The week before Valentine’s Day, that bastard, Joey, broke up with me. There’s nothing like waking up to a Dear Jane message on your phone. 

Joan, we can’t see each other anymore. I’ve found someone else and she’s precious. I met Patricia a week ago. She has the most beautiful fingers, she’s a hand model for Magic Nails. I love her. Don’t call or text.

I immediately composed a short vulgar text and hit send. Blocked! I threw my phone on the floor, but stopped myself before I stomped on it. 

I called my best friend, Sandy. She said, “He’s not the first cheap ass to break up before a holiday. Saves him from buying you dinner and a gift.”

“He says he has a new girlfriend. Patricia, or Patty.”

“Damn, girl. That’s almost honest. Most men say it’s not you, it’s me. 

Wanna get drunk?”

“Maybe, but first I’m gonna find out what the hell a hand model is.”

I entered 'hand model' in my favorite search engine. Hand models tend to have flawless skin and fingers. For female hand models, long, slender hands and fingers and long nail beds are the standard. I spread my fingers. Scars from childhood and a couple dark spots. I curled my slightly pudgy fingers. Short nail beds and one hangnail. No check from Revlon for me.

I tried to let it go, but I couldn’t. I just kept visualizing the hussy’s perfect hands caressing Joey’s face, one French manicured nail trailing down his arm, and those perfect fingers ruffling his hair.

That night, I dreamed about long thin fingers, perfectly shaped phalanges, and delightful digits. Dump me and block me, how dare he. I dressed at four, went to a big box store, and bought five burner phones, three cans of spray paint, and a box of glitter. That shit cost me three hundred dollars, but screw the rent. I waited in the parking lot near the bakery where Joey worked.

He parked his car and I burner-phone texted his unfaithful ass while he was opening the door. Thought you’d dump me without facing me. Not that easy. Happy Valentine’s Day. Say hello to Patty for me.

He glanced around and went inside. He never answered. I tried to text him again, but he’d blocked me. Who cares, I’ve got four more phones.

I waited and fantasized about ring fingers, pinkies, thumbs, and perfect lifelines. Four hours later, he came out and got in his car. I followed him. He met a woman for lunch at Pascal’s Bistro. Miss Patricia Precious, I guessed. He went back to work and I followed her. She worked at a gym. Wow, double duty, a hand model and a fitness instructor. I couldn’t see her perfect hands, but the rest of her looked amazing. I could just puke.

Back to the bakery. I spray-painted hearts and flowers on his car. Sprinkled the wet paint with glitter. That should his attention. To be sure, I slashed two of his tires. Nothing says “I Love You” like selective vandalism.

Over three bottles of wine that evening, I decided that it wasn’t Joey’s fault. He’s just a man, after all. Miss Precious and her perfect fingers had stolen Joey. Simple solution. If she was gone, Joey was mine again. I had a plan before I finished the third bottle. Thank God, I made notes before I passed out. I woke up at noon. Two Darvocet and Irish coffees later, Bought more supplies and waited at the gym.

I burned the second burner phone when I texted Joey. Happy February, Pain makes you stronger, fear makes you braver, and heartbreak makes you wiser. Soon, you’ll be the smartest, bravest strong man in the world.

I parked next to Miss Precious and waited until her shift ended. I didn’t sleep, but I drifted into a world populated by finger people, beautiful finger people. I shook off the drowsiness, only to have the This Little Piggy rhyme settle in as an earworm. I ignored the fact that the poem was about toes, not fingers, and I recited it to myself continually. Then I spent an hour repeating, here’s the church house, here’s the steeple. Open the door and look at all the people. No doubt her steeple was perfectly formed and taller than mine. Damn fingers.

I caught Perfect Patty by her car and put a knife to her perfect throat. “Don’t fight. You might break a nail”

She started crying. I shoved her into my car, zip-tied her wrists, and drove home.

She didn’t try to get away. Guess I was right about her not wanting to break a perfect nail on her perfect damn fingers. She was hard to understand when she spoke through her tears. I never learned to speak blubbering. 

“Why me? What do you want? I don’t have anything.”

I smiled sweetly. “You have Joey. Joey was mine and you took him. He loves your perfect little precious hands. He’s mine, you understand.”

She wouldn’t shut up. I stuffed my gloves in her mouth. and drove home, and tied her to a kitchen chair. I used my third burner phone to text Joey. I know you didn’t get me anything, but I got you a gift. Something small, just a trifle.  

I opened my dessert cookbook and set my glass trifle bowl on the counter. The recipe called for layers of cake, pudding, fruit, jelly, and whipped cream. I took inventory. Strawberries and blackberries, check. Whipped cream, check. I had vanilla pudding. Jelly, there was no jelly. Ladyfingers? I smiled. I had ten ladyfingers.

I inspected her hands. Fricking perfect fingers. I hefted my meat cleaver, checked the edge, and sharpened it.

Pattycake’s eyes went wide and she struggled. I slapped her. “Don’t make me knock you out. Joey loves your perfect fingers. Together, we’re going to make a Valentine’s present for him.”

She fought when I strapped her arms over the granite counter, but I managed. She broke two nails fighting me, but she stopped struggling when I hit her with my rolling pin.

Once she was properly restrained, I used burner number four. I’m making your present now, it’s not exactly finger food, but I think it’s perfect.

I threw cold water in her face. “Wake up, Miss Precious. I don’t want you to miss this.”

I was never one for drawing things out. I positioned the cleaver and chopped all four fingers off her right hand. I placed the pot under her hand to catch the blood and put the severed digits into what I laughingly called my finger bowl. I ignored her muffled screams, chopped off her thumb, and repeated the process with her left hand.

I’m not a monster. I cinched a zip-tie tightly around each wrist to function as tourniquets. “If you don’t bleed to death, I’ll drop you off at an ER before I deliver the trifle to Joey. Maybe, the doctors will give you a hand.”

I blended strawberries and blood with sugar and pectin. It took an hour to boil the strawberry blood jelly and cool it in the freezer.

Assembling the trifle was a piece of cake. Jelly on the bottom, mixed fruit, vanilla pudding colored with blood, five ladyfingers, and a layer of whipped cream. Repeat. Top with a tower of whipped cream  and a strawberry on top. There was enough left over to fill two parfait glasses. I’d used all the preciously perfect fingers, so I added a pinkie toe to each parfait. Her damn toes were perfect. 

A trifle, like revenge, should be served cold. I hummed the Finger Family song to myself while I dragged Pattycake to the car. Sister Finger, Sister Finger, where are you?

I dumped her ass at an emergency room and raced to Joey’s bakery. I needed to hurry. I‘m not stupid. I know they’ve got cameras. Time wasn’t on my side.

Daddy Finger, Daddy Finger, where are you? Here I am, here I am.

I sat the trifle by the bakery door and texted cheater Joey. Happy Valentine’s Day. Your gift is outside your door. Eat it while it’s cold.

Joey opened the bakery door and looked around before he picked up the trifle. He sniffed it and took it inside.

Mommy Finger, Mommy Finger, where are you?

I heard him scream. It was music to my ears. I dipped a spoon into my parfait trifle, stirred it, and took a big bite.

I swirled it in my mouth, savoring the taste. Ambrosia! I swallowed just after I heard the police sirens.

Two squad cars blocked my car. I took another bite and stepped outside, parfaits in hand. I took a third bite and held the untouched dessert out to the police. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know there would be three of you. I didn’t bring enough for everyone. You’ll have to share. It’s perfectly precious.”

One little finger, one little finger, tap, tap, tap