Chapter 18
18
Nataly
I’m about to break up with my boyfriend, and I think I might throw up in this stranger’s tote bag.
My stomach is a battlefield—tight, churning, like something is trying to claw its way out. My hands are clammy. My pulse is pounding so hard in my ears, I almost don’t hear the announcement for Canary Wharf. I’ve made up my mind and I’m just going to have to do it. Ugh. I need to focus on something else. I’m supposed to be seeing him really soon to grab a coffee. I texted him earlier about it and I’ve been feeling like an elephant sat on my stomach ever since.
Nataly: Hey, can we talk later today? Maybe grab a coffee?
Joel: Sure. I’ve got something I need to talk to you about too.
Nataly: Great, Starbucks, the usual place? 3pm ?
Now, I’m on the tube, waiting for it to pull up to Canary Wharf. It’s always so silent on the tube because people in London don’t talk to each other on the tube. The unspoken rule is there. I’ve tried complimenting people on their outfits before, and the reactions are always the same—shock, suspicion, then relief when they realize I’m not a creep, just chatty. Ah, London. You do really get a mixed bag of people, but I think that’s wonderful. London is one of the best cities in the world, but today I can’t appreciate it. Not when my stomach feels like a blender someone forgot to put the lid on.
And now after all this thought contemplation, I’ve finally arrived at Canary Wharf. Oh flip. I’m not ready for this. Can someone else do this? Ugh.
“Face your fears, woman!” I tell myself inwardly.
“You are not allowed to be a coward! No more of this nonsense. Face the hard things. It’ll be better,” I continue my internal monologue.
I step off the tube onto the platform and start to make my way up the escalator. The Canary Wharf escalators have to be the scariest of them all. Surely, they’re the tallest in London? The ones outside the gates up to Reuters Plaza. I grip the handrail like my life depends on it—because honestly, right now, it kind of does. I feel like Buddy from Elf on the world’s tallest escalator, except instead of fearing for my life, I’m bracing myself for this breakup. Actually, I’m doing both. I have had too many embarrassing moments to do otherwise.
I find Starbucks, and go get in line to grab a hot chocolate. I’m not a coffee person. I only take my coffee like a Frappuccino. And then I wonder what’s the point? It’s basically milk and sugar with a dash of coffee. I’m also not even a tea person. I’ll need to be convinced tea is any good. So, a hot chocolate it is.
I’m also a little early so I can find a seat, but I’m not sure that’s the best idea because the anxiety is now full throttle. It’s like my gut is having a boxing match inside. Or a boombox inside my stomach. Something like that. But it’s very heavy. My legs are starting to feel heavy too. Like lead and?—
“Hey Nataly,” I hear a voice from behind me and turn my head to look.
“Hey Joel,” I reply, my breath hitching as I motion for him to have a seat. I quickly shake my hands underneath the table to get rid of the pins-and-needles feeling.
“How’s it going?” He says as he places his coffee down and grabs a seat.
I draw in a breath and let it out slowly. I blurt out, “I’m just going to say it. I’m feeling kind of anxious right now, so I can’t really beat around the bush.”
His brow furrows. “Okay…”
I swallow hard. Here goes.
“I think we need to break up.”
The words fall between us like a stone. Heavy. I brace myself.
“Why?” he asks, voice even but unreadable. No anger. No sadness. Just… blank. It throws me.
“I’m sorry,” I say quickly, gentling my tone. “I really hate doing this. You’re great, and you’re easy to talk to, we’ve always gotten on well. But I just don’t see this heading into marriage. I want more. I want to be absolutely crazy in love and head over heels, and I just don’t think that this it. And really, I don’t think this is it for you either. I think we both deserve more, to be in love with someone.”
Still, nothing from him. Not really. A flicker of something, maybe—disappointment? Confusion?
He leans in slightly. His voice drops, slower. “But we could be good together. We are , aren’t we? Just… give it time.”
And for a split second, doubt slams into me.
Am I making a mistake? He’s safe. He’s stable. We never fight. What if this is wrong?
What if I shouldn’t be breaking up with him right now?
I’m always terrified of making the wrong decision.
But then I picture Nathan and all of the ways he’s made it clear I’m somebody worth waiting for.
And just like that, I know.
“Joel, I’m sorry. I can’t do this.”
His shoulders tense, like he’s still not ready to accept it. But then he lets out a slow breath and leans back.
“What was it you wanted to talk to me about?” I ask, trying to shift the weight of the conversation.
He hesitates. “Oh, nothing really…” He runs a hand through his hair, eyes flicking away. For a second, something passes over his face—guilt? Regret? If we weren’t in the middle of a breakup, I might have pressed. But I don’t. Not yet.
“But Nataly, I know we haven’t been crazy in love with each other. To be honest, you were never my type to start off with…” he continues.
My eyebrow shoots up. Where’s he going with this?
He lets out a small laugh. “What I mean to say is, I think we could get there. You’re awesome. We always have fun. Sometimes love takes time, right?”
I’ve spent too long waiting for the kind of love that doesn’t need convincing. The kind that doesn’t feel like settling. The kind that doesn’t start with you’re not my type.
“I know we’ve had good moments,” I say softly, “but I’ve worked hard to feel at peace about this. I don’t want to be someone who stays because it’s safe or easy. I want you to find someone you’ll fall in love with, and who’s crazy about you.”
He doesn’t argue again. Not really.
I stand slowly, grabbing my bag. My heart aches a little. Not because I want to stay, but because goodbyes are always heavy, even when they’re right.
I lean in for a hug—because I’m still me—and whisper, “I’m wishing you all the best.”
He stays seated. I walk away.
Outside, the air feels sharper, cleaner somehow. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding and press my fingers to my temple.
I actually did it. I faced the thing I’d been dreading. My heart didn’t stop beating. The world didn’t fall apart. I did the hard thing, scared. And yet…
As I walk down the street, a single thought chases me like a shadow.
What if, in all my second-guessing, I let the one guy who sees me—really sees me—slip through my fingers?