Chapter 14 634 days before the breakup #3
“I know you’re at your place. Why aren’t you here? We need to leave if we’re going to make it for dinner.”
Another pause. This one was longer. “I can’t. I’m too hungover. I’ll just go to my parents’ later.”
“Are you kidding me? You promised—”
“Ains.” His voice was a low groan. “Please. I can’t even sit up right now, let alone drive three hours. Just tell your family hi for me, okay?”
I could feel the anger and disappointment rising, aching to get out. But something made me swallow it. Sav and Grace’s words still stung somewhere, and maybe a part of me didn’t want to prove them right.
“Okay. Yeah, that’s fine,” I said quickly. “They’ll understand.”
When the call ended, I was left with a dead line buzzing in my ear. For a second, I just stood there, phone pressed to my cheek, as if he might call back, say he’d rallied, say he was on his way after all. He didn’t. Of course he didn’t.
I shoved the phone into my duffel, zipped it shut, and hauled the bag out to my car.
On the drive to Richmond, the highway stretched into endless gray ribbons, lined with skeletal trees and outlet mall billboards.
I rehearsed my lines out loud, testing them the way I’d test dialogue in a draft.
He’s helping his parents with their turkey.
He wanted me to have time with my family, just us.
He’ll come by later this weekend. Perfectly reasonable.
Respectful. Believable. And if I said it with enough conviction, maybe I could even convince myself.
Three hours. That was how long I had to make my story sound airtight before I pulled into my parents’ driveway.
Three hours to smooth the edges, to rehearse the version where Cole wasn’t missing because he was booze sick from last night but because he was noble, considerate, generous.
Three hours to practice saying it all with a smile that convinced everyone at the table, including me, that I hadn’t been left behind.
* * *
The dining room smelled like rosemary and cinnamon, the table crowded with platters that had no business fitting on one surface.
Turkey, sweet potatoes, green bean casserole, and pies waiting to be eaten.
My extended family filled the extra seats, but the real focus was on the six of us at the center: Mom and Dad at either end, Elizabeth and Ben across from me, and me sitting next to a carefully set empty place setting to my right. Cole’s.
“Cole’s with his family this year,” I said lightly, passing my aunt a side dish. “His dad needed help with the turkey, and he thought it’d be nice if I had the holiday with you guys. He might come by later this weekend.”
My mom smiled politely, but I didn’t miss the flicker of surprise that came before it.
“Well, that’s thoughtful of him,” she said.
“Still, holidays are always better when you’re together.
Your father and I promised, back when we were dating, that we’d never spend one apart. Not if we could help it.”
Dad reached over to squeeze her hand, nodding. “Over thirty years later and still haven’t broken it.”
Elizabeth leaned her chin on her hand, grinning at Ben.
“There was one Thanksgiving that I was swamped with the NCLEX and told Ben to go his parents’ without me.
But about twenty minutes into studying, I realized that the mashed potatoes taste better when we’re side by side, and also if I didn’t go, I wouldn’t even get mashed potatoes, so off I went. ”
Everyone laughed, and I forced myself to laugh with them, even though my smile felt stiff.
“Yeah, well, Cole’s like that too,” I said quickly.
“He’s really loyal to his friends and family.
That’s one of the things I love about him.
He always shows up for them. But honestly, I just didn’t think it was a big deal.
I mean I had to practically force him to go home instead of come here today, but I think it’s healthy for couples to have their own things, you know? ”
That was the story I told, the one I needed them to believe.
That he was showing up somewhere, even if it wasn’t here, next to me.
That I wanted it that way, that it was proof of how healthy and functional we were.
Not stuck at each other’s hips twenty-four seven.
Not codependent. But now I know better. While I sat at that table defending him, romanticizing his absence as some kind of noble gesture, what was really in front of me was proof of what I didn’t have.
My parents weren’t perfect, but they’d built a life out of choosing each other, over and over again. Elizabeth and Ben had that same commitment, and all I had was an empty chair and a handful of shitty excuses.
At the time, I thought I was just smoothing over a bump, buying Cole some grace.
But looking back, I can see it so clearly: Love isn’t about the charm bracelets or the late-night I love yous or the lengthy Instagram captions.
It’s about who keeps showing up. And I’m starting to realize that Cole never did.