Off The Record
Delivery Guy Left a Message for Me on a Pizza Box — Turns Out, He Saved Me from a Disastrous Marriage
While her fiancé was out of town, Emily placed an order for pizza, not anticipating a message that would ruin her life.
She had no idea that the delivery would spare her from a terrible marriage.
It felt like a nice rhythm living with Jake. I felt that our little flat, with its mismatched cushions and soft covers, was our little refuge. For the last three years, Jake and I have developed a routine around small pleasures. My name is Emily.
The most common one was spending our lazy evenings eating pizza from the same neighborhood restaurant. It was customary. As I called our favorite pizza, Jake would peruse the movie selections.
The delivery man, Tom, knew everyone of us by name. His visits followed a strict schedule, even down to the happy “How’s it going?” that reverberated through our tiny foyer. But tonight, I was alone myself. The quiet was louder than normal since Jake was out of town on business.
I placed a single order for my typical pepperoni and extra cheese pizza. As anticipated, Tom answered the doorbell, but there seemed to be something strange about him this evening. As he handed me the pizza box, his hands appeared to tremble a little, and his smile did not extend to his eyes.
“Evening, Emily. Jake’s not around tonight?” Tom asked, a slight quiver in his voice.
“No, just me tonight,” I answered, attempting to seem upbeat. Tom turned on his heel and nodded, walking away far too soon.
As I shut the door, I became irritated with his actions. Was he alright? I brushed the worry aside and brought the warm package into the kitchen. The air was filled with the comforting smell of tomato sauce and garlic, which usually felt like a hug.
However, my heart skipped a beat as I opened the package. There was a note that said, “He is not who you think,” written with a black Sharpie over the inside lid of the box. Examine the camera on your door.
There was a sudden chilly rush of dread over me, and the pizza didn’t seem so good. My hands shook as I set the box down, and a calming silence gradually took the place of the apartment’s jovial noise. On that camera, what was I going to discover?
I shook my hand trying to operate the iPad that operated our door camera. My spine tingled after reading the note in the pizza box, and the seconds it took to open the app felt endless. With each day I swiped back through, my breath caught as I delved into the camera’s history.
Then I caught sight of it.
At our door, Jake—my Jake—greeted a woman. This was no ordinary woman, though; as she gave him a bottle of wine, she burst out laughing. My heart fell. I kept scrolling. Another day, another woman, with a stack of movies in her arms.
It appeared that Jake was always entertained when I was away. Various women, each visit amply recorded by the hilariously placed camera for our protection.
With the iPad falling to my lap, I sat still. My thoughts were racing. How was he able to? When had this charade become the norm in our lives together? Every video clip felt like a knife to my chest, and tears were clouding my vision. Were all of my feelings for him, the faith I’d put in him, just one-sided? Was I alone in this situation?
With each laugh and glass of wine the women shared, it seemed like the apartment was getting smaller and the walls were closing in on me. I had cherished our shared existence and this area, but now every room exuded a sense of treachery.
As the reality set in, like lead in my stomach, I started to feel queasy, and a knot started to form in my throat. This went beyond a straightforward error or miscommunication. It was a willful, persistent treachery. My fingers were jabbing into my palms as my hands balled into fists.
The rage that combined with my sorrow heated up my tears, which ran down my face. I had to face him, to ask for clarification. But first, I had to gather the broken fragments of my dignity and get myself together. I had to keep my brokenness from him.
I needed to be resilient for my own benefit. I no longer felt the love I believed we shared; instead, a hard, icy rage had taken its place. Jake needed to explain himself thoroughly, and I was going to make sure I understood.
Jake came back to an apartment that was silent and tense as a cloud. I sat at the kitchen table, staring at the images in my head that had come from the door camera. Ignoring the turmoil within me, he greeted me with his customary carefree smile.
“Hi, Em.” He said, “Missed you,” and hung up his coat.
I did not smile back. “We need to talk.”
Jake flinched at the smile. “What’s wrong?”
I held up the tablet, showing a pause on a frame of him with one of the women. “Care to explain this?”
Jake glanced at the screen, then shrugged, his posture relaxed. “Emily, you’re making a big deal out of nothing. They’re just friends.”
“Friends?” I snapped. “Different women each time I’m away? Really, Jake?”
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Look, Em, you’re being paranoid. These women mean nothing.”
“Nothing?” I spoke up, my temper piercing through my composed exterior. “How can you say that?”
Jake’s tone hardened. “I bring a lot to this relationship. You really want to throw this away over some insecurity?”
That was it. His dismissal, his arrogance—it crystallized everything I felt. “It’s not insecurity when I have evidence, Jake. I can’t do this. I won’t marry someone who thinks so little of me.”
Jake’s face tightened, the arrogance slipping into shock. “You’re serious? Over some nonsense?”
“Yes,” I said, firm and clear. “I’m done. We’re done.”
He looked at me for a moment, then picked up his coat and walked away. Without any warning, the door slammed behind him, and it was over.
I took a few alone moments to collect my thoughts before picking up my phone and calling the pizza business. Tom replied.
“Tom, it’s Emily. I… I wanted to say thank you. You were right about Jake.”
There was a pause on the line. “I’m really sorry, Emily. I thought you should know.”
“I appreciate it,” I said, sincerity heavy in my voice. “Could I… maybe buy you a coffee sometime? To talk?”
“I’d like that,” Tom replied, a warmth in his voice that comforted my bruised heart.
The fear of facing Jake seemed so long ago when I saw Tom at the neighborhood café the following day. I felt noticed for the first time in a long time when I saw Tom’s sincere concern in his eyes.
“Thank you for being honest with me, Tom. It must have been hard to decide to tell me,” I said as we sat down with our coffees.
He nodded. “It was, Emily. But it didn’t feel right keeping it from you. Everyone deserves the truth.”
I became aware of how closely my identity had been linked to my relationship with Jake while we conversed. I felt a wave of possibilities and freedom come over me now that I was sitting across from Tom. This was a person who preferred honesty to ease of use. It felt hopeful in an odd way and invigorating.
We shifted the subject from serious to lighter ones, and soon we were laughing. I didn’t think I would feel this light following such a severe blow. It served as a reminder that occasionally, better things can be rebuilt from the ruins.
As we sat there, laughing heartily together, I felt as though a burden had been lifted. It seemed like a breath of fresh air after spending too much time indoors.
“I never thought a pizza delivery could change my life,” I joked, glancing at Tom. His smile told me he understood.
“Life is strange, Emily. Sometimes help comes from where you least expect it,” he replied, his eyes twinkling with kindness.
I felt a fresh sense of hope as we exited the café. I was prepared to take the next step and welcome whatever lay ahead. One thing was for sure, even if I had no idea what lay ahead: I was returning to bliss, one piece at a time.
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