17. Jesse
17
JESSE
I ’m honestly not sure what happened for the first three days after Mark broke up with me.
Time passed in a haze. I didn’t shower. Didn’t really get out of bed. I hardly ate, which was bizarre, because I was usually always hungry, especially since I’d started training for the race. My stomach barely even growled.
I couldn’t believe what had happened. Couldn’t begin to process it. It had come out of nowhere.
When had Mark changed his mind? When had he gone from liking me to looking like he couldn’t stand to see my face a moment longer? And how long had he been feeling that way?
How much of our relationship had been a lie?
Curled up in bed, I thought back on everything that had happened between us. Everything we’d shared. Every kiss seemed suspect now, every night in bed together a smokescreen for his lack of feelings for me. I couldn’t believe I’d fallen so hard for someone who didn’t feel the same way.
I’d even fallen in love with him. And the whole time, he’d felt nothing for me. I felt like a fool.
Why did he even stay in the relationship, once he knew he didn’t want me? Was he just hoping I’d give up eventually? That he’d freeze me out or piss me off enough that I’d break up with him, and he could save himself the guilty conscience of being the bad guy?
Well, fuck him and fuck that. So he had PTSD and felt like he was unravelling? Good. I hoped he did unravel. And I hoped it fucking hurt. I wanted him to feel as bad as I did.
God, except, of course, I didn’t actually hope that. What I actually felt was just sadness, this bone-deep longing to be able to hear his voice, to be next to him. To let him talk to me, about anything and everything, if he wanted.
I couldn’t stand the fact that he was in pain and there was nothing I could do about it. Even if we had still been dating, I knew I couldn’t fix it. But I could have been there for him. Just listened. Sat with him. I could have been a bright spot, something to help him get through the bad days.
And I could have held him at night. Been there when he needed someone. When he felt like he was going to crack and needed someone to turn to.
Who was he going to turn to now?
By the end of those three days, I’d gotten so self-pitying that I’d begun to imagine our separate paths into the future. Mark would do all sorts of soul-searching and work on himself and get to a point where he felt better. He’d probably want to ‘ stay friends ’ or some bullshit like that, and I’d probably agree because I was too pathetic not to.
And then, when he felt up to it, he’d find some other guy or girl who he was ready to date. Who he had ‘ strong enough feelings for ’—and weren’t those just the worst words in the English language? And I’d have to watch them get together and fall in love, and even if we fell out of touch, it would still be online everywhere I went, and I’d have to see them be happy while I continued trudging along my depressing trail of singlehood from now until eternity.
There was so much to look forward to!
By the third day of me texting ‘ out sick ’ in the morning and ignoring his calls for the rest of the day, Brooklyn decided he’d had enough and came over. Since my housemates never locked the damn doors, he was able to march right into my room, where he folded his arms and gave me a look.
“So?” I asked, bitterly. “Are you here to give me a lecture? Well let ‘er rip. Trust me, anything you could say to me, I’ve already said to myself. I know I’m supposed to look for silver linings and pull myself up by my bootstraps. But fuck your bootstraps. I’m doing just fine wallowing in this bed, thank you very much.”
“You smell.”
“What?”
“You said you’d heard all the other stuff I was going to say to you, so I decided to skip it in favor of the one thing you didn’t mention. You smell. When was the last time you took a shower?”
“Sunday,” I muttered. Who cared? Showering only mattered if you were going to leave the house. I didn’t even plan on leaving the room for at least another week.
“I’m surprised you don’t have ants crawling on you at this point,” Brooklyn said. “Though you’d have to be eating for that, I suppose. Have you been?”
“Eating?”
“Yeah.”
I shrugged. “I’m not hungry.”
“So you haven’t showered, you haven’t eaten, and you’ve avoided human contact for seventy-two hours. Hmm. Well, I guess you really did it.”
“Did what?” I asked suspiciously.
“You won!” Brooklyn’s face broke into a huge grin, and he ran over, jumping onto my bed and shaking me by the shoulders. “You won the saddest, most pitiable, best break-up-ee award! I have to say, I wasn’t sure you could do it. It was touch and go there for a while, but you pulled through in the end and you really nailed this one! Congratulations!”
