I know this is last-minute, and I realize it’s New Year’s Eve, but do you think somebody could come around today? As soon as possible?” I close my eyes and cross my fingers.

The locksmith’s gruff voice at the other end of the phone lets out a heavy sigh as if I’m putting him out more than anybody’s ever put anybody out in the entire history of the world. It isn’t as if I’m asking him to come out on Christmas morning, or something.

“Please,” I beg. I need to get him here, today. Before James decides he’s going to come back and worm his way into my life. Every time I so much as hear the door to the street open and close, my heart clenches with fear that it’s him.

I don’t even know what I would do. I can’t see him again, I just can’t. Not that I’m afraid I’d fall for him again or anything like that. Oh, no, that ship has sailed so far I can’t even see it in the distance anymore. I just don’t want to see him. As a matter of fact, I don’t want to ever see his face again. I’ll remember all the times I gave in to him, all the times I settled for him. God, I was so stupid.

It’s bad enough, remembering the past. I don’t need the sight of his face to bring it all into clearer focus.

I’m not getting an answer from Mister Locksmith, so it’s time to up the ante a little. “I’ll give you an extra fifty dollars. Please, Mr. Johnson. You don’t know how important it is to me that I get the locks on my apartment door changed as quickly as possible.” The little bit of anxiety I inject into my voice can’t hurt things, either.

He sighs again, softer this time. “It’s that sort of situation, huh?”

“Yes, it is.” Sure. Whatever he needs to think.

“All right. I can be there in an hour.”

“Thank you so much!” And he’ll get an extra sixty dollars, instead.

Now that things are set on that end, it’s time to bag up the garbage and leave it outside. That’s where garbage goes, after all.

I thought this would hurt. I really did. Whenever I got the feeling James was on his way out the door—and that was, oh, once every few months or so—my stomach would twist with fear and I’d get cold sweats as if I was actually sick.

But I was sick, all right. Sick in the head for ever thinking I needed him.

Crummy old sports jerseys he likes to wear even though he’s never played a sport in his life? Bagged.

Holey underwear he refuses to replace? Bagged.

Worn-out shoes? See ya.

Bobblehead figures I’ve hated with a flaming passion ever since I first laid eyes on them? Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.

Everything I toss into a bag, or a box leaves me feeling just a little lighter. Freer. Happier. It’s like I’m shedding all this excess weight and excess sadness, and now there’s room for so many other things. There’s so much more to life. I never would’ve imagined it otherwise.

I guess I owe James a lot. We owe a lot to the people who teach us what we do not want from life. It’s like he took a flashlight and shone it on all the uncomfortable bits in my life. He showed me what’s important and what’s not. So I’m a little more gentle with the bobbleheads than I would like to be. I owe him that much.

It’s amazing, what Ace has already done for me. I’m actually humming by the time the locksmith knocks on the door. I fix coffee for both of us as he works. He’s a nice man, if a little brusque. His eyebrows fly into his cap when he sees the row of overstuffed garbage bags and boxes.

“Yes. That’s his stuff,” I confirm. “In case you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t,” he lies—then gruffly, “Do you want somebody to be here with you while he comes to pick it up?”

What a sweet man. “I don’t think so. As long as the door is locked between us, it’ll be fine. But I really appreciate the offer.”

By the time my coffee cup is empty, he’s finished. And he refuses the extra money. He’s the second really nice man I’ve met in the last twenty-four hours. It’s enough to give a girl hope.

Hope is what I need, too, because I need to make a phone call now. I’ve been putting it off all this time. I have no reason to do it anymore—besides, I have other things to do. Like making myself gorgeous for tonight.

James answers on the first ring. Like he’s been waiting for me to call all along. Expecting me to. “What took you so long?” he asks.

Oh, the smug bastard. He thinks I’m calling him to beg for him to come back. How he can even stand himself is a wonder. My eyes narrow and my blood starts to simmer. All the positive things about being grateful to him for shining a torchlight on the uncomfortable part of me flies out of the window. “Sorry I kept you waiting. I needed a little time to get your things together.”

He makes a funny choking noise. “What did you do?”

“Didn’t you hear me? I said, I got your things together. You’re all packed up.”

“Packed up?” Damn, it’s nice when the shoe is on the other foot. Nice that he is good and truly shocked. This might be the best day of my entire life. I can just see his stupid face and the stupid expression on it. He thought he had me under this thumb. He thought I would never really go through with it, even though he was the one who said so many nasty things to me and put me down for so long.

“I thought it was the least I could do, considering how you’ve wasted all this time with somebody as fat as me. Now, come get your shit. I’ll be putting them out in the corridor after I put the phone down.” By the time I finish, my voice is a snarl. I’m through trying to play nice with him.

