I broke up with my boyfriend because of an iced Americano
It was bound to happen — the Americano was just the cherry on top.
For weeks, I had been pacing back and forth — literally and mentally — over whether or not to break things off with my boyfriend.
I was unhappy.
We barely saw each other. I had a 9 to 5 job working in publishing, and he was a successful freelancer with a busy and irregular work schedule. We typically worked around his availability and only ever saw each other once or twice a week.
I’m not very high maintenance in that regard (and I also greatly admired and respected his work ethic), so seeing him infrequently was never really an issue.
The problem was, on those rare occasions we did meet and go out on dates, he was always on his damn phone.
When he wasn’t busy checking his email or responding to clients, he was busy browsing Facebook and Instagram.
At some point, I teased him about him being on his phone so much. “Pay attention to me,” I said jokingly. His response caught me off guard.
“As if you’re not always on your phone.”
“It’s for work. If a client messages me, I have to respond right away.”
And that somehow devolved into, “What do you want me to do, prioritize you over work?”
Ouch.
If he couldn’t make time for me, fine. I didn’t mind compromising on that. If he wouldn’t give me his full attention when we were together — that, I have an issue with. But to respond with hostility towards me on top of all that?
This was just one of the events leading up to the break up; there were so many other issues piling up, and this had been going on for months.
The uncertainty I felt about him and the relationship weighed down on me, but I kept hoping that things would change.
He refused to back down from a fight, even if he was the one at fault. We fought and argued for days until I eventually just stopped responding to him altogether. I didn’t reply to his messages, didn’t answer his calls, nor did I ask to see him. I was just so exhausted.
One afternoon, the receptionist at my office comes to me holding a giant bouquet of flowers. “Your boyfriend is waiting at the front desk,” she said, smiling from ear to ear. (Oh, if only she knew…)
I walked to the front desk and told him that I still had some work to finish and couldn’t leave just yet. He said he would wait for me, handing me a package before I went back. It was a paper bag from my favorite coffee shop.
Now before I go on further, there’s something I have to preface: My love of coffee, specifically iced lattes, is universally known by friends, family, peers, and a handful of people who follow me on social media. I’ve built a reputation on my iced latte addiction, and the baristas I’ve befriended can testify for me—they’ve stopped asking for my order and just automatically start making an iced latte whenever I enter the coffee shop).
So there I was on my desk, ignoring the envious glances from my colleagues as I eagerly opened the paper bag. An iced latte after a long day of work, how nice! Except… it wasn’t an iced latte. I took out the plastic cup and saw a black drink. I checked the paper bag again, maybe there was a small cup of creamer in there?
Nope.
(No offense to Americano drinkers… Or long black, whatever you want to call it.)
I could tell my colleagues were just as confused as I was. Again, they were looking at the girl who consumed iced lattes like a meal replacement.
Was I angry? Was I disappointed? I didn’t even know. I was just shocked.
That might come off petty and self-centered, but the sad fact was that strangers — people whom I’ve never even met — knew what coffee I drank. My colleagues at work who had only known me for a few months at the time knew what coffee I drank. But my boyfriend of over a year didn’t?
It seems like such a tiny, insignificant thing to break up over, I know. But that, to me, said so much about our relationship.
What was he doing all those times I bought an iced latte before we headed to the movies? What about all those times I struggled to get a decent photo of my iced latte to post on Instagram? Or how about all those times I complained about how watered down my three-hour-old latte had gotten?
Yes, he was giving me attention now. Yes, he was putting in an effort now. Yes, he was trying his best now.
But where was that before it all unraveled? Why couldn’t he have put in that attention and effort before losing me became a possibility?
In its sheer absurdity, that Americano confirmed all the doubts I had about him and our relationship. It cemented what was, in retrospect, a long overdue decision.
Note to self: Get yourself a man who knows your coffee.
