He Took His Childhood Sweetheart to the World Cup,And Left Me to Babysit Her Cat

I'd scored tickets to the World Cup match Michael Gilbert loved most.

I rushed over to find him, only to overhear his friend trying to talk him out of something:

Sandra Jenner pushed back all her work just to watch the game with you, went through all that trouble to grab tickets, and you're still bringing Gretchen Henson instead? That's not right.

Michael exhaled the smoke from his cigarette and said, like it was nothing:

"Watching with her is no fun. I'm used to having Gretchen with me every World Cup."

No fun.

Used to.

Those few words landed like a dozen slaps across the face of the woman who'd spent twelve years at his side.

Three World Cups in those years, and the first two he'd gone with Gretchen.

I'd cried over it. I'd made scenes.

He'd soothed me:

"Gretchen and I are childhood friends, I'm just used to it. Before you came along, it was always her with me. Be good. Next time I'll only go with you, I promise."

I believed him.

Waited four long years.

But this time too, his habits still had no room for me.

I gripped the tickets and laughed.

Then I tore them in half and dropped them in the trash.

So it turned out that for all twelve of those years, from start to finish, I'd been the one running alongside, never the one who counted.

He was right. There really was no fun in it.

When Michael came back, he had Gretchen's white cat cradled in his arms.

"Sandra, sorry to ask, but could you look after Gretchen's cat for a while?"

Only after he'd said it did he lift his eyes and see me packing. His expression shifted.

"Stop packing."

"Last month, on Gretchen's birthday, her wish was for me to watch this World Cup with her."

"I already promised her."

His tone was mild, but there wasn't a trace of negotiation in it.

He was simply informing me of the outcome.

I tucked my ID and household registration into the deepest inner pocket of my suitcase.

The registration papers had come from my parents back home half a month ago, for the two of us to file for our marriage license.

We'd agreed to go to the civil affairs bureau on the ninth of next month to register.

Thinking about it now, breaking up was better than divorce.

I didn't even lift my eyes. My voice dropped a few degrees colder:

"Four years ago you promised me you'd watch this one with me too."

"You can't compare the two! Gretchen's an outsider. If I promise her something, I can't go back on it."

His tone hardened despite himself.

Everything in me had died down to a flat, still pool of water. I raised my gaze to him.

"Of the three of us, I'm the outsider."

Michael's face went taut.

"Petty and jealous again?! Can you just stop?!"

"Gretchen and I grew up together. I've told you a thousand times, it's a perfectly pure friendship!"

"And we're getting our license next month! Do you still not trust me?!"

"Sandra, you really wear me out when you act like this!"

He lifted a hand to his forehead.

Every time we fought over Gretchen, he wore that same deeply exhausted look.

My face was cold.

"I'm worn out too."

I added, "You're used to having Gretchen watch with you, so let her."

"I'm not insisting on going with you."

Michael froze for a beat, and seeing that I wasn't pressing on,

he mistook it for me backing down the way I always had, and let out a relieved breath.

"Don't read too much into it. I'll bring you back a gift."

The cat in his arms hopped down and trotted over to my suitcase.

Michael explained, "Gretchen's whole family's away traveling, and my parents don't like cat hair around the house."

"Gretchen hasn't found anyone to watch the cat for now, so sorry to ask, but please look after it for her for a while."

She looked after my man. I looked after her cat.

Ha.

Michael's phone rang.

I could tell from his face that it was Gretchen calling.

Before he headed to the study to take it, he tossed off one last instruction to me:

"The cat's been crying for a while now. It's probably hungry."

"Gretchen says it likes steamed sea bass. Make it some fish."

After all these years, the tone he used with me had grown as casual as ordering around the help.

He didn't wait for me to answer. He walked into the study and shut the door.

I packed my luggage and set it aside. The company had given me three days to hand off my work.

In three days, I'd be leaving more than this city. I'd be leaving Michael too, the man who'd been at my side for twelve years.

Passing the study, I heard Michael on a video call with Gretchen.

Her laughter was light and merry.

His voice was certain, even a little smug.

"Sandra's stuck by me for twelve years, gone along with everything for twelve years. Every World Cup, you're the one who watches it with me."

"She won't make a scene, so relax and enjoy the game with me."

I went still. My heart felt as if it had frozen solid.

From eighteen to thirty, for those twelve years he was all I had.

To every one of his friends, I was the understanding, considerate girlfriend.

Even when Gretchen caused a fight between us, I never let an outsider know.

I gave him every bit of face he could ask for.

And that had become his leverage to "push me around."

A cold smile touched my lips.

