. Mr. Montgomery would have big shoes to fill when he replaced him. And I knew it would be when, not if. Mr. Montgomery possessed the same charismatic qualities as Dr. Walters, and he was almost as popular with the students.

  I tried not to watch the two men chum it up like old friends, but I was only eight days in and my body was still craving him. Capri kicked me under the table. She was a good friend.

  I was rubbing my leg when Dr. Walters started the meeting. A hush fell over the cafeteria and all heads turned his direction, all but mine. I kept mine firmly down. I couldn’t risk eye contact with the enemy, or another kick from Capri.

  “Good morning, y’all. This is going to be the best daggum year yet.” He’d said that last year, too.

  I was happy to see his Southern vocabulary was still intact.

  “We have the best teachers and staff not only in the county, but in the state to boot. We have the test scores to prove it.”

  I smiled down at my death drawing while he praised the school and went over our rankings and standardized test scores. I was lucky to work for such a terrific school. Too bad it was probably my last year. With that thought, I added some more tire tracks to the dead vice principal in my picture.

  In the midst of my self-therapy Capri nudged me. “Wow.” That came out awfully breathy.

  I took my chances and lifted my head just as Dr. Walters was introducing Brad Sutton. Capri’s reaction suddenly made sense. I would say wow was a good word for the Greek god that stood next to Dr. Walters. Judging by the fact that Mindy Everly actually took a piece of ice out of her diet Coke and rubbed it on her chest as she drooled, I would say wow was the consensus in the room.

  He was gorgeous with his jet black, styled hair and olive skin. His biceps were about to burst through his polo shirt. He had this air about him that said he knew full well how beautiful he was. Unfortunately for me, all I could do was compare him to Mr. Montgomery, who sat behind him. Mr. Montgomery was attractive, and he knew it, but he didn’t flaunt it.

  “We are excited to have Brad Sutton join our staff. He will be filling the vacancy left by Jackson in our social studies department as well as on the field,” Dr. Walters informed the rest of us.

  “Go Cowboys!” Brad pumped his fist in the air.

  There were quite a few in the crowd that reciprocated, including Coach, who beamed at his new assistant. I noticed Jackson, I mean Mr. Montgomery, took note. I detected a hint of longing in his look. I knew how much he loved coaching. Sympathy for him crept in, but I squashed it when his words rang in my head of how I had been a distraction and he had just been messing around with me. I found myself holding back tears. More tire tracks were added to my picture.

  Capri nudged me and whispered. “I don’t see a ring on Brad Sutton.” She said his name with a dreamy sigh.

  I narrowed my eyes at my married friend.

  “I’m not interested in him, but I’m thinking he would make an excellent rebound for you.”

  I looked up at him again and perused him. He was gorgeous, but I felt nothing. Not even a little flutter. I shrugged. “The plan said to be careful of rebounds. Besides he’s not really my type.”

  “Someone has to be your first step back into the dating world. Look at him and imagine the possibilities.”

  I shook my head at her. “Looks aren’t everything.”

  “True, but he’s so pretty. He’s the perfect person to get back at the new VP.”

  “I’m not dating anyone to get back at him. I don’t want to date anyone, period, right now.”

  “Okay, be all sensible.”

  I smiled at her. “Don’t worry, I’m sure I will do something reckless in the near future.”

  “Promise?” She smiled with mischief.

  “You know me. I can’t help myself.”

  Dear Mr. Bingley,

  I made it one more day. When will this ache in my chest go away? Will I ever be able to look at him and feel nothing? The hate that bubbles up in me when I look at him only means that my love for him is ever-present. It isn’t fair.

  Until tomorrow,

  Presley

  Day Nine

  Wednesday, August 4

  I’m ten percent of the way there. Too bad I don’t feel ten percent over him. I wish they had a rehabilitation clinic for this type of situation. It would be nice to check myself into some place that he didn’t have access to. I needed to step up my game. I was going to have to jump on the offensive side. No more defense for me. I was Presley Benson after all. Hear me roar. No more meowing in the corner like a kitten. So what if the love of my life rejected me? That sounded terrible. How about, so what if I wasted nine months of my life? I had so many more to go and I wasn’t going to spend them feeling sorry for myself because one man couldn’t see how good he had it. That’s right, Mr. Montgomery, I was the best girlfriend you ever had or will have.

