Day 5 closet cleaning and a disturbing phone call

Moving soon, and I'm cleaning out my infamously stuffed closet and auctioning clothes off to friends. I've discovered I'm too fat for a lot of my old clothes now, and I really had a thing for bright pink things in high school. I found a pink tanktop with pink buttons with ruffles. That's my excuse for being late and I'm sticking with it. On with the prompt.

Day 5: the most troubling phone call you hope you never receive

We've always had our little quirks. Pet names. Secret jokes. We also called each other randomly. Sometimes it was just "bring milk back with you." Other times it was "What's up?" "I love you." "Love you, too." "Don't forget the milk."

I had a special ring tone for him. It was 'Happy News' on my phone. I think through conditioning I felt happy hearing that ring tone. 

The weekend. Finally. It's been a busy week and he's making dinner tonight. Maybe I'll pick up a cake for dessert. He likes cakes, especially red velvet.

I smile at the ringtone coming from my purse. It's him. I let him ring for a moment while I order the cake. Red velvet with buttercream icing, yum. While the pastry lady is busy I pick up the phone.

"Hi-"

"I've packed up all my stuff. We're done."

"What? Are you crazy? What do you mean?"

"I can't pretend to love you anymore. Good bye."

"FUCK YOU."

I ate that red velvet cake vengefully. At least he left me the cutlery. In fact the only things he took were his computer, game systems, clothes and the paper flower I made for him 2 years ago. He always kept it on his bookshelf. Probably trashed it, that bastard. 

Despite the painful breakup and many months of crappy men, I moved on. I moved, dated, and even got engaged. I always thought he would be my fiance, but I think about him less and less now. Two years is a long time for someone to move on. 

He would have never gotten me the 2.6 carat Tiffany diamond on my ring finger though. He always went in for more quirky and less conventional things with sentimental value. 

My phone rang. That's another thing. I switched all ring tones to the same, generic phone ring. 

I answered without looking at caller ID.

"Hello?"

"I'm looking for Ms. Song. I'm Jenna calling on behalf of Whitehall & Olgensen."

"This is me. What is this about?"

"We will be reading Mr. Eric Dunst's will next month-"

"Excuse me?"

"Mr. Dunst listed you as one of the recipients in the will. Do you not wish to attend?"

"We broke up. He said he didn't love me."

I felt cold. Confused. There must be a mistake. For a moment, I almost felt vindictive. He had died and I was alive with a great man and job and home. I felt the girl's hesitation on the other line.

"Mr. Dunst passed away due to acute myeloid leukemia last week."

In the next month details came out like fragments of a bad dream. His brother confessed tearfully and drunkenly at my door two days after the funeral that he never loved anyone else. He left so he could undergo treatment. He didn't want me to see him deteriorate. Didn't want me to hang over his hospital bedside like I would have done, every day until his body gave out. He was trying to spare me some pain. 

I hate him. Why would he do this? Why didn't he left me be with him? We could have had two more years together. Two whole years. I don't think he knows how much more painful it is the last goodbye I got to say was 'fuck you'. I guess he broke up with me so brutally so I'd never look for him. If I had a chance I'd beg him not to leave me. Then I'd slap the living day lights out of him for even thinking about trying to go through it without me. We went through so much together and he couldn't spend cancer with me, too? 

Sitting in the eerie room, listening to the will, I prayed. I've never been religious and neither has he. But I prayed for there to be a god. I prayed for there to be an afterlife, heaven or hell, where I could see him again. I want to tell him goodbye properly. That I loved him. That I cried every time I sat at the couch and he wasn't beside me. When I watched a movie and couldn't cuddle against his chest. When I slept at night without his arm as my pillow. 

"And to Ms. Song, I leave this Tiffany diamond necklace."

At home I opened the powder blue box, the silver ribbon mocking me. There was the stunning diamond set in platinum necklace. There was also a note. 

His handwriting still sucks, I thought. 

'I know you like diamonds. They aren't forever though. 

I'm sorry. But I love you. Always.'