"Fate is a four letter word," Heather screamed, picked up another vase and examined the green glass then hurled it across the room at her former boyfriend. "You said meeting her was just fate, bull. Hey, there's another four-letter word. And you're full of it." She had held her fierce temper in check for two months. But, Jason's news had unleashed her fury. She flipped over a small library table and watched the contents of a single drawer spill out on the floor.
"Heather listen a minute. I just think it's best for both of us."
"You want what's best? Shut up and stay away from me Jason, you started the war." The ridiculousness of her statement finally stuck her. She was in her former boyfriend's own apartment and she was the one aggressively breaking up his belongings. He had hurt her deeply and she was lashing out. "Nobody breaks up with me, that's my job. Get out Jason."
"I'll just wait down at the coffee shop till you get your things." Jason slid down the wall and cracked open the door. "We can still be "
She cut him off, "Shut up Jason, just leave, I'll lock the door."
She wasn't living in Jason's apartment, indeed, he was the first guy who hadn't insisted, something she respected, but while they were dating she had managed to bring over a few of her belongings. "He can keep the stadium cups." A box on the kitchen counter contained things Heather was returning a locket, a charm, and a small New Testament. She already returned the flower vases, now in broken glass along the wall.
She glanced into the single bathroom, "yuck, I don't know how he lives like this, this bathroom is the pits." On a shelf was a can of hairspray she had left one evening. "Pig. I'll bet his new Christian girlfriend won't clean this place either."
She considered taking back all the gifts she gave him: a mug, a ball cap, and a sweatshirt. "What would I do with that stuff?" On his dresser was a photo of Jason and Heather at a lay rally. She grabbed the picture frame and tore at the back. "She was there. Fate he says, sheesh, he's a sucker for a tight sweater." She glanced in the mirrored closet door. "I'm better." Her face flushed. "I gotta get outa here."
Heather threw the picture frame into the waiting box; then stubbed her toe on an overstuffed chair. "Ouch. Stupid chair." She flopped onto the soft cushion. "It's not like I didn't try to make this work. I did some of what he wanted. Like, going to that insipid rally." She bolted out of the chair. "But, no, that wasn't good enough for him. It was church this and church that. And, that woman was always there. Well, they deserve each other. He said he wanted out, well, she can have him, I'm done with the jerk."
The phone rang and Heather instinctively started to answer it. "Nope, it's none of my business anymore." Finally, the answering machine picked up.
"Hey Jason, this is Trudy."
"It's that woman, I oughta pick up the phone and give her a piece of my mind."
The answering machine whirred. "Anyway, Jason, I was hoping you could join us for the praise chorus party and rehearsal at the church Saturday. You haven't been in awhile; and we really could use your voice. I'd love to see you there. Call me. Blessings."
"Call me," Heather mimicked. "Nope he won't be there," she started to hit the delete button, "we'll beuh, never mind." She pulled her hand away and knocked Jason's study Bible off onto the floor. "What's a guy doing with a Bible rather than some smut? Shessh, don't know why it took me so long to see the real him." Mimicking Trudy, Heather hissed, "Blessings."
The phone rang again and once again the answering machine picked up, "Jason, Trudy again. Sorry to keep bothering you, but the gang is putting together an impromptu pizza party. I'm on my way. If you can, meet me at Mario's. Blessings."
"Shessh," Heather picked up the tiny locket. "He's thinking of what's best. Well, Jason," Heather curled her lip, "here's to an abundance of what's best." The locket dropped to the floor. "I'm gone."
"dub" is a freelance Christian writer, best known for his straight forward approach to common issues. His 38 year professional writing career gives him keen insight into successful reporting. To contact dub email firstname.lastname@example.org