How to Get Over Your Ex in Ninety Days Page 6

  Should I be wondering that too?

  Still hurt and confused,

  Presley

  I took a breath and gathered my courage. My mom said it would get harder before it got easier. Why did she always have to be right?

  I took another step toward recovery by gathering up anything that had any connection to Mr. Montgomery and threw it in a box that I would deliver to Miss Liliana tonight. I threw his lucky Alabama t-shirt in the box as the final item. Not before breathing it in one more time. It still smelled like him, coriander and cardamom, spicy and . . . I had to stop thinking about it and him. We were over. I threw a lid on the box and shed a tear or two.

  I felt like I should get more than ninety days since I had to see him so frequently, but I had to be over him in seventy-nine days. I didn’t want to feel like this anymore. My offensive strategy wasn’t working. I needed a new coach. Mr. Crandall popped into my mind. Maybe he could give me the secret male way of moving on.

  I got to school extra early because Mr. Crandall was always there before anyone. He liked to absorb the energy of the stage. I’d watched him before, walking back and forth across it, breathing it in as if it was alive. Sometimes he would recite Shakespeare as he went. I loved the stage, but he was the stage. I wanted to be him when I grew up.

  I crept into the auditorium and one spotlight lit the stage. Mr. Crandall stood still, with his eyes closed. He held what looked like the script we were considering for the one act. We still needed approval from administration before we could move ahead with it. That meant Mr. Montgomery would have a say in it. Our lives were too intertwined. I would never date a coworker again. Lesson learned.

  I stood at the back of the auditorium and admired my mentor for a moment. I wished I could see into his mind. I’m sure it was fascinating. I bet he pictured the entire play in his thoughts like a movie. He had this amazing ability to block and stage each scene perfectly. I couldn’t wait to get going on this year’s play.

  I wasn’t sure how he was alerted to my presence, but when he opened his eyes, he focused in on me and smiled. In that moment, I felt a small amount of peace.

  “Presley, dear, what brings you to these hallowed halls this morning?”

  I approached the stage. “I need your wisdom.”

  “You are assuming I have any.” He held out his hand to help me up the stage steps.

  I smiled warmly. “I’ll take my chances.”

  He gave my hand a little squeeze. “You are as courageous as you are beautiful.”

  I shook my head at him. I did adore him. “I’m not feeling either at the moment.”

  “Hmmm. Let’s have a seat.”

  We both lowered ourselves and sat on the edge of the stage with our feet dangling over.

  Once situated, he patted my knee. “This too shall pass.”

  “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. How do I make that happen? And quick.”

  He chuckled. “There is no remedy for love but to love more.”

  “You’re quoting Thoreau to me?”

  “There is wisdom there, and isn’t that what you’re seeking?”

  “I don’t want to love more. It’s too painful.” My eyes welled up with tears.

  “Then you have been blessed to know real love.”

  “I don’t know about that, maybe one-sided love.”

  “Ah, my dear, it is a shame that he has chosen to throw away such a gift, but make no mistake, he loved you. That was apparent.”

  The tears escaped and fell into my lap. “I thought so too, but if he really loved me, how could he walk away so easily?”

  “I’m not a betting man, but I would wager staying away from you is the hardest thing he’s ever done.”

  “You’re biased.”

  “I do love you, dear, but I’ve been around the block a few times and believe me when I tell you, you’re not the only one hurting.”

  I ran my fingers through my curled hair. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Maybe I’m not the person you should be talking to then.”

  “He made it clear why he left. He called me a distraction. Said he was only messing around.”

  “So he’s frightened.”

  “What?” I shook my head.

  He took my hand and held it. “Nothing scares a man more than realizing he can have it all.”

  “I hate to say this, but you’re only confusing me more.”

  He laughed. “It’s only fair. Women have bewitched us and confounded us since the beginning of time.”

  “Then how do you get over us so easily?”

