Sensitivity 1.0

It was the last straw.

Actually, it was about the hundredth last straw, but for some reason, this latest breach of the relationship catalyzed Beth into action; she began packing.

There wasn’t much to pack . . . over the years and because of Jamie’s need to have things his way, most of the stuff in the house held little sentimental or nostalgic value. Of course, it was never voiced as needing to have things his way, but more like, “I wouldn’t mind getting the chair for the living room that you want, but I already put a deposit on the other one (read: the one I like).

Beth once read an interview with Jennifer Anniston about the break up of her relationship with Brad Pitt where she said he had “a sensitivity chip that’s missing” and that’s when she realized the same thing about Jamie. The observation fit him perfectly—he was an IT guy and it showed. His nose was always glued to one device or another and he kept to himself otherwise. Complaints from Beth about needing a little attention resulted in Jamie giving her the cold shoulder for days, acting as if he were the one who was hurt. How they got together in the first place was a question she now had trouble answering.

Well, it’s because he was so charming at first. Beth’s job at Make It Here--a newly opened maker’s space in town--simply required her to be available to the patrons and keep track of the reservations and the few items of technology they offered the clients. Beth had a knack for technology herself, but it wasn’t the field she wanted to commit to. She was a writer and until or when she got her big break, she continued to take day jobs during which she could get some work on her novel done. She’d had a couple of essays published in online journals and once almost won a national contest (that’s what she told herself after being announced as a runner up) but until that big break came along, that out of the blue opportunity, she’d have to support herself refilling the coffeemaker and helping the local accountants or artists connect to the Wi-Fi.

For the stuff Beth couldn’t do—change out the motherboard on the industrial sized HP Laser printer when it went down—the hired IT gun showed up: Jamie.

And it wasn’t like Jamie wasn’t cute or smart—he was. On one of their first dates, Jamie texted her a scavenger hunt app he invented that required her to decipher and create a series of passwords in order to access the directions to the restaurant where they were meeting. He really was clever with that kind of thing…he had a knack for programming and current trends and spent hours and hours in the spare bedroom-turned-office working on his inventions. And he could be romantic, too, like with that first app—one of the passwords Beth created—PerlJam13--became their thing, their inside joke, their private nudge to one another when one of them—usually Jamie—wanted to leave whatever party or book signing they were attending and go home and have sex.

But lately, not only had the romance faded away, so had the sex. And dinners together—hell—anything together. Beth doubted he was seeing anyone else—he was too self-preoccupied for that. She barely made it on his radar. And, there were times, when she did, it was more for something that irritated or bothered Jamie. She hadn’t bought cream—“and you know I need cream in my coffee in the morning!” Or “Why don’t you pay the gas bill this month? Isn’t it your turn?” And then, finally, “Hey, Beth . . . I’m really swamped right now. There’s no way I can help you swing that little writing thing you’re working on.” “That little writing thing” meaning the novel she was writing and which Jamie was going to help her publish independently.

Beth clearly saw that her work, her life, mattered only peripherally to Jamie. Living together was a rash and unfortunate decision that Beth was about to remedy. Make It Here had installed and offered sleeping pods, like the ones they have for travelers who have to sleep overnight in the airport (and which rendered the name of the place a little crass, now that she thought about it) in case any clients wanted to also nap as they created. She could stay there until she found her own place.

Jamie came in as she was lugging the duffel bag to the front door. Her one plastic crate of worldly goods and a huge cardboard box of books was already in her trunk. All she needed to do was leave the key and a note. Or, maybe a text would do. But there he was.

“What the hell, Beth? Where are you going with that thing?” Jamie asked tossing his backpack on the hunter green sofa where they used to snuggle while listening to Jamie’s favorite podcasts. He seemed annoyed. Again.

“Uh . . . I was going to text you. I have to go. There’s really no good way to say this . . .” Beth began, but Jamie interrupted, “That’s my duffel!”

Beth’s resolve crystalized.

“I’m leaving, Jamie. We’re done. I don’t think you’ll miss me, and I’m pretty sure you’ll be fine.” She tugged the duffel out the door to the porch.

“Oh, come on, Beth. Why are you so mad? Whatever happened, it’ll be okay. Come on. You don’t have to leave! Besides, what am I supposed to do without you? I don’t have time to start dating anyone else! You’re my PerlJam13!”

“Well, Jamie,” Beth said with her hand on the doorknob and facing her future, “I guess you’ll just have to reset your password.”