“What are you doing?” I asked, shoving him away. “Get off. Aren’t you worried you’ll start to smell like me?”
“Jesse, it would be my honor to smell as gross and disgusting as you do right now, if it meant a little bit of your incredible talent rubbed off on me. But I can only dream of reaching the depressing, forlorn heights you’ve achieved. Truly, you’re an inspiration to everyone who's ever dreamed of being heartbroken. Have you written a speech?”
“I swear to God, if you don’t get off this bed right now, I’ll—”
“What? What exactly will you do? Stench me to death? Kill me? Your muscles have probably atrophied to the strength of a three- year-old's. Oh, or wait, are you going to infect me with your sad?”
“You’re an asshole. A good friend wouldn't mock me.”
“I know,” Brooklyn said, moving a few inches over on the bed so he could lean against the wall. I took the opportunity to give my armpit a surreptitious sniff while he was busy shoving a pillow behind his back. Yikes. It was way worse than I’d thought. “And I'm sorry. I was just trying to make you laugh, but I realize it was a pretty lame joke. But I’m here. If you need me.”
And hearing him say that, the exact words I’d wanted to say to Mark, broke something inside of me.
“Thanks,” I said after a long moment. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a shit friend all week.”
“Nah, you haven’t been.” Brooklyn waved away my apology. “You’re allowed to be sad.”
“But you shouldn’t have to come here and deal with me like this.”
“Eh, it’s my job as your friend. Besides, it is sort of interesting as a spectator sport.”
“How so?” I asked, narrowing my eyes suspiciously. I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to like the answer.
“I don’t know, wondering if this breakup was going to be harder on you than the Tanner breakup, for instance.”
“Oh, great. Have you been placing bets?”
“With myself,” Brooklyn said with an unrepentant grin. “And I think I know the answer, but I would need you to confirm—”
“Much worse,” I said wryly. “This one is so much worse. No contest. God, I guess that’s a silver lining. It puts Tanner in perspective. Hooray, I don’t have to be heartbroken over two guys at the same time!”
“Certainly makes it easier,” Brooklyn said, smiling.
“You know the stupid thing?” I continued. “I think that I got over Tanner the day I met Mark. Or at the very least, soon after. And it wasn’t even just because I had a crush on Mark. It was because he made me feel—I don’t know, like I didn’t need Tanner. Like life was full of possibilities. And that what mattered was following my passions instead of holding out hope that some guy was going to come along and save me.”
Brooklyn made a face. “I mean, I know we hate Mark right now, and he’s an asshole and all that, but he does kind of have a point. And I hate to say it, but it probably applies now as much as it ever applied to Tanner. You don’t need a boyfriend to complete you.”
“I know,” I sighed. “Ugh. That's literally something Mark said to me once. And I know that it’s true, like, intellectually. But emotionally…” I trailed off and looked at Brooklyn hopelessly. “Emotionally, I just miss him.”
“I know, Jesse.” Brooklyn nudged me with his shoulder. “I know.”
“The worst fucking part about it,” I said, frustrated, “is that I can’t even blame him. Not really. I mean, he just didn’t care about me as much as I cared about him. I can’t get mad at him for that. It’s not his fault. You can’t make someone care about you. I just wish he’d told me sooner.”
“Maybe he was trying to figure it out?” Brooklyn said, twisting his mouth to the side in a grimace. “And he just wasn’t sure for a while? I know it sucks, and I want to be mad at him too, for hurting you. But—”
“But he seems like a good guy, right?” I rolled my eyes. “I know. That’s what I keep coming back to. I don’t think he was trying to lie to me. I’m sure he would have told me, sooner or later. I just…it just sucks, is all.”
“Yeah.”
Brooklyn sat there with me while I hashed it out for the next I-don’t-even-know-how-many hours. I told him as much as I could, without breaking Mark’s confidence—not that Mark had actually sworn me to secrecy or anything, but if he’d been worried about telling me he had PTSD, I was pretty sure he wouldn’t want me broadcasting it to everyone I knew. Strangely, I felt a little better just having someone to share my thoughts with. Having someone to pour them out to meant I didn’t have to keep them trapped, bouncing off the walls of my skull.
