He Trashed My Gift, So I Trashed Him

To buy my boyfriend a Valentine's Day gift, I went so broke I ended up digging through a trash can on the street for food.

And I found the limited-edition sneakers I'd given him.

When I tracked Cole down, he was in a private room at a hotel, throwing a welcome-home party for his "best bro," Sienna.

Someone brought up my gift. His college roommate, Chase, laughed.

"Dude, Jenna scrimped for three months to get you those. You just tossed them? Aren't you scared she'll flip?"

Cole snorted. "I mentioned them once. How was I supposed to know she'd actually buy them?"

"She lived on PB&Js for three months over a pair of shoes, and made damn sure I knew it. Every time I look at them, I feel like I'm getting a bill. Bad vibes."

Sienna pulled an identical shoebox out from under her chair.

"Perfect, because I got you the same pair! Good thing you trashed hers, or mine would've been the backup."

Cole put them on right there at the table. "Yours fit better. They look the same anyway. She'll never know the difference."

Fine.

Then I'm throwing him away, too.

"You ditched your girlfriend on Valentine's Day to throw me a party. If she finds out, she's gonna hate me, right?"

I stood outside the private room, watching Cole and Sienna through the crack in the door.

Cole was fastening a sapphire necklace around her neck with his own hands.

"Please. Don't overthink it." He kissed the top of her head. "Girlfriends come and go. Bros are forever."

"As for Jenna, I'll grab some gas station flowers on the way home. She'll be happy for a week."

Chase had his feet up on a chair, slapping the table. "Buy her a gas station hot dog and she'd cry! Remember the camping trip last week?"

"We ditched her on the mountain on purpose, made a bet on whether she'd lose it. Took her four hours to hike down. Got home at two in the morning, and she didn't say one word to Cole!"

"We all bet she'd blow up. Cole was the only one who bet she wouldn't."

"And I won." Cole raised his glass.

Sienna covered her mouth, giggling. "Oh my God, zero self-respect."

"Honestly, I would've bet the same. Look where she comes from. Look where you come from. Like she's gonna blow up her ATM."

ATM.

My nails dug into my palms until they went numb.

I'm a scholarship kid from a small town in Ohio, the first in my family to go to college. Cole is the Whitmore of Whitmore Capital, born with a trust fund.

Everyone assumed I was with him for his money.

And Cole hated gold diggers.

So to prove I wasn't one, for three years I never spent a cent of his.

We split every date. I never asked for gifts.

When he took me to a charity gala and I couldn't afford a gown, he took Sienna instead.

When Sienna and I were in a car accident in his car, he got Sienna a private room. I was in a four-bed ward, and I paid my own bill.

At the company holiday party, I won a trip for two to see the northern lights in Norway.

Cole said that since I worked for him and the company paid for the prize, it was basically his money.

Then he took my voucher and flew Sienna out to see the aurora I'd dreamed about my whole life.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

Cole.

Something came up. Can't make it. Cancel the reservation, we'll split the fee.

For this Valentine's Day, I'd scrimped for three months to buy his gift. I'd sat alone at that restaurant for three hours and called more than a dozen times. Straight to voicemail, every time.

After the $300 cancellation fee, I had $4.12 left in my account. Payday was nine days away.

On the way to the bus, I passed a flower shop where some guy's declaration of love had just gone very wrong. He dumped the flowers, a ring box, and a gift bag into the trash and stormed off.

My stomach was cramping with hunger. I stared at the box of chocolates in that gift bag for a full minute.

I told myself I wasn't that kind of person.

Then I thought about the $4.12. The nine days.

I rolled up my sleeves.

The can reeked of coffee grounds and something sour. I fished out the chocolates, and my hand bumped into another box.

Black. Matte. Gold foil logo.

I knew that box. I'd wrapped it myself.

My handwriting was still on the card, a little smeared:

Happy Valentine's Day, Cole. Three years, and many, many more. —J

A receipt was stuck to the bottom: The Grand Meridian Hotel, 7:52 p.m.

Forty minutes after he was supposed to meet me.

My phone buzzed again.

Cole sent you $150.00 — "half the cancellation fee"

Inside, Cole laughed lazily. "See? Sienna called it. I told her I couldn't make it on Valentine's Day, and she didn't even ask where I was. She just takes the money."

The whole room cracked up.

I stood outside the door, holding the shoebox I'd fished out of the trash, coffee grounds still stuck to my arm.

A hundred ways to storm in flashed through my head. Smash the box into his face. Throw red wine all over that stupid necklace. Flip the whole damn table.

I really wanted to.

But I hadn't eaten all day. My stomach hurt so bad I could barely stand up straight. I didn't even have the strength to flip a table.

I accepted the payment.

$150. That's a week of groceries. Thanks, Cole.

Then I sat down on the hotel stairs, crying, and opened the shopping app.

Reason for return: No longer needed.

Seriously. Never again.