30 Sloane
September 2018
Suddenly, the seasons have changed. Fall in New York is a different kind of serotonin rush. The crisp air, burnt orange leaves, rainy days, and cooler temperatures bring out a different side of New Yorkers. I swear, people only smile at me on the subway between the months of September through December. The city never loses its magic, but especially not in the fall.
I decide to make my way down to SoHo after work to treat myself to a little shopping spree in honor of the cooler weather. I weave in and out of stores until I have a new pair of jeans, a few sweaters, and a jacket. After spending what feels like half a paycheck, I call Lauren to see if she wants to meet for dinner.
She picks up almost immediately. “Where are you? I’ve been home for like two hours, and I’m starving.”
“Wanna meet me in SoHo? Annie was out today, so I wrapped up an hour early and did a little shopping.”
“Without me? You’re the worst!” Lauren jokes. “Yeah, sure, see you soonish.”
It’s early and the restaurant is nearly empty, so I snag us seats at the bar and order two extra-dirty martinis, Lauren’s favorite.
“Martinis on a Wednesday?” She sneaks up behind me, her voice playful. “What’s the occasion?”
I smile at her, feeling the warmth of our friendship. “Just some light roommate bonding. I feel like we haven’t spent a lot of time together lately,” I say with a soft sigh. “I hate it.”
“I know, me too. The boys are getting in our way!” Her laughter is infectious. We clink glasses and take a sip.
“So how are things with Miles?” I ask.
“He’s great, Sloane. Really like the best person I’ve ever met—besides you, of course,” she quickly adds, a hint of blush touching her cheeks. “I see a future with him.”
“I’m so happy for you!” I say, raising my glass again in silent toast.
“How about Ethan? How’s that going? You seem to be spending a lot of time together, so that’s good! Right?” Her brows arch with a hint of concern.
“Things are good!” I lie. “Same old, same old.”
As time slips by, our easy chatter fills the space around us. The buzz from the martinis makes us more talkative, more laughable.
Lauren’s phone goes off, the buzz breaking our bubble. With a gentle nod, I urge her to take the call because I can see that it’s Miles.
“Hey!” she answers. “I’m with Sloane getting drinks. Yeah, we’ll probably get checks soon; we’ve had three already. Okay that works. I’ll meet you outside of our building. Love you too.”
They say I love you already? I mentally count the months they’ve been together in my head. Well, I guess it’s been about six. Do six short months warrant I love yous?
When we get home, Miles is already waiting outside for Lauren. They come upstairs for a few minutes so she can pack a bag with a change of clothes. I say goodbye and go into my room to call Ethan, hoping he’ll want to hang out tonight.
“Hey,” he answers. “Everything okay?”
“Yes, does something have to be wrong for me to call?” I ask, more defensively than I intended.
“I didn’t mean it like that. What’s up?”
“Do you want to hang out tonight?” My tone is hopeful.
The conversation that follows leaves me with a hollow feeling, one that’s becoming all too familiar.
“Not tonight,” he replies as I sigh into the phone. “Tomorrow? There’s a game on. We can watch it together and order in. I’ll even bring wine.”
“Fine,” I groan, unexcited to spend another night apart.
“Get some sleep, drunkie. Good night.” His laughter is supposed to be comforting, but it echoes the distance between us.
“Night,” I whisper before hanging up.
Sometimes loving him feels like I’m lingering in the doorway of his bedroom, waiting for him to let me in. Will he ever let me in?
***
The following night Ethan shows up at my apartment with a large pizza and a bottle of cab. Something about him feels off, distant even, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.
“Your phone is going off,” I say and gesture toward the coffee table. I watch as Ethan picks it up and immediately sets it back down again.
He writes it off. “Spam.”
For the past few months, I’ve noticed that he’s been getting phone calls from the same number. I’m not sure if he knows that I’ve picked up on it, but I have. He passes it off as spam or a wrong caller any time I address it, but I can’t tell if it’s the truth. The logical part of my brain says that he’s lying, and the emotional part says maybe there’s more to the story than I want to know.
Could there be someone else?
I can’t shake the feeling that it’s a possibility, but I’ll continue to ignore it for a little while longer if it means not losing Ethan. In the same moment, midthought, my phone rings.
I answer and walk into my bedroom. “Hey, Mom. What’s up?”
“Do you have Thanksgiving plans yet? We’re thinking of going to London for a few weeks, and well, it overlaps with Thanksgiving. I don’t want to leave you, but…” she rambles on.