“Do you know what the most pathetic part is?” I asked, looking at Brooklyn plaintively. “I want to be mad at him, but at the same time, I’m just worried about him. I mean, he’s really going through some shit right now. I don’t want to get too into the details, but I think he’s in pain. I feel horrible that he felt like he couldn’t tell me about it, and that he feels like there’s something wrong with him. And there’s nothing I can do. I can’t even reach out to him and tell him I hope he’s doing okay.”
“Why can’t you?” Brooklyn asked, cocking his head to the side.
“Why can’t I reach out to my ex-boyfriend who broke my heart and say, ‘ Hey, I know we’re not speaking, and you probably never want to hear from me again, but I just wanted to let you know that I’m thinking about you, and if you ever want to talk, I’m here ?’”
“Yes,” Brooklyn said, turning to look at me intently. “Yes, exactly that. Why can’t you text him those exact words? I mean, if you mean them.”
“I do, but—”
“And you mean them completely separate from the issue of your breakup, or his feelings for you, or what you want from him in the future.”
“Well, yeah, but—”
“Do it,” Brooklyn said. “Why not? I mean, fuck it, what’s the harm? You might never hear back from him, but at least you’ll be able to rest easier knowing that you said something. That you let him know he has someone who cares for him. And then you can begin to move on, knowing you did the right thing.”
I turned Brooklyn’s words over in my mind, trying to figure out if they made sense. It felt like a good idea, but what if it just got me upset again, hoping I’d hear back?
“I’d have to convince myself that I was okay with him not responding,” I said out loud, thinking it through. “I’d have to, like, divorce myself from the result.”
“Can you do that?” Brooklyn asked.
I thought for a moment and then nodded. “I can try.”
So I did. I did send the text and I did try. I actually did fairly well, all things considered.
Brooklyn hung out for the rest of the evening, waiting for me to shower and then eating delivery from the Ogeechee Diner with me, since we’d never actually managed to do our brunch. I didn’t hear back from Mark that night, but I reminded myself that I’d known I probably wouldn’t. And by the time I went to bed, I felt one percent, maybe even two percent, better.
I signed up for all the shifts I could for the rest of the week and ended up hanging around Cardigan Cafe and the Flamingo even when I wasn’t working, just to give myself something to do. Charlotte, the Flamingo’s owner, eventually asked me why I was infesting the place, and I gave her the shortened version of events.
“You’ll be okay in the end,” she said, patting my hand. “Whether you two get back together or not, I promise you, you will be okay.”
“I appreciate the confidence,” I told her. “Not sure I believe you, but I appreciate it nonetheless.”
“You’ll be okay because you’ve got a good heart,” she said. “And you’re trying to do the right thing. You know, my grandson, Tate, went through a rough patch with his relationship a little while ago, and it all turned out for the best.”
I cocked my head to the side. “Wait a second. Your grandson wouldn’t happen to live on Summersea Island, would he?”
“That’s the one.” She grinned broadly. “Have you met him? Was he stirring up trouble?”
“I hate to tell you this, but the last time I saw him, he was talking about drywall. So, no. Not really.”
Charlotte snorted. “Somehow, I’m not surprised. He’s a good boy, though, and so are you. It’ll turn out alright. Just wait and see.”
I was glad somebody had some confidence in the future, even if I didn’t. One thing I knew for certain, though, was that I couldn’t just wait around and see what happened. I needed to stay busy, and distracted.
Even though I wasn’t supposed to run much the week before the marathon, I went out for a quick run each day, just a few miles. And against all odds, I found myself looking forward to the race. I might have signed up for it for stupid reasons, and trained for it with ulterior motives, but goddamn it, I was going to run that marathon for myself.
The night before the race, I walked to the neighborhood grocery store to pick up some pasta for dinner. I’d been debating all night whether to send a final text to Mark. Back when we were together—I was trying to get used to the muted pain that came with thinking sentences like that—we’d planned on meeting at Cardigan Cafe early to grab a light breakfast before the race.