“You can’t do this to me.”

“It’s already done. And the locks are changed too, so don’t bother trying your key in the door.”

“You can’t just call me and tell me what do to and when to do it. Don’t you dare put my stuff in the hall.”

“It’s already done, and I’m not undoing it.”

“You’d better.”

“Or else what? What are you going to do to me? What’s that? Nothing. That’s what I thought.”

He changes tactics right away, his voice softening. “Daw, babe. Come on.”

“My name is Dawn,” I remind him “I’ve always hated when you called me that, because it means you’re trying to get your way. To be really honest, it makes my skin crawl, and come to think of it, so do you.”

“I just wanna talk to you, okay? Why’s it gotta end like this?”

“Because I have plans tonight and I have to get ready. You lost your chance to talk to me last night when you spoke to me like I was less than dirt.”

He snickers, and just like that the penitent act drops away. I swear, he’s got to be a psychopath. What the hell was wrong with me that I didn’t see it for so long? Did I deliberately ignore all the red flags? Just because I was afraid of being alone? I’d rather be alone than spend another minute with him.

“Yeah, right,” he sneers, sarcasm dripping from every word. “You have plans. For tonight?”

“Yes, I do, not that it’s any of your business. And it’s none of my business whether you want your things or not. Just remember: if you don’t come to get your things immediately, I’ll call the Goodwill down the street and they’ll be more than happy to take your junk.” I glance over at the pile by the door. “Maybe not the bobbleheads. Even the destitute don’t want those tacky things.”

And then, I hang up before he gets the chance to say another word. For a second I stand still, my hands are shaking. Then I let out a scream with my palms over my mouth as a scream of pure joy and disbelief at the balls I somehow managed to find flows out of my mouth.

Maybe I had them all along. I just forgot they were there.

It’s a scramble to get everything out to the hall quickly and the door locked behind me. He’s probably with his new girl so I don’t know how long it will take him to get here. Especially since he’s pretty pissed at me and in a hurry to get here and claim his things before they get stolen.

I think about his new girl. She has no idea. I almost want to warn her. I want to tell her what a mess he is to live with, what a terrible slob he can be, how lazy he is, and how he’ll take your confidence and crush it until it’s no more than a splat on the ground. How he wants to be served hand to foot.

That’s the thing he needs most, I decide, pulling out my nail polish with the intention of fixing up my nails now that the work is done. I shake the bottle vigorously. He needs somebody to take care of him, because he’s little more than a helpless baby. Selfish, shallow, self-centered. He lashes out when he doesn’t get his way.

I twist the bottle open. He doesn’t see the good things in his life when they’re right in front of him. I place the brush carefully on the base of my nail and pull it upwards in a one smooth stroke. He pouts when he doesn’t get his way—and when he does get his way, he forgets why he wanted what he wanted to begin with.

A single tear rolls down my cheek, blurring the work I’m doing on my nails and making me curse under my breath. “I’ll never cry over him again,” I promise myself as I wipe the tear away on the back of my arm. I never, ever will again.

I’m blowing the polish dry—a deep, sexy red color I bought a month or so ago, but for some reason never had the guts to wear before now—when I hear the downstairs door open and slam shut. “Heeeere’s Jimmy,” I whisper, steeling myself for what’s about to come.

I hear his heavy thud on every step. Just before he reaches the landing I tiptoe to the door and stand just to the side, where he won’t be able to see me if he crouches down to look through the letterbox. I don’t want him thinking I’m hovering around, just waiting to see what he’ll do. Even though I am.

The first thing he does is heave a monstrous sigh. I have to bite down on my lip, hard, to keep from laughing. This might actually be fun. I bet he raised his arms and let them flop down at his sides too. Poor little boy, having to pick up all his things. What, did he think I was kidding?

“This is bullshit,” he mutters as he approaches my door. I bite even harder on my lip to hold back my giggles. Wow! He didn’t believe I’d go through with it. He actually thought I was lying about putting his crap out in the hall, just to get him to come back to the apartment.

“What a fucking bitch! She put my things out here like I’m some piece of shit who doesn’t deserve any better.”

I curl my hands into fists before I can stop myself. There go my nails. But it’s either ball my hands up or throw the door open and hit him upside the head with a frying pan. You are a piece of shit who doesn’t deserve any better, I would scream as I did it.

He moans and groans pitifully as he picks up some of the bags and carries them downstairs. There are at least two to three trips worth of stuff out there. Poor James. Poor put-upon James. If he had any friends who weren’t complete jerkoffs like him, he might have been able to get a little help.

“Good riddance,” I whisper as he stomps his way down the stairs. “And goodbye, James.”

I need to fix my nails and get on with my life.