Page 8 of Diving In

So, that was it. I was going to go to Sullivan’s Islandalone.I would fly in, tie up any loose ends, and fly home.

Three days.

Seventy-two hours.

And not a fucking second longer.

CHAPTER 5

As the sun began to rise, I was laying stiffly, staring up at the ceiling. Sleep never came easy to me, but last night was especially challenging. I had run through a hundred different scenarios in my head, but they all ended the same way, with Ian not coming with me. A normal person would have wanted their significant other to be with them during a time like this… but I didn’t.

Glancing over, Ian was sleeping soundly next to me, apparently unbothered by it all.

“Ian,” I whispered. “Ian,”I repeated, louder this time.

He rolled over, barely opening his eyes. “Is it already time to go?”

“We need to talk,” I said.

He perked up at that, stretching and pulling himself into a sitting position. “G, look, I know things got a little heated last night, but you know that I care about you. And my offer still stands to go with you.”

“It’s not just about last night. It’s about everything… else. All of it,” I admitted.

“Don’t do this. What we have is good. It’s comfortable. It works for us,” he tried, reaching for my hand.

“That’s just it… We’recomfortable,”I said, springing to my feet and preparing for this conversation. “You’ve always been vocal about your lifelong goal of making partner, I’ll give you that much, and I’m happy it’s all working out for you. I’m even proud. But not everything is a box that needs to be checked. And to watch you treat getting engaged, married, and having a baby as just the next things up on your checklist is… challenging for me. Especially when they haven’t even been added to my list yet,” I breathed.

“What are you saying?” he questioned as he stood up from bed, looking at me as if I wasn’t speaking English.

“I’m saying…” I hesitated. “I’m saying that this isn’t what I want anymore, Ian. I’m saying that I’m done.” The words left my mouth before I could fully process them, but as soon as they were out, I felt lighter, like I could breathe easier.

Ian stepped back and his demeanor immediately changed. “You’re going to regret this,” he said.

Giving exactly zero effort to try to convince me our relationship was worth saving, he grabbed his things and walked out the bedroom door.

I leaned against the bedframe, giving myself a few seconds to gather my bearings before wandering into the bathroom.I looked into the mirror, taken aback by what a wild mess I was. On top of my head was something resembling a very messy bun. I untangled my hair and watched as the waves fell just below my shoulders. With a little dry shampoo and a brush, I was able to make the waves into decent-looking curls.

Still wading through the emotions that had been lingering since Ian left, I brushed my teeth, threw on a smidge of makeup, and snagged the comfy traveling outfit that I’d left on the counter the night before. I pulled on the leggings, and as I was tugging the crop-top over my head, my phone lit up with a FaceTime from my mom.

“Hi,” I answered.

“Hi, honey. I just wanted to call and check in on you, see how you were doing after yesterday,” she replied.

“I’m alright. Yesterday was a lot, but I guess that’s to be expected. I’m all packed and headed to the airport in a minute,” I said, slipping into my jean jacket.

All of my energy had been maxed out during the last twelve hours, and I didn’t have it in me to tell her about the breakup. Once this was all behind me, I’d fill her in on everything.

“What the hell are you wearing leggings and a jacket for? You’re going to the beach in July!” she said, disbelief in her tone.

“Don’t remind me,” I stated. “Airplanes are freezing, Mom. Let me be me.”

“Okay, okay. I was just calling to make sure you know that I love you, and if you need me, I’m only a phone call away. Maybe try to enjoy yourself a little,” she suggested.

“I love you too, Mom.”

I packed up my toiletries—makeup, toothbrush, skincare products—and tossed the bag into my carry-on. Looking down at my phone, the clock read 7:27 a.m. My flight didn’t leave for another three hours, but morning traffic in New York City was volatile to say the least. I ordered an Uber and collected the last of my things before taking the elevator to my building’s lobby.

After witnessing an accident that added forty minutes to the trip thanks to standstill traffic, I was selfishly glad to be sitting in the back of a cab with headphones on, listening to music by myself. I’d always been the type of person that needed to sit in her own silence when things got heavy. I tended to become a recluse, relying on time alone to process—or not process—my feelings without having to answer to anybody until I got them sorted. My therapist liked to tell me this wasn’t healthy, but sometimes silence was the only thing I could focus on.

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