35
Three days later, I wheel my suitcases into my Airbnb in Waldon and collapse onto the couch in an exhausted, sweaty heap.
Oh, man.
Those three days were long .
Withdrawing from NYU was easier than I thought it would be. Two apologetic emails, one awkward phone call with an NYU admissions
officer, and it was done.
Leaving the internship was far more painful. Benedita seemed truly disappointed in me, even though she said she understood,
and I couldn’t articulate my reasons for leaving well at all. After I left her office, my chest got all tight and panicky,
and all I could think of was what people would say when they heard that I had quit.
“She chose some random guy over her internship,” said Fallon’s voice.
“They’re not even planning to have kids ,” Martha added.
“Lollll,” chimed in Divya.
But I gritted my teeth and told myself to smarten up. I’d made my decision, and I wasn’t going to change it based on other
people’s opinions. And anyway, I wasn’t just leaving for a guy. John was only part of my decision. An important part, yes,
but still only a part.
Wrapping up the rest of the New York stuff was pretty easy. My parents had already picked up my stuff from my old house in Waldon, so they brought it to the airport for me to pick up when I landed in Halifax, along with my car. I thought they might be disappointed that I’d left New York, but to my surprise, they both seemed kind of relieved. My mother even made a comment about how happy she thought I’d been in Waldon. And I haven’t bothered telling Fallon or Martha or Divya, so I don’t have to worry about them judging me.
Relocating back to Waldon was a bit trickier. My old house has already sold, according to the online real estate listing,
and trying to find an affordable apartment in small-town Canada these days takes significantly longer than seventy-two hours.
Until I have more time to look, I’m stuck in a tiny Airbnb that reviewers described as “cramped” and “inconvenient” and “yikes.”
I look around, and it is indeed cramped and inconvenient and yikes. There are only two rooms—a tiny bathroom and an equally
tiny bedroom/living room/kitchen/entranceway/laundry room—and the distinct smell of weed is wafting in from the apartment
next door. But it’s cheap enough that for now I don’t care.
I crack open the bottle of red wine I bought on the way home (my only stop on the drive from the Halifax airport) and dial
the number to the local pizza place. I order a large pizza, then take a swig of my wine and ask Johnny, the pizza delivery
guy, if he can bring me whatever chocolate bars they have in the shop as well.
I can’t afford pizza or wine or name-brand chocolate bars, not after losing my deposits for school and paying for the flight home, but tonight, I’m just not going to think about it. Because if I think about it—if I think about how I’ve got literally nothing right now, no job, no money, no permanent place to live, no boyfriend—I’ll probably wind up curled into the fetal position on the floor, sobbing into my wine.
Instead, I’ve elected for positivity. Stupid, totally irrational positivity.
I will make a new job for myself. I will find a new place to live. I will get John back.
My pizza and chocolate arrive, and I curl up on the bed (slash couch) and unlock my phone. Somehow, through this whole mess,
I still haven’t lost my Wordle streak, and I definitely don’t intend to lose it now.
MUSTY, I type. As in, the smell of my new apartment.
Hmm. The T and Y are both green.
TIRED. (Self-explanatory.)
Oh-ho! The D and T are yellow, and the I and R are green.
DIRTY, I type confidently, and watch as the letters all turn green.
I snort aloud. MUSTY, TIRED, and DIRTY. That sums up my current state quite nicely.
Well, never mind. I take out my laptop and open up a blank to-do list.
I’ve got a lot of work to do.
The first thing I do the next morning is head to John’s apartment. And yes, I know, sorting out my job should be priority
number one, not my love life, but I prefer to think that I’m prioritizing them equally . I’m just starting with John because his apartment is on the way to Jim’s house. Obviously.
My heart is doing gymnastics in my chest as I punch in the front door code and walk up the steps to his apartment. I smooth down my hair and practice the speech I’ve come up with in my head. At first, I envisioned myself giving this long, passionate monologue about how leaving him to go to New York was the worst mistake I’ve ever made, but I discounted that almost immediately. First of all, it’s not true. I’m glad I went, if only because it made me realize that what I really want is to be here, starting my caregiving business and (hopefully) being with John.