  “Dear, we don’t. We may do a better job of concealing our feelings, but I assure you, we feel it acutely when we lose the women we love.”

  “Are you speaking from experience?”

  He sighed and looked out into the empty chairs. It took him a moment to speak. “Like our new vice principal, I let the love of my life slip away.”

  “Were you married?” I had always wondered. He had never talked about a wife and I knew he wasn’t married now.

  “No, dear. I took the coward’s way out and told her we would be better off going our separate ways once we graduated from college.”

  “Tell me about her.” I was intrigued.

  A smile appeared on his face. “Connie Weatherly was beautiful like the morning sky, fair and lovely with hair the color of honey, and eyes of blue. She cast her spell upon me.” He reverenced her name.

  “What happened?”

  His smile disappeared. “Along with her beauty, she had brains. She was headed for bigger and better things. She wanted to be a biomedical doctor and had been accepted to Johns Hopkins. I was headed to New York to see if I could make it on the stage. I made it on the stage, as you can see.” He patted the wood beneath us.

  “Were you intimidated by her?”

  “Oh yes. She was a force to be reckoned with, quite like yourself.”

  “I don’t know about that.”

  “Believe me, you possess those qualities that drive men to aspire to new heights.”

  “Or leave.”

  “Only because we’re fools.”

  “Do you regret pushing her away?”

  “Every day.”

  “Maybe you should look her up.”

  He laughed and slapped his knee. “I’m sure she ended up with someone much better than myself, like I hoped she would.”

  “I think you’re pretty terrific.”

  “The feeling is mutual.” He touched my cheek like my father would. “You know, maybe the more love Thoreau spoke about was the love we should have for ourselves. Don’t you dare let Jackson’s actions make you think any less of yourself. Just as I, he will come to regret not taking the gift given to him, if he doesn’t already”

  A tear rolled down my cheek. “I knew you were the person I needed to talk to.”

  He patted my cheek. “The question is, what will you do when Jackson realizes his mistake and comes seeking your forgiveness?”

  “That’s not going to happen.”

  “I wouldn’t wager on that, dear.”

  Day Twelve

  Saturday, August 7

  Dear Mr. Bingley,

  I’m going to try that more love thing this weekend, so this will be our only communication. Miss Liliana had to cancel last night. Well, I ended up canceling on her. Daniel and Miranda, Mr. Montgomery’s brother and sister-in-law drove up from Birmingham unexpectedly. They brought Dallin and Aubrey, their five and six year olds. Miss Liliana insisted I still come and be part of their family dinner, but I knew Mr. Montgomery and his dad would enter into that equation. I love Daniel and Miranda, even if Daniel is a little arrogant and Miranda is the epitome of a Southern Belle. She was forever trying to get me to join the Junior League. She was exactly the kind of woman Mr. Montgomery’s dad expects his sons to marry—high-class with a royal Southern pedigree.

  Mr. Montgomery wasn’t the only person I had to get over. I had imagined myself aunt to those
adorable children with the cutest southern accents, and lifelong friendships with their mommy and daddy. Oh well, I guess at least I never have to see Mr. Montgomery, the senior, again. It wasn’t much consolation. I was willing to endure him to be Mrs. Jackson Montgomery. I’m not ever writing or saying that title again. I will overcome him.

  Now I’m headed to Chattanooga, Tennessee, for a film festival. Yeah, Mr. Montgomery and I had talked about going to it together, but I didn’t need him to be happy or to enjoy the things I loved. Maybe someday I won’t want him anymore, either.

  Seventy-eight days and counting,

  Presley

  Day Fifteen

  Tuesday, August 10

  I had an amazing weekend of self-love that spilled over into Monday. So much so, it inspired me to do something a little crazy. The film festival was centered on how romance films had evolved through the decades. It was fascinating, albeit a little painful to watch movie after movie about falling in love when you’re trying to fall out of it, to watch the evolution of how perceptions of love and relationships had changed over the years. It made me realize that Mr. Crandall had come from a place in time where the man was supposed to be the breadwinner and cowboy. The take-charge alpha-male. No wonder he felt inadequate to seal the deal with the lovely Connie.

