Page 107 of Is This for Real?
“No. If Zelda was upset, I would understand if you spent the party consoling her. You just don’t like Callie.”
“I don’t particularly like Callie.” Our glances meet and hold. “Especially when she makes comments about my not sharing emotions. In front of you. And you say nothing.”
“I didn’t take that seriously. She was just lashing out.”
I fold my arms.
“I didn’t say anything to her about you not sharing emotions.” His eyes are so blue, and he’s staring at me like he’s willing me to understand. “I didn’t.”
He continues, “I wouldn’t betray you like that. But that’s also why I didn’t want to deny it and then give it credence to Callie when she’s looking for weaknesses in our relationship.”
I believe him.
He says, “And I’m not saying we’re breaking up. We’re just taking a break. I need to get my act together before we hurt each other more—before I hurt you more.”
I shake my head. “You shouldn’t need a break from me to get your act together. We can get through this together.” I feel nauseous and cold. I blink back tears, but I can feel one slipping down my cheek. “I’ll get my stuff.”
I can’t help but hope he’ll change his mind as I pass by him. But no. I go to my drawer in his room. I don’t even have a bag. I go back to the kitchen and grab some plastic bags from the dispenser under the kitchen counter. He is still sitting slumped on the couch. The mugs waiting for our coffee and tea are perched empty on the counter.
I grab my underwear, T-shirts, and jeans and stuff them into the cheap, plastic bag. The bag rips. I put the ripped bag into a second bag. Tears are running down my face. I grab a tissue and wipe them up. Rory comes into the room.
“You don’t have to take your clothes.”
“What do you mean?”Is he changing his mind?
“It’s just a break, not a breakup.”
“If you need to have a break from me in order to deal with this, it doesn’t bode well. I can’t . . . I can’t hurt like this.” I give up on packing the rest of my stuff, take my little, plastic bag, and brush past him. He can throw out my toothbrush and other bathroom stuff. He follows me to the door. I have to make an effort to move, as if I’ve lost all the energy that was sustaining me. Rory also looks gray. I take my coat off the hook and put it on; it feels so heavy. I snap on my helmet. If he lets me walk out the door, it’s over. My hand grips the cold, metal doorknob.
I pause. My back is to him. My other hand is clutching my plastic bag of belongings. My shoulders droop.Please, don’t do this.This is how it went wrong with my parents. He doesn’t say anything.
I straighten my shoulders. I pull open the door.
“You’re overreacting. I just need some time alone. It’s not a real breakup,” he says.
I face him. “Maybe it’s not a real relationship, either.”
I jog down the stairs and out into the crisp, gray, November day. Tears are pouring down my cheeks, and my chest hurts. I take big gulps of air. A passerby looks at me, questioning. I turn my face away. I take out my phone to get my Citi Bike code, but I can’t see the screen through the mist of my weeping. I walk, fleeing Rory’s building, past the coffee shops and smoke stores, past the nail parlors, past restaurants, past couples in restaurants. And I let the tears fall, periodically wiping them away with my cold hand.
Chapter forty-two
Idon’tfeelanybetter, even though it’s day three after our breakup. I should revise the breakup scene aftermath inFake Dating Follywhile I feel like this. But I can’t. I can’t get out of bed. I should have known that Rory was my kryptonite. This issomuch worse than Jamie. Realizing Jamie didn’t love me wasn’t the end. I didn’t feel like I’d been run over by a truck.
Zelda looks in on me. “Do you want some breakfast?”
“I’ll make it for myself.” I don’t want Zelda to worry or make me breakfast and then be late for work. Once the water is percolating in the electric kettle, I open a yogurt. Zelda looks relieved. I turn on my laptop on the dining room table.
“Okay, well, see you tonight.” Zelda closes the door behind her.
The yogurt has no taste, but at least it’s soothing. I look at my manuscript. Who am I kidding? I can’t write. I just keep taking courses and it’s not clicking. It’s not good enough. And now I don’t even have a job at the sports store as a backup possibility. At twenty-nine, I have only random work experiences, and I’m not on track for anything. The kettle bubbles, and the switch clicks down.
And I had given Rob divorced parents. I had based them on my parents, but now . . . I put my hands in my head and close my laptop. Goldie rubs against my legs. I lie down on the floor next to her and pet her. She puts her paw on my cheek as my eyes close. I’m so tired of being rejected and losing all the people whom I care about. If only my mom or dad were here to talk to about this. I pull a pillow off the couch and rest my head on it.
My phone rings.
“Get out of bed.” It’s Zelda.
“I’m not in bed.”
