We’re breaking up because he cheated. At least that’s what I’m telling all of our mutual friends. And our mothers. It’s correct from the standpoint that he did cheat while we were still technically together. Two weeks into the breaking-up process, though, I’m starting to wonder if that incident was truly the catalyst or if instead it was something more along the lines of boredom or inherent incompatibility. Or being young.

I haven’t really cried. I mean in the uncontrollable heaving, thrashing, sobbing sense. I’ve definitely teared up a little, but just for a minute. And, I'm sad, but I think it’s more about the fear of losing the friendship that went along with relationship. Being friends is something we’ve always been good at. Also, I really got along with his family.

So. Like I said. The breakup is two weeks old, and, based on my impartial observations of other doomed relationships, could take months to settle into something tolerably mundane. Or possibly forever. Or maybe this is it. We’ve never really been a dramatic sort of couple. But I think the primary part (the part that takes up all of your time – the talking, analyzing, 'denialing', not-quite-letting-go part). The annoying part. Is over. He came over on Monday to pick up the last of his things. I’d folded them all neatly into a tattered grocery bag from Whole Foods -- including a filthy, mismatched pair of athletic socks.

We chatted politely for a few minutes, and he helped me carry in the boxes of groceries that Peapod had left on my back deck next to the door. When we were finished, I escorted him outside.

The thing that sucks about a moment like that is you never know what the parting words should be. Ideally (or at least the movies have taught us) it should be something profound. ‘Goodbye’ is fine for every other applicable occasion (past or future), but for this instance it was painfully wrong. I considered ‘see you later’, but that seemed too optimistic. I didn’t want him to feel optimistic. Our relationship may have been over long before the cheating began, but we hadn’t admitted it out loud yet. And. Whether he's realized it or not, my pride's been wounded and is insisting upon some sort of recompense.

The fact that he could casually throw away five years for what I’m assuming amounted to fifteen minutes…revise that…seven minutes (he’d been drinking) of sex with some girl who’s arms are so disproportionately short for her body that people refer to her as T-rex is appalling. I know that I should direct my anger at him because he’s the person that actually did the betraying, but, on another pettier level, I don’t really like her much now either. Before two weeks ago, I was indifferent, but now I truly dislike her. Allison. Allison's a stupid name. What bothers me the most is that she knows who I am, and is aware of the fact that Jim and I have been together for the past five years.

And I told him that it was over because I couldn’t and wouldn’t ever tolerate cheating in a relationship. And now. Two weeks past the event horizon, I have to wonder if cheating was really the problem. If it was, shouldn’t I be sad/angry instead of sad/relieved?

I finally thought of a decent alternative for goodbye.

“Take care of yourself.”

“Are we still friends?”

I shrugged.

He seemed dissatisfied, and then I went back inside because I couldn’t think of anything else to say.