  Sure, I was a little disappointed that my mentor, like Mr. Montgomery, behaved so abominably, but I felt like Mr. Crandall was a victim of his age. And if anyone deserved a second chance, he did. That was, if it was available to him. I broke the rules and went on Facebook after I spent my evening yesterday scouring online to find a Connie Weatherly that went to Johns Hopkins around thirty-five years ago. Mr. Crandall wasn’t too forthcoming with information, so I was estimating. If I was right, Connie Weatherly was now Connie Harris. I searched what she made available in her profile, and as far as I could tell, she wasn’t currently married. And she had aged beautifully. Her hair was no longer the color of honey, but she looked lovely in gray.

  Don’t worry, I didn’t look at any of Mr. Montgomery’s posts, not that I could anyway. I blocked him from everything, which meant I couldn’t creep on him. Who needed to creep on Facebook when I saw him every day at school? You would think when someone breaks up with you, they would do everything they could to avoid you. He didn’t need to help in the car line or eat lunch in the teacher’s lounge at the same time as me.

  Thankfully, Capri and I had lunch at the same time and she was finally stepping up to the plate and shielding me from him. Like today, when she brought large handmade menu looking things that I could hide behind, if necessary. It was obvious what she was trying to do, but I adored her for it even if we did look ridiculous talking behind the large pieces of decorated cardboard. And what were the decorations, you might ask? Auburn of course. Mr. Montgomery loathed the school. I had looked up at the wrong moment to catch a glimpse of his reddened, frowning face.

  What did he expect?

  But just because I couldn’t be in love, didn’t mean Mr. Crandall couldn’t be. I did something I never had before. I contacted a stranger via social media. I sent the supposed Connie Weatherly a private message over Facebook. It went something like this:

  Hello, you don’t know me, but I think we have a mutual friend named Victor Crandall. I believe you attended the University of Virginia together. Victor and I teach at the same high school. He doesn’t know I’m contacting you. To be honest, I’m not sure how he would feel about it. But I can tell you that he regrets how things turned out with you. I know this may seem completely out of left field, but I was wondering if you might like to get in touch with him? He’s against any sort of social media, but if you are interested, I would be happy to provide you with more information. If this isn’t the Connie Weatherly I’m looking for, please disregard this message. If it is, and this has caused you any pain, I apologize. Sincerely, Presley

  Then I waited. I did worry about opening old wounds. I kept wondering how I would feel if several years into the future someone contacted me about Mr. Montgomery. I would be over him by then, right? Because it would be well past ninety days. But I had a feeling I would always wonder, what if? That was a depressing thought.

  Seventy-five more days.

  Day Eighteen

  Friday, August 13

  Dear Mr. Bingley,

  I’m not a superstitious person, but I have this feeling of foreboding today. I should be happy. I’m twenty percent of the way there. I do feel a little better today, except for this nagging feeling that won’t go away, but maybe I’m imagining things. You see, I’m good at that. I imagined a life with Mr. Montgomery. It was a good life, too; never perfect, but always beautiful. Now, supposedly, I only imagine an eighty percent life with him. Still not bad, except it will never happen. I know that. I truly do. So why do I still want to?

  Don’t answer that,

  Presley

  I arrived at school decked out in my new Auburn shirt. If God cared about football, I prayed he let Auburn win the Iron Bowl later this year. Nothing upset Mr. Montgomery more. Go Tigers! I meant, War Eagle. I had to remind myself that a tiger was their mascot, but War Eagle was their motto. I wasn’t sure why. I should probably look that up. I thought the Denver Broncos had the ultimate football fans, but I was mistaken. It was like a religion here in the South. And they made you choose a team once you crossed the border. So I was switching sides. It probably went against some blood oath in Alabama, but I wasn’t staying. I had to move on, even if after ninety days by some miracle I was completely over Mr. Montgomery. I didn’t think I could stand watching him become who his father wanted him to be.

