I'm holed up in my office, a tiny postage stamp of a space at the back of Shay Chic, amidst my stocked shelves of beautiful wares, demolishing a bag of Cheez Doodles. Kim and Suki think they've been asked to mind the store for me while I tend to some "paperwork." Instead, I'm licking orange powder off my fingers while searching for a napkin.

I don't even know why I came in today. Those two can handle this place just fine without me, and let's face it, my mother is the one who handles all the details in regards to this place. But if I stayed home, I would have gone mad all day thinking about my breakup with Tom.

At least I think we broke up.

He came over last night as promised, after showing Jack and Livia a property in town. He barely kissed me hello before launching into a description of the place and explaining why he was late. It seems our friends fell in love with the house and Jack didn't want to wait until morning to put an offer in. They all had to go back to Tom's office to fill out the official forms and then he had to run the bid over to the listing agent's office right after.

He continued rambling on, something about "contingency offers" and "unsaturated marketplace" and blah, blah, blah. God, the way he talked, you'd think the guy had some amazing job like heading up a task force for the FBI or something. The fact is, he's a real estate agent. Big deal.

Actually, I used to think it was a big deal. That is, until about ten hours ago.

I listened patiently to Tommy's blabbering. I really did. But the discussion over Jack and Liv's new house turned into a conversation about the booming housing market on the horizon and then into some cockamamie scheme Tom had about "flipping" properties with Jack...

Jack and Liv. Liv and Jack. Yada yada yada.

Then something occurred to me. I started to think that he was yammering on about those two because he found their situation appealing. Maybe he was really into the idea of getting married and buying a house. Maybe he was telling me all of this because he wanted us to be like them.

Suddenly, his diatribe wasn't so boring anymore. He was trying to tell me something.

I listened intently, my head in my hand, staring into those gorgeous brown eyes as he spoke, dreaming of our future together. I could see it so clearly... The white picket fence around a yard where Snowball could run and play... Me hanging curtains while Tom mowed the lawn... Tom in a tuxedo, me in a stunning white dress walking down the aisle toward him...

"Hold that thought!" I said excitedly, before dashing over to my dresser and retrieving my treasure from the top drawer. With my back to Tom, I slipped the ring from its little turquoise box and hid it in my closed palm. I walked over to him, sitting on the sofa of my soon-to-be-vacated bedroom and sat down next to my soon-to-be husband.

He looked at me crooked, trying to gauge the sly expression on my face. I guess my secretive smile must have been contagious, because Tommy started to smile, too.

"What?" he asked.

"I have something to show you."

Tom started poking his finger into my clamped fists, laughingly asking, "Whatcha got in there? What's going on?"

Hearing his laugh again after a whole week of awkwardness between us was just the encouraging sign I needed. I took a deep breath and opened my hands.

Tom's laugh stopped.

His face went white.

He looked at me, then to the ring, then back to me.

Then wordlessly, he got off the couch, shook his head, and walked out the door.

I considered running after him but then decided against it. I figured that maybe he'd just been caught off guard by my foresightedness, and needed a few minutes to let the idea sink in. I mean, I'd been looking at my ring for over a week, getting used to the idea of its existence and what it would ultimately represent. Tom had all of five seconds. Maybe he just needed a little time to wrap his brain around the inevitable.

I made myself wait exactly one whole hour before calling him.

He didn't answer.

I called him every five minutes after that, leaving messages on the machine at his house and on the voicemails at his office and his cell. This went on for hours because I thought sooner or later, he'd just have to pick up one of the calls.

Finally, he did.

At around midnight, Tommy caught me by surprise when he finally answered his cell phone. No "hello," no "I'm sorry"... just his slightly slurred voice answering with, "Shana, so help me God. I'm done. Stop calling."

Then click!

Is he an asshole or what?

I debated the wisdom of getting into my car and driving over to his apartment in order to stake out the place until he got home. But I figured he wouldn't really be able to effectively hear me plead my case if he was drunk. My mother thought that maybe it was a good sign that he'd been drinking. She said that he was probably so torn up about how he'd acted toward me that he was forced to down a couple drinks in order to deal with it.

I hope she's right.

I'm just going to wait out his mood for a couple days and give him a chance to cool off.

But sitting here all alone with my bag of Doodles, I can't help but think that maybe things are really over this time between Tommy and me.

I grab the phone and call Liv. She picks up on the first ring.

"Real Life Photography, Liv here."

"Oh, shit. Did I call the work line?"

"Hey, Shane. Yeah, you did. But don't worry, I'm not with a client. Hey, um... Are you okay?"

Bad sign.

"Uh, yeah, I guess. Why? What did you hear?"

"Just the bare minimum info, actually. Tom called last night and Jack met him over at the bar where they both got stinking drunk. I guess you two are really over, huh?"

Crap. "Is that what he said?"

"Mmm hmm. Wait. Hold on a sec."

She's obviously distracted. What the hell could possibly be more important right now than the complete annihilation of my life? With sarcasm just dripping off my tongue, I ask, "Is this a bad time, Livia?"

"What? Oh, no, not at all. I thought I heard the other line ringing. I've been a complete mess all morning waiting to hear if our offer's been accepted on the house. Tom told you we found a place, right?"

"Yeah, Liv. He told me. Right before he broke up with me, remember? Focus, please."

"Oh, Shane, I'm sorry. I know that's why you called. I told you I'm a mess today! Okay, I'm focused. Tell me what happened."

I tell the tale of horror in full, leaving in every revolting, humiliating detail. Our "breakup" only took about three minutes, but recounting the event takes me close to an hour. I need Liv to analyze Tom's brain with me and assess just exactly where things could have gone wrong. She won't be able to do that without all available information.

She's in the middle of a sympathetic pep talk when out of nowhere, she says, "Shane! It's Weichert on the other line, I have to take this. I'll call you right back."

Nice.

"Yeah, sure," I say deadpan, and hang up.

At least she had the decency to say it was "Weichert" on the phone and not "Tommy," whom I'm sure was the actual caller.

I dig my cell out of my purse and dial my voice mailbox, listening to a saved message from weeks ago. "Hey babe, it's me. I'm on my way over, so be naked when I get there, okay? L-"

I played it again, then again, like I've done a million times before, trying to determine if, in fact, Tom was about to say "Love you" at the end of his message when the call was abruptly cut off. One more stupid second and I would have known for sure. Even half a second and I could have figured it out. Maybe all this mess is due to the fact that Tom thinks I never wanted to say it back.

A half a second could have changed everything.