Michael, I will never bend to you again.

Packing my things, I realized one of the sleep pillows my grandmother gave me was missing.

My job was stressful, and I'd never slept well.

So my grandmother went to an old herbalist out of town and had two sleep pillows made for me, to switch between.

For those two pillows, my grandmother got into a car accident and died.

From that day on, those two pillows were the most precious things she'd left me.

Michael finished his call and was heading out.

I called after him.

"Did you see the other sleep pillow my grandmother gave me?"

He thought for a moment.

"Check the guest bedroom next door, Gretchen's room. See if it's there."

"If it's not, then it's at Gretchen's place."

We'd lived in this apartment for seven years.

At first we rented it; later we bought it from the landlord.

I thought a one-bedroom was plenty for just the two of us.

He insisted on a two-bedroom, said a friend might stay over now and then.

In all these years, he never once let a friend crash here, not even when a buddy got dumped and drank himself stupid.

He didn't put that friend in the guest room either. He insisted on a hotel.

The only person who ever stayed in that guest room was Gretchen.

Every time, it was because she was drunk.

I'd tell Michael to drive her home, or get her a room somewhere.

Every time, he'd say it wasn't safe for a drunk girl to stay somewhere on her own.

He knew it bothered me, knew I'd be jealous.

But he let Gretchen stay the night here, again and again.

Sometimes without even telling me first.

Later, because it bothered me so much, he installed cameras in the apartment.

He dressed it up as proof: with cameras watching, he and Gretchen were innocent.

It wasn't just that there was a bedroom in this apartment kept ready for Gretchen.

Her personal things kept turning up too. Lipstick, socks, jewelry, even underwear.

In the past, I'd have screamed and fought with him at home over things like this.

Now I just calmly walked over to the guest bedroom. The sleep pillow wasn't there.

No yelling, no scene. I just got in my car and drove to Gretchen's place.

Gretchen stared at me, surprised.

"Oh, Sandra, what brings you here? This is your first time at my place, isn't it?"

She smiled and waved me inside.

"I'm here for the sleep pillow."

She gave a little smile and turned to pour me some water.

In truth, she was sending a message.

If I had to guess, she was tattling to Michael.

"Don't bother with the water. I'll grab my things and go."

She came back, rubbing the back of her head, looking like she couldn't quite remember where she'd put it.

"Check the second room on the right. That's where Michael slept last time."

Something twisted low in my chest. I'd never known Michael had stayed over at her place.

Passing through the living room, I saw the women's clothes hung out to dry on her balcony, and Michael's clothes mixed in among them.

Including his underwear, right beside Gretchen's.

Gretchen followed my gaze and tossed off a remark.

"Last night that idiot Michael had too much to drink. He threw up all over himself, and all over me too."

"So I washed everything for him."

It sounded like an explanation, but every word was a challenge.

She hadn't always provoked me this openly.

She used to swear to me that she and Michael were nothing more than childhood friends.

That she'd never harbor any improper thoughts.

These past two years she'd stopped saying that, always wearing a look that said believe it or not, I don't care.

Now it had escalated. She used her eyes, her veiled words, to declare war on me.

She was waiting for me to tear away the thin paper between her and Michael, waiting for me to fight her over it.

But I only answered calmly: "Mm."

As I pulled my gaze back, I happened to notice the coffee on the tea table, the brand Michael had loved drinking for years.

Just like at the home we shared, where there were the slimming products Gretchen always used.

I was calmer than I'd imagined.

After her shock faded, a trace of disappointment showed in Gretchen's eyes.

After all, I hadn't fought with her the way she'd expected.

Hadn't given her the scene where she could play the wounded little flower and make Michael ache for her, take her side.

I followed her into the room.

The moment I stepped through the door, I saw the wall by the bed, a heart-shaped wall covered with photos of her and Michael together.

Some were casual snapshots from everyday life, others were warm, intimate portraits shot in a professional studio.

There was a photo from every single year, from their births right up to now.

The one in the very center stood out, Gretchen in a white gown, a white veil over her head.

Hand in hand with Michael in a suit, the two of them running into the wind.

Not wedding photos, yet so much like them.

In every single picture, Michael was smiling, easy and happy.

Gretchen followed my eyes to the photos on the wall and said:

"These are all the beautiful memories Michael and I have recorded, from childhood to now."

I felt nothing. So it turned out that once your heart had gone to ash, you really did stop caring about everything.

My voice only went a few degrees colder as I agreed:

"They really are your beautiful memories."

She looked at me and deliberately suggested:

"Sandra, why don't you join us?"