  And I couldn’t stand watching him be who he was now.

  After the final car in the line drove away, I hustled into the school to escape both the heat and Brad, who had already asked what my plans were for the weekend. Besides dinner with Miss Liliana, it would be spent planning lessons and loving myself some more. I had already bought face masks, candles, and dark chocolate. It was going to be a good weekend celebrating my single status. I should have started dating myself a long time ago.

  Then I came upon a scene as I neared my classroom that made me remember why I was in love with Jackson Montgomery. I wondered why he hadn’t been present this morning in the car line. I turned the corner, but stopped when I heard his voice. He was sitting on the steps with Leo Olson, the starting quarterback for Riverton High School’s football team. He was the sweetest kid, but he came from a rough home life. He had a lot of responsibility placed on his shoulders, including caring frequently for his younger brother. Leo was in my intermediate class, which I knew he only took because he needed what he thought would be an easy credit.

  “Coach J, my family needs me. My mom started a new job and I need to watch Henry after school.”

  Mr. Montgomery lowered his head and thought for a moment.

  Leo looked on with such trust, begging for a solution.

  Mr. Montgomery met Leo’s eyes. “What school does your brother go to?”

  “Columbia Elementary.”

  Mr. Montgomery’s eyes had a spark of hope in them. “How old is Henry?”

  “Ten.”

  “Do you think he could walk a couple of blocks every day to a babysitter’s house?”

  Leo nodded, but with some hesitation, like he dared not to hope.

  “I’ll talk to your mom and we’ll work this out. How are you doing in your classes so far?”

  Leo’s eyebrows gathered in. “Um, okay.”

  Mr. Montgomery cocked his head. “Just okay? What can I help with?”

  “Math.”

  “Bring your math book to lunch, and I’ll come find you in the cafeteria.” He ruffled his dark hair.

  “During lunch? That’s when I hang with my girl.”

  “She can hang out with us, too.”

  “All right man.” Leo bumped fists with Mr. Montgomery. “You’re the best, Coach.”

  “Get to class.” Mr. Montgomery smiled. That was, until he saw me s
taring at the scene amid the chaos of kids trying to get to class on time. “Ms. Benson.” He gave me a little nod and stood up.

  I turned before he could see in my eyes how much I loved him. How much I wanted him. Could you blame me?

  “Presley, I mean, Ms. Benson.” He followed after me.

  I froze and shut my eyes. I was so close to my room. I almost ignored him, but he was my boss. A fact I hated. “Yes?” I didn’t bother looking at him.

  “You really can’t look at me?”

  I turned on a dime and glared at him. “Better?”

  He sighed. His eyes moved to my chest.

  A few weeks ago, I would have teased him about keeping his eyes to himself. Had it only been a few weeks?

  “Are you really an Auburn fan now?”

  I shook my head. “After everything, that’s all you care about?”

  “Presley.” He inched closer and reached his hand up like he was going to caress my cheek like he always used to, but he stopped himself.

  “Have a good day, Mr. Montgomery.” This time I didn’t pause. I marched straight into my room, put on a fake smile for my students, and counted the days until I would be over him.

  ~*~

  I thought my encounter with my former boyfriend was the reason for the icky feelings earlier that day, but like a lot of things lately, I was wrong. Miss Liliana swore on her love for Nick Saban, Alabama’s beloved head coach (all the Montgomery’s loved Alabama football), that Jackson wouldn’t be present during any part of my visit. I failed to anticipate that the other Mr. Montgomery would cross my path.

  He was walking out as I was coming up the walkway. How did I not notice his car? I was in a daze, that’s why. I had woken up feeling so ready to take on the world, and I did, but Jackson was still part of that world and it was exhausting.