“I’m separating our lives.”
“Same thing.”
“It isn’t.”
She stared at me.
“I can’t believe how cold you are.”
“What would warm look like?”
“I don’t know.”
“Giving you a key?”
“This was my home.”
“And I’m giving you access to collect everything.”
“You know what I mean.”
That phrase was becoming another pattern.
Whenever the literal meaning of what she requested became uncomfortable, I was apparently supposed to understand the unwritten version.
The unwritten version was always better for Tara.
By the end of that week, other boyfriend privileges began disappearing.
Tara was still on my streaming accounts.
I changed the passwords after noticing multiple unfamiliar device logins from Marissa’s apartment.
Not to punish her.
Because we no longer shared a household.
She texted:
Did Netflix log me out?
Yes.
Why?
Because we don’t share accounts anymore.
Seriously?
Yes.
Then came Amazon Prime.
Then our shared grocery delivery account.
Then my emergency contact information at work, which I updated from Tara to my brother.
The largest practical issue was the phone plan.
We had joined the same family plan the previous year because it was cheaper.
I gave her thirty days’ notice that I would release her number so she could transfer it to her own account.
Tara reacted like I had shut off her oxygen.
“This is insane.”
“You keep your number.”
“But the monthly rate is higher alone.”
“Yes.”
“So you’re making me pay more just because we broke up?”
“I’m no longer paying part of your phone service.”
“You make more than me.”
“So?”
“That matters.”
“It mattered when we were partners.”
She stared.
“Wow.”
“What?”
“You really can switch it off that easily.”
“No.”
My voice changed then.
“None of this is easy.”
She stopped.
I continued.
“I loved you three weeks ago. I still care about you. But you cannot end the relationship and then treat every boundary as punishment because you preferred the old arrangement.”
For one second, she seemed to hear me.
Then she looked away.
“I just thought we could be mature.”
“So did I.”
The first big social test happened at game night.
Our friend group was deeply intertwined.
That was one reason Tara believed friendship would be simple.
Nobody wanted to choose sides.
I did not ask them to.
Our friend Jason hosted game nights twice a month.
I went alone.
Tara arrived twenty minutes later with a man none of us knew.
Tall.
Athletic.
Friendly-looking.
“This is Connor,” she announced loudly.
“We met at yoga.”
Every head in the room made a tiny movement toward me before people remembered how obvious that was.
Connor looked embarrassed.
I felt sorry for him immediately.
I stood and shook his hand.
“Alex.”
“Connor.”
“Good to meet you.”
Tara watched my face.
I smiled at Connor.
“Jason cheats at Codenames.”
Jason shouted from the dining room.
“I absolutely do not.”
The tension broke.
For the rest of the evening, I treated Connor exactly as I would any other guest.
Because what else was I supposed to do?
Tara and I were broken up.