The Anomaly by J.A. Cooper Page B

Todd says.
    It’s not even true.
    In no way am I simply saving for life’s extras. I don’t need to get a mani-pedi every week, or even every month, for that matter. I can make do with getting my nails and my toes done for special occasions.
    I’m actually saving half of my money for after graduation, so I’ll have a nice cushion to sit on once I’m finished with university. I’m not too sure if I want to go full-time at my current job, and taking a month off after school is an appealing option. I also know that my parents won’t be paying my housing costs forever. Anyway, my patience with Todd is evaporating. Going kaput.
    I’ve told him repeatedly, “Let’s take a break.” But he never wants to, telling me we’ve been in our relationship too long and we just need to pass whatever hurdle we’re facing. But for me, the money aspect isn’t the only thing that bugs me. Seriously, I don’t even get half the costs of our monthly grocery bill from him. It’s also the fact that Todd doesn’t make me feel special anymore. He spends more time with his friends than with me. I’m not sure what they do, but I do know that he often reeks of cheap wine when he gets back. Why don’t I care enough lately to ask where he’s been and what he’s been doing? And I can’t even remember the last time he’s told me that he loves me.
    The longest Todd and I have ever been apart is one week. Then he comes moping back to my apartment after sleeping at his parents’ house. His childhood bedroom is exactly how he left it before moving out for college. Shouldn’t that be telling me something, reveal something to me about both Todd, and his parents? They might be happy with the status quo, but I’m starting to realize I’m not.
    Whenever we go out to eat, I’m stuck picking up the tab. I even believed in Todd’s dream of becoming a personal chef, lending him $1500 to attend a training seminar for those in the food industry who want to open their own restaurant. But he’s now working an office job, so that was a waste of my savings. And though he often cooked me fancy dinners when he first moved in to my apartment, he now rarely cooks.
    I’m beyond fed up with the way things are going between us, so when he calls for me to meet him for lunch, I agree. I munch on a chicken pita wrap and a Caesar salad while Todd wolfs down two beef gyros. We both sip smoothies but don’t talk much to each other. In my mind, we are the couple that knows enough about each other not to really have to ask any questions. Or maybe it’s just that we’re no longer very interested in what the other person has to say.
    “I’ll be late coming home tonight,” Todd mumbles. He chews at a piece of beef. “I’m going bowling with some co-workers after work.” He slurps up the last drain of his drink.
    I nod and bite into my pita.
    The check comes and I ask Todd to pay. He says he can’t, he doesn’t have any cash on him and would rather not use his credit card. “I’ll pay for lunch next time, Leigh.” I don’t answer him because I can feel the frustration underneath the surface of my skin trying to work its way out. I refrain from any sort of tantrum, knowing that they no longer work on Todd. Neither does asking or begging. He is who he is.
    I go home and call a locksmith to change the lock on my apartment door. My friend, Amanda, helps me pack Todd’s clothes. She is the only one I have confided in lately, venting about Todd and his lack of motivation, his nonchalance and lack of desire, my reasons for trying to save money. Amanda and I go back almost as far Todd and I, so she’s been there for all our ups-and-downs. But Amanda is not the type of person that will say, “I told you so.” Instead, she drives with me to his parents’ house twelve miles away.
    I do love the guy’s mother, and we’ve always gotten along well. But this doesn’t mean I owe her an explanation as to why I am dropping off Todd’s clothes and belongings. He