I was pretty sure that plan was off. I wasn’t even sure Mark was still going to run the marathon. But on my way out of the grocery store, I decided that I would text him a final time to ask if he still wanted to do that. And then, I promised myself, I wouldn’t text him again.
I hit send with a sense of finality. That was it. No more Mark in my life from now on. Time to accept it. I was going to go home tonight, run this race tomorrow, and move on with the rest of my life.
“Jesse?” said a voice behind me.
It was odd. I knew the voice wasn’t Mark’s. But it was familiar, and I couldn’t place it immediately, and as I turned around, I found myself hoping against hope that it would be him anyway.
“Tanner?” I said, my jaw dropping when I saw who it was instead.
“Hey,” Tanner said, that same old smile in place, as arrogant as ever. “How are you?”
I hadn’t seen him in over a month, and for the first time in, well, ever, I didn’t feel that sadness in the pit of my stomach when I looked at him. In fact, I didn’t feel anything. What a strange thing to realize.
“I’m…fine,” I said, cautiously. When it came to seeing Tanner, at least, I really was. I didn’t feel like going into everything else going on in my life, and Tanner didn’t have a right to know. “How are you doing?”
“Not so great, actually.” His face lost that easy smile and turned softer, somehow. Almost contrite, except I couldn’t imagine him ever feeling that way. He walked over, coming to stand just two feet away from me on the sidewalk. “I just found out I’m not being asked back for next semester. Oh, and Quentin and I broke up.”
I didn’t know how to react to that. I felt too many things at once. Confusion, elation, and a healthy dose of schadenfreude, if I were being honest. But most of all, I just felt tired. It turned out, I didn’t want to know about what was going on with Tanner anymore. That part of my life was done.
“I’m sorry,” I said finally, because it felt like I had to say something.
“Thanks.” Tanner looked down into my eyes. “I can’t believe I ran into you tonight. I was just thinking about you, you know. Wondering how you were doing.” He glanced down at the grocery bag in my hands. “Probably getting ready for the race tomorrow. I don’t suppose I could interest you in a small coffee before dinner tonight, could I?”
I stared at him for a long moment, then burst out laughing. Was this really happening? I couldn’t believe it. It was months—hell, years— too late. For so long, I would have killed for Tanner to regret his choices, to realize he wanted me all along. But now?
“I’m sorry, Tanner,” I said, shaking my head. “I didn’t mean to laugh. I was just surprised, is all. But no. No, I do not want to get coffee with you.”
Short and sweet had to be the best response, right?
“Jesse, I understand if you’re still hurting. Still mad at me.” Tanner reached a hand out towards me, and I stepped backwards, avoiding it. He let it fall. “But I’ve changed. And I’d love to get a chance to show you that. I think we’d make a great team together. I’ve always thought that.”
I shook my head, stifling another laugh that was threatening to bubble up, because something had just clicked into place inside me. I hadn’t believed it when Mark had told me. I couldn’t quite believe Brooklyn when he’d said it either. But somehow it was Tanner, the guy who’d started all of this, who got me to finally see it.
I didn’t need a guy to complete me.
Sure, I still wanted a partner to be by my side. And yeah, I’d started to think that Mark could have been that guy. But he wasn’t. And that sucked. But I’d be okay on my own until I met whoever that guy turned out to be.
I certainly didn’t need to take whatever sad leftovers Tanner was trying to sell me now.
“Tanner, I’m sorry you’ve been having a hard time. But I don’t agree. I don’t think we’d make a particularly good team. I don’t think you’d make a great team with anybody, to be honest. And I certainly don’t need you in my life. Have a good night. Oh, and good luck at the race tomorrow.”
With that, I stepped around him and continued down the sidewalk.
I still didn't feel good. Not with what was going on with Mark, not about the fact that he'd broken my heart. But for the first time since he'd broken up with me, I could see that maybe, just maybe, life without him would be manageable.
I didn't have to be okay now. But one day, I would be.