Second of all, John is not the kind of person who would appreciate getting a romantic speech. If anything, he’d listen to
the whole thing, raise an eyebrow, and say, “Yeah, maybe it’s a good thing we broke up.”
So anyway, the actual speech I’ve come up with is just the blunt truth: I’m back from New York and I’m here for good, and I’d really like to get
back together again, please.
Short, sweet, and to the point.
Oh, crap.
I’m at his door.
Swallowing hard, I knock loudly three times. I wait, fidgeting restlessly, then knock again. Still no answer. I check my phone.
It’s only 8:22 a.m. Maybe John went to work early, for some reason?
I sigh. I don’t really want to try to reconcile at the shop, but it looks like I’ve got no choice.
I’m walking back down the stairs when I almost run straight into John’s mother.
“Carla!” I exclaim. “I mean, Mrs. Smith.” I’m not sure I’m still allowed to call her Carla, since John and I broke up.
But her eyes light up when she sees me. “Emily! What on earth are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be in New York?”
“I’m looking for John,” I say. “I’m... I’ve come back.”
Carla tilts her head. “What about your internship, and school?”
I bite my lip. “I decided I wanted to be here more.”
She studies me for a moment and then smiles. “That’s wonderful. Come help me feed John’s fish, will you?”
I blink at her, startled. I was kind of expecting more questions. But she’s already turned away from me and is heading up
the stairs.
“Er—is he not home?” I ask uncertainly, following her.
“He’s in Toronto for his friend’s wedding.”
Oh, crap. I forgot about that. He would’ve left yesterday, if I’m remembering the dates right. “When does he get back?”
“Not till next week. Tuesday, I think.” She unlocks the door to his apartment and we step inside. My heart swells up at the
familiar sight, even though I feel a bit awkward being here without him knowing.
“He’ll be glad to hear you’re back,” Carla says.
“Yeah, maybe,” I say, flushing. “I mean... I’m not, like, expecting anything.”
Carla opens the cupboards to find the fish food. “Why not?”
I chew on my lip. “I don’t know. It’s a lot to forgive, isn’t it? I basically chose another life over him.”
Carla chuckles. “I’m not sure that’s true. Sometimes love and real life are incompatible, that’s all. If Laurent decides to move to Antarctica tomorrow and spend the rest of his life as an ice fisherman, I’m sure as heck not moving there with him.” She smiles at me. “People change, lives change. If you’ve decided that this is the life you want, then I’m sure you and John can work things out. As long as your mind is made up, that is. It won’t do either of you any good to get back together if you’re going to change your mind again, or resent him for making you leave New York.”
“I won’t,” I say. “Honestly, John is only part of the reason I came back.” I lick my lips. “I really want to try to turn my
caregiving work into a proper business. I think... I don’t know. I think I could really make a go of it.”
Carla smiles. “I do too.” Then she tilts her head. “I thought you liked the museum work, though.”
My heart twists in my chest. “I did,” I admit. “A lot. But... you can’t do everything you want to do, right? You have to
choose one thing eventually.” I lift my chin. “And I really love working with older people.”
“That’s great, then,” Carla says. She sounds like she means it too.
“I’m going to go around begging all my old clients to take me back today,” I say.
“Begging?” She chuckles. “Dear, you’ve only been gone what, a few weeks? Tell them you changed your mind and I’m sure they’ll
be thrilled to have you back. And if you want, I can ask around at the hospital to see if any of the staff know of someone
who needs help in the community.”
“Would you really?”
“Of course. I can think of five patients I discharged last month who desperately need some help at home. And a lot of them
are retired out-of-province folks who bought homes here on a whim during the pandemic, so you know they can afford it.”
“Carla... thank you.” I try to inject all my gratitude into the words. Carla smiles at me, and I smile back, and for one crazy sec ond, I think we’re thinking the same thing. If John and I get back together... Carla might be my mother-in-law someday.
She turns away to measure out the fish food and sprinkles it over the water. We watch in silence as the fish eat. Fish 1,
Fish 2, and Fish 3. Raspberry pudding, swordsmith, and geocentric.
Carla reaches out and squeezes my arm and I let out a long breath, feeling a bit of tension drain from my shoulders.
“Come,” she says. “Let’s go get a coffee.”