No More Cheap Birthday Cupcakes Chapter 2

The next morning, while waiting for the train, a local lifestyle video popped up on my feed.

It was a candid clip filmed inside the Louis Vuitton boutique downtown. The caption read: "Obsessed with this couple! Look at how he looks at her. Where do I find a guy like this?"

In the video, Dylan was draped over Sally, carefully adjusting the strap of a luxury handbag on her shoulder, his face glowing with a sweet, adoring smile.

While I was sitting alone in a restaurant celebrating my birthday, he was playing the doting boyfriend in a designer boutique.

I watched the video three times. Then, I liked it.

When I arrived at the office, I walked straight to my manager's desk and handed in my two weeks' notice.

My work bestie walked over to my desk later, holding two mugs of tea. "Alice, what’s going on? Why are you leaving so suddenly? Yesterday you were literally talking about saving up to buy Dylan that new MacBook for his office."

I looked at the screen of my computer, where the video of Dylan and Sally was still paused. I smiled, but the warmth didn't reach my eyes. "He’s someone else’s boyfriend now. He doesn't need my gifts."

An hour before my shift ended, my phone rang. It was Dylan.

"Is something wrong with you today?" he asked, his tone laced with irritation.

"No. Why?"

"You haven't texted me once. No updates, no phone calls. Nothing."

I let out a soft, dry laugh. I hadn't even realized. For the first time in ten years, I hadn't spent my day wondering what he was doing or if he was safe. In the past, if he had stayed overnight at another woman's house, I would have spent the entire day calling him, crying and demanding reassurance.

"Did you need something?" I asked.

There was a long silence on the other end. "Don't take the subway," Dylan said, sounding uncharacteristically awkward. "I'll drive down and pick you up after work."

Ever since he bought his car, he had insisted I keep a low profile at work by taking public transit. He rarely offered to drive me, though he frequently went "out of his way" to pick up Sally.

"Okay," I replied.

When I opened the passenger door and got in, Dylan didn't even look up. He was staring at his phone, typing rapidly, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

My dad called. I picked up immediately.

"Everything is set, Dad. My resignation is processing. I’ll be back in New York next week."

I hung up, and Dylan finally tossed his phone into the cup holder. "What's happening next week?"

"Nothing."

I reached down to adjust my seat and brushed against something soft. I pulled out a pair of pink lace underwear from the crevice of the passenger seat.

Dylan’s face went pale. He snatched them out of my hand, stuffing them into the glove box with a clumsy, panicked laugh. "Sally... you know how she is. She’s so disorganized. She must have dropped them when we were moving her things."

I simply nodded, turning my gaze to the window.

He nervously turned on the radio. An indie-pop song—one of Sally’s favorites—filled the car. He skipped it, but the next song was by the same artist. And the next.

"Don't worry about it," I said, my voice empty of emotion. "Just leave it."

Dylan’s hand froze over the dashboard. The nervous smile on his face slowly dissolved. "Alice, you're acting weird. You usually hate this kind of music."

Before I could answer, his phone rang. He answered it on the car’s Bluetooth speaker.

"Dylan..." Sally’s voice whimpered through the speakers. "My cramps are getting really bad. I don't think I can walk to the pharmacy."

Dylan cut the call, pulled over to the side of the road, and looked at me with an apologetic, pleading expression. "Alice, can you hop out here and take the train? I need to go get her some medicine. You know how fragile she gets during her cycle. You care about her, right?"

I sat quietly for a moment, staring into his eyes. "Dylan. Do you even remember whose boyfriend you are?"

His face instantly flushed with anger, his eyes narrowing. "What does that have to do with anything? Why do you always have to be so incredibly selfish, Alice? She's your best friend!" He reached over and unlocked the passenger door. "Get out. I don't want her waiting in pain because of your jealousy."

I didn't say another word. I grabbed my purse, stepped out into the cold, and watched the taillights of his car disappear into the evening traffic.

By the time Dylan got home, it was past ten.

He walked into the kitchen with a sheepish, placating smile, holding out a small bakery box. "Don't be mad, babe. Look what I brought you."

Inside was a slice of salted caramel peanut cake.

Sally’s absolute favorite.

I didn't touch it. "I'm severely allergic to peanuts, Dylan."

His face drained of color. "Oh... God, Alice, I'm sorry. I forgot..."

This was the man who, during our first year of dating, used to painstakingly pick every single stray peanut out of my takeout food. Now, he couldn't even remember the allergy that could send me to the ICU.

To cover his guilt, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small, elegantly wrapped gift box. "Here. Sally and I picked this out for you. Consider it a belated birthday gift."

I opened the box. A silk Louis Vuitton scarf lay inside.

I pulled out my phone, unlocked it, and showed him the TikTok video I had liked earlier.

His expression went from embarrassed to defensive in a fraction of a second. "Sally is starting her graduate program. She needed a professional bag to make a good impression! Why do you always have to compare yourself to her? If you don't want the scarf, then don't take it!"

He slammed the box onto the counter, marched into the bathroom, and slammed the door so hard the glass rattled.

A few minutes later, his phone buzzed on the kitchen island. I looked down.

[Sally: Is it okay that we gave Alice the free promo scarf? I felt a little bad, but I really, really loved the bag.]

[Dylan: Don't worry about it. A designer logo is a designer logo. It's more than enough for her.]

I didn't feel the tears fall, but I felt the cold trail they left on my cheeks.

Later that night, Dylan climbed into bed and wrapped his arms around me from behind, burying his face in my hair. This was his routine—his way of apologizing without ever having to say the words. In the past, I would have softened instantly, turning around to hold him.

But tonight, his touch made my skin crawl.

I gently but firmly pulled his arms off me and rolled to the far edge of the mattress.

He went stiff. After a long, tense silence, he grabbed his pillow and walked out to the living room.

Our sofa was small and stiff. In the past, I would have lain awake, consumed by guilt, before finally going out to pull him back to bed. But tonight, I closed my eyes and fell into a deep, uninterrupted sleep.