A cold smile touched my lips.

In that snide, mocking tone, she was telling me:

Of the three of us, I was the one who came last.

Even after twelve years with Michael, I was still the outsider.

Facing her provoking stare, I stayed calm:

"A game for two stops being fun with three."

I had no wish to waste more words on her, and asked again:

"Where's the pillow?"

Gretchen hadn't expected me to be this composed, and the smile on her face turned even more fake.

She walked over to the wardrobe and opened it, complaining on purpose as she searched.

"Michael, honestly. Where did he put that pillow! He's not usually so careless about things."

"I'm really going to have a good talk with him about this one of these days."

I stood off to the side without a word, calmly watching her perform her own little play.

She pulled Michael's clothes out of the cabinet, his underwear included.

Gretchen looked at me and said with a smile:

"Sandra, don't get the wrong idea. Michael stays here seven days a month at most."

"Men need their space sometimes. When you're away on business, he comes over here."

"He's just lazy. When he comes to my place, he lets me wait on him, and he doesn't have to lift a finger."

She called it an explanation, but which word wasn't a challenge?

I said, Whatever's going on between you two is none of my business. I'm only here for the pillow.

Gretchen wore the look of someone waiting to see how long I could hold out. She flipped back the smoothed-out comforter.

Underneath lay a row of neatly arranged pink lace-trimmed pillows.

Beside them sat a box of ultra-thins.

Gretchen followed my gaze to that opened box of ultra-thins.

She didn't say a word, just waited for me to blow up first.

Still, I only said, calm as ever,:

I have other things to do. Hurry it up.

Then let's check the dressing room next door.

I followed her into the dressing room next door.

An open suitcase sat on the floor.

It held a few clothes, and on top of them lay an unopened box of ultra-thins.

Gretchen said, I'm packing. Tomorrow I'm flying overseas with Michael to catch a game.

Seeing me keep my face cold and refuse to take the bait,

Gretchen deliberately added another line::

The World Cup, once every four years, so popular plenty of people can't even squeeze in to watch.

A world you can't squeeze into, yet you keep spending time trying, always thinking you can change the ending. But the seats are fixed!

The ones who can't squeeze in were never going to.

My patience was wearing thin. My voice came out cold and hard::

I'm only here for the pillow. Michael's yours, a gift from me!

She froze for a second, then put on her innocent, sweet-poison act::

Sandra, what are you talking about? Don't get the wrong idea about me.

I was only telling you about the World Cup. I didn't mean anything else.

I stressed each syllable and said it again::

I'm only here for the pillow!

Her expression turned hard to read, and then something seemed to come to her::

I just remembered where it is. Come with me.

I followed her to a third room.

The room had been set up as a cat den.

The moment I stepped in, I saw it: the rectangular sleep pillow, white with mint-green embroidery, sitting inside the litter box.

Reeking of cat urine.

I stared at the pillow fouled with cat waste, and rage surged through me.

Gretchen explained in that calculated tone, half innocent, half maddening enough to kill::

Sorry about that, Sandra. My cat's just so naughty.

It's only a pillow. I'll buy you a better one.

And honestly, Michael spoils that cat way too much.

I raised my hand and slapped Gretchen hard across the face::

You did this on purpose!

Sandra!

Right behind it came Michael's sharp shout.

He pulled Gretchen into his arms, gazing with pained tenderness at the slap mark on her cheek.

Gretchen wept, the picture of fragile pity, putting on her understanding act::

Michael, don't be harsh with Sandra.

Michael frowned and scolded me: It's just a pillow. Was that really necessary?

My eyes went red with fury, and I raised my hand and slapped him too::

It was!

Michael's face snapped to the side, a pink slap mark blooming across it. He glared at me in disbelief.

Sandra, what's gotten into you?

I'm done with you, that's what! Michael, I really regret loving you for twelve years!

I turned to leave.

He shouted after my back, furious::

Stop being unreasonable!

The next day, after handing off the last of my work at the company, I wheeled my luggage to the airport.

A message came in from Gretchen::

I already ordered you ten pillows online. They'll arrive in the next couple of days, so keep an eye out for the delivery.

Michael and I are about to board. My cat's a little delicate, so there are a few things to keep in mind. I made a chart.

Just follow what's in the chart and take care of her for me.

Michael sent me a message too::

On the 9th of next month, I'll be back right on time to get our marriage license.

I stared at the message and let out a cold laugh.

Michael, your punctuality means nothing to me now. I'll never show up for you again.

From here on, you can fly off to your World Cup, and I'll fly off to my freedom.