“You should totally go! I haven’t thought about Thanksgiving yet, but worst case I can go see Dad. I’ve always wanted to go to London.”
“Me too,” she says. “You’re sure, honey?”
“I’m sure. Love you, Mom.”
“Love you too.” She hangs up.
I sit back on the couch, closer to Ethan this time. He puts his arm around me and lays my head on his shoulder. I wish I could stay in this moment forever.
“What’re you doing for Thanksgiving?” I ask, partially afraid of the answer.
“Not sure,” Ethan says. “Why?”
“My mom’s going to London. I guess I can call my dad, but I don’t know…” I ramble.
“I’m sure I’ll be in the city, so we could just do this?” he casually offers. “Order takeout and watch something.”
“That’d be nice.”
Maybe all of the feelings of uncertainty are in my head. Maybe he does care. Maybe he is trying. It’s hard to know when he won’t tell me, and even if he did reassure me, would I truly believe it? He broke my trust when he came to New York, lied straight to my face about long distance, and then broke up with me in a text. How does someone get over that?
***
I arrive to work the next morning early because I have a deadline today on an assignment that I’ve been putting off all week: Do half of all marriages really end in divorce?
I interviewed six people, some married, some divorced; some had parents who stayed together until they passed, and some had parents who split before they were even born. The interviews were harder on me than I expected, so I took a weeklong break from writing, and now I only have nine hours to finish it. I open my laptop, pull up the document. and read what I have written so far:
Being married to the love of your life must really be something. Waking up and falling asleep next to your soulmate sounds like the perfect start and end to each day. I imagine your conflicts seem less earth-shattering when you have someone to overcome them with. I hope everyone gets to experience that kind of love one day. Including me.
“My wife and I have been together for ten years, married for six, and I still get excited to see her every single day when I get home from work. She makes even the worst days bearable, just by existing.”
I shut my laptop and place my head in my hands. Why did I pitch this topic? Not only does it break my heart all over again thinking about how one day my parents’ seemingly perfect marriage disappeared into thin air, but it makes me question a future between Ethan and me.
One day, five years from now, if he were stopped on the street and asked to talk about the love of his life, what would he say? Presuming he was thinking about me, of course. Would he say that he’s never met anyone like me? That I make him feel like a different, better version of himself? That he feels safe when he’s with me? I wonder if he’ll ever love me the way I love him. I wonder if he’s even capable of a love that deep.
The clock on my phone reads 7:18 p.m. when I finally submit the piece for final review and pack up my things. The office is dead, cubes are empty, and I can hear a vacuum humming down the hall. I hope I’m never the last one to leave again. It’s nothing like TV shows make it out to be. I feel less like a girl boss and more like a potential murder victim.
As I hurry out of the building, my phone vibrates in my bag. I dig through it to find it, and when I do, I see Lauren’s name on the screen.
“Hey, sorry just getting out of work,” I answer.
“I figured. I just got home with sushi and wine. See you in twenty?”
“See you in twenty,” I assure her.
***
“You’re home!” Lauren’s voice echoes from the kitchen.
“Finally.” My laughter rings out as I leave the long day and my shoes at the door.
I enter the kitchen to find it transformed into a cozy nook. Lauren’s lit a candle, poured two glasses of red wine, and arranged four sushi rolls on the board we typically use for charcuterie.
“What’s the occasion?” I ask because I know she doesn’t put in this level of effort for a random weekday dinner.
“Oh, just sit,” she insists.
I obey and take a sip of my wine, afraid of what is about to come.
“Are you leaving New York?” The words just come out.
Lauren’s response comes quickly. “No, oh my god. Just the apartment. Miles wants me to move in with him. I know it’s soon, but I really want to. I spend almost every night there anyway, so it makes sense, but that’s not the only reason why I want to. I love him, Sloane. Like really, really love him. I think he’s it for me.”
I pause, letting her words settle in the space between us as I take another sip.
My voice is steady, because I want to let her know I mean what I’m about to say. “I’m happy for you. Seriously.”
“Oh, fuck off,” she teases, dismissing the weight of the moment.
I laugh along, but my heart is both full and heavy.
“No, really, I’m happy for you! I’m just going to miss you. The past two years have flown by so fast, and I think, thanks to New Girl and Friends, I had this preconceived notion that we’d be living together until our thirties.”
“I get that. I did too. I didn’t think I’d meet someone this fast. Or at all, really.” She nods.
I’m happy for her, I really am. I just can’t help but compare her relationship with Miles to mine with Ethan. Will we ever be more than an almost?