@ Me Next Time

Normally I’m a knocking guy, but I don’t know. I was pissed, and at least I yelled “EVELYN” at her door just as I opened it. She was drinking wine and just sitting on her bed with her computer, thank god. Still, the weight of what I could have caught startled both of us.

“Yes??”
I held up my phone, “You’re subtweeting Derek now?”
“What, no! I’m not, that’s, no.”
I had it cued up, “So happy to be feeling like myself again.”
“I am!”
“Going on a hike this morning because I’m worth it.”
“Alright, I exaggerated a little, but -“
“Mani/pedi and a book, oh my god dude Rachel Ray is a goddess #wcw??”
“I swear to god if you bash Rachel Ray.”
“That’s not the point!” It was a little bit of the point. I’m an Alex Guarnaschelli guy. But either way.
“This is bonkers,” I said, “You can’t be doing this.”
“I can’t be tweeting?”
“You can’t be tweeting like this when you KNOW Derek is reading them, it’s like, it’s super obvious.”

Evelyn closed her laptop. “Owen, I just…I just finally feel like myself again, and, like, look-”
She got up and walked to her closet. She took out some pink furry cardigan. It was awful.
“What am I looking at?”
“The cardigan! I got it at Ann Taylor Loft. I haven’t bought clothes in like, months. And look at those pillows. Those are Missoni, Owen. I’m getting better.”

I looked at the pillows. They looked uncomfortable.

“Clearly,” I said. “What’s going on?”
Evelyn rolled some of the pink frills between her fingers. “I don’t know. I think he’s seeing someone.”
“Derek?”
“Yeah.”

Alright, here’s the thing, Derek and Evelyn were straight up engaged for like twenty minutes. He’s 37 with some cool job in tech that pays for expensive cheese, and Evelyn was all about it. But it didn’t work out, he wanted kids immediately and she wanted to wait a few more years. So they split about six months ago. And he was for sure seeing someone else now, she was all over his Instagram in puffy Patagonia gear. Evelyn never said anything about it, and I didn’t want to bring it up. I crossed my arms.

“Can I be honest with you?” I asked.
“Sure.”
“I uh…If you’re gonna subtweet someone, you can do better. All your tweets are just showing how great you’re doing, you know? He broke up with you. You saying you’re going on a hike isn’t going to make him jealous.”
“I’m not trying to make him jealous.”
I pulled out my phone, “Dave Matthews Band tonight with the girls!!”
“…Alright.”
“Have you taken a picture with that…thing, yet?”
“You really don’t like it?”
“God no. Take a mirror pic with it, but gimme a second.” We needed props.

I came back with a hoodie and a little one hitter. I put the hoodie over her desk chair. I put the one hitter on her night stand.
She didn’t get it. Amateur.
“Look,” I said, “A man’s forgotten jacket says you’re hooking up with people, a lil’ weed says you’re not boring. They’re barely in the picture, no one else will notice, but I promise you — he will notice. And he will lose his mind.”
“That’s super manipulative dude.”
“Yeah. Ev, one time I got a girl to text me because I liked one picture on her friends Insta from 36 weeks back. There’s a whole petty side of me you don’t know about. I know he broke up with you, but in his head that guy still owns you. If you wanna upset him, just suggest he doesn’t. Don’t, you know, put on a parade or anything. Just start eating meat again or something.”

Evelyn looked at the ratty hoodie and one hitter, shaking her head, considering it. She looked up at me. “Were you thinking Instagram or Snapchat?”