  I took my brave new attitude to school with me. I had to finalize my syllabus before the open house tonight. Tomorrow was the official first day of school. I was going to make this the best school year yet. I would go out in a blaze of glory before I hightailed it back home. Then I’d find a homegrown Colorado man who could keep me warm in the winters.

  I was feeling like a lion until I rolled into the staff parking lot at the same time as the new VP. Looked like he bought a brand-new truck. He had been talking about it. I couldn’t think about it, because it involved me taking test drives with him, which meant testing out how comfortable the trucks were for making out. If you ever wanted a list of the best trucks for comfort and accessibility for romantic pursuits, I was your girl. And it looked like he bought number one on the list. I hated him.

  I reminded myself I was on the offensive so I parked as far away from him as possible and tried my best to rush so there was no chance of any interaction. I imagined myself with a football in hand, running toward the end zone. The place where I no longer cared about the man in the truck who got an A+ when it came to kissing.

  I grabbed my satchel and walked as fast as my high heels would take me to the school. The click of my heels against the pavement was interrupted. The defense was trying to intercept. Though I couldn’t figure out why. Wasn’t he the one who decided we were no longer headed toward the same goal?

  “Presley, wait up.”

  That was a negative. I was proud of myself and didn’t turn around. Instead, I ungracefully picked up the pace in heels and a pencil skirt. That’s right, I could hustle all dolled up.

  “PB.”

  For a moment, my heart hiccupped. That was a personal foul using my nickname. End zone, end zone. I ignored him. I barely walked in the front office doors before his long legs caught up to me. I could hear him walking behind me, but I was determined for there to be no interference.

  I was so focused on who was behind me that I forgot to focus on what was in front of me, or should I say who. I ran smack dab into the Greek god and his admirers in front of the attendance office door.
So, here’s the good news. The floor cleaner the janitors used was top quality. The bad news was that pretty shine makes for some slick floors. Slick floors, plus high heels, plus an ex-boyfriend, equals disaster, or at least embarrassment.

  After running into the hard body, I did my best not to slip and fall. I probably should have accepted the inevitable and let my butt hit that floor, but I flailed my arms about, trying to steady myself before the floor and I met. The gasps and squeals of shock rang in my ears as me and my wounded pride tried not to cry out in pain, all while making sure we didn’t have any wardrobe malfunctions. Thank goodness, I had worn pretty silk panties, but regardless, I wasn’t really wanting to share that fact with anyone, especially the two men who were in a contest to help me up.

  As soon as Jackson touched me, I knew it was him. Is it weird that your skin can memorize a touch? It felt much different than the Casanova’s firm grip.

  “PB, are you okay?” Jackson knelt next to me, and in a gentlemanly move, he pulled down my skirt. His hand glided down my calf like it had dozens of times. I felt paralyzed by the touch. I stared into his deep brown eyes and confusion ran through them. He pulled his hand away. I tried to catch my breath. I didn’t want his touch to have an effect on me. He didn’t deserve it.

  “I’m fine. I don’t need your help.”

  His confusion turned to frustration.

  “Presley, correct?” A masculine voice to my right called.

  I turned toward the tantalizing sound to find Don Juan flashing a dazzling smile at me.

  “Are you hurt?”

  “Only my pride.”

  Brad’s smile widened. “Let me help you up.” He held out his large hand.

  I hesitated until the VP took my hand without asking. That was a no-go and a personal foul. I tried to yank it away while giving my other hand to the handsome helper to my right. Mr. Montgomery wasn’t letting go, so both men hoisted me up like I was some cow that need two strong men to pick her up. Oh yeah, I was going to be talked about in the teacher’s lounge for eternity.