Chapter 20
20
DYLAN
I have to break up with Olivia. The singular thought swirls in my head, taking over my entire mental space as I sit in the office on Monday morning, staring at the blinking cursor on my laptop screen, the open spreadsheet a blur of numbers and data.
It’s not that Olivia isn’t great. She’s sweet, kind, a woman you’d want to bring home to meet your parents. But as much as I’ve tried to convince myself otherwise, there’s no spark, no excitement when we’re together. It’s like trying to force two mismatched puzzle pieces to fit.
And then there’s Hunter. My roommate. My sister’s best friend. The woman I can’t stop thinking about. A romantic involvement with her would be beyond complicated. If things went south, not only would it make living together awkward as hell, but it could also blow up my entire social circle. And yet.
I sigh, passing a hand over my face. One problem at a time. First, I need to end things with Olivia. Grabbing my phone, I dictate a text before I lose my nerve.
Dylan
Hey, can I come over tonight?
Her reply comes a minute later.
Olivia
Sure, I’d love to see you. Let me know the time
Guilt twists in my gut, but I’m doing the right thing. For both of us.
I give her message a thumbs up and set down my phone, drumming my fingers on the desk. How do I explain the lack of a spark to her without making it sound like it’s her fault?
It’s not you, it’s me is a punchline for it is you . Even if in this case, it’s true, it’s not her. It’s me. But she wouldn’t believe me.
No matter how I do it, now that I’ve decided, I can stand up straight again. For the first time in days, I’m able to focus on work. The charts and graphs that have been harder to read lately make more sense. I attack my inbox with a vengeance, the emails that had been piling up all morning quickly dealt with.
Tonight won’t be fun, but it’s the right call. And after, I’ll figure out what, or who, I really want.
* * *
Early that evening, I shut my laptop and stand to leave while the office is still full. I’m taking off earlier than usual because I don’t know, it seems like bad etiquette to make someone wait on you all night to break up with them. Olivia will hate me all the same, but the least I can do is to be polite about it.
A weird sort of detachment washes over me as I grab my jacket and backpack. But my palms are sticky and my pulse is too elevated for someone who’s been sitting at a desk all day. Everything in me wants to smooth the waters as if my job were to ensure nobody felt a ripple. Confrontation has always felt like stepping into a ring I was never trained for. Ever since being put on the spot in school left me scarred, I’d rather fade into the background, and maintain the peace, but this time… I can’t. People call me nice. Sometimes, I wonder if that’s a euphemism for pushover. I’m sorry that Olivia will be the one to see me grow a spine.
By the time I’m outside, I almost invent an excuse to go home and avoid what’s coming. But even the gentlest tide has to turn.
I flag down a cab, sinking into the back seat. I rattle off Olivia’s address to the driver and close my eyes to contain the anxiety gnawing at my gut. She won’t see this coming. She thinks I’m dropping by to hang out. But I have to rip off the Band-Aid—the sooner, the better. The driver is talking about something—traffic or the weather—but I barely register his words as we zip through the blurry city lights.
When the car pulls up outside Olivia’s building, I pay the fare and step out. I compose her buzzer number and wait, tapping my foot on the sidewalk, the concrete sticking to my sole in the heat.
Olivia’s voice crackles through a minute later. “Who is it?”
“Dylan?” Wasn’t she expecting me?
“Oh, right. Come on up.” She sounds weird, surprised but also as if she was already crying?
Has she guessed why I’m here?
Perplexed, I push through the main door and cross the lobby, opting for the stairs since Olivia lives on the second floor. The distant, muffled sounds of a TV playing greet me as I reach her hallway and walk down it. I pause outside her door, steeling myself for what I have to do. My hand lifts to knock, but I hesitate. Before I muster the courage, a distraught Olivia flings the door open, ushering me in. Her face is splotchy and tear-streaked, her normally coiffed hair disheveled. Behind her, I glimpse her usually tidy apartment in disarray, clothes strewn everywhere.
“Dylan, I’m so sorry,” she chokes out between sobs. “I completely forgot you were coming over. It’s just—” She stops, fluffing her hands in front of her face, hyperventilating. “Theo died,” she whimpers. “And the funeral is in two days. I have to go home and?—”
Her words dissolve into incoherent blubbering as she ushers me inside. My heart sinks as I take in the open suitcase on the couch, half-filled with hastily folded clothes. The speech I’d rehearsed on the way over turns to ashes on my tongue.
“Oh, Liv, I’m so sorry.” I’m the world’s biggest hypocrite.
The part of me that hates standing up for myself is relieved our talk will have to be postponed, but the rest of me is simmering frustration—I wanted this to be over tonight.
But between the two of us, Olivia’s having a rougher night than I am. I’m uncomfortable, sure, but Olivia’s in a different league of upset.
“Who was Theo?”
“My best friend.”
Fuuuuuck. “I’m so sorry,” I repeat, at a loss for what else to say. “Was he sick?”
“Nooo,” she bawls. “A car ran him over.”
She spins in a tight circle, her hands shooting up to her temples. “One second, he was there, and then,” she puffs. “And then this!” Her voice cracks, turning into a strangled screech that makes me flinch.
Olivia stops mid-step, clutching her chest as if she can physically hold her heart together. “He didn’t deserve this—” She breaks off into a high-pitched wail, doubling over and gasping for air.
I take a hesitant step forward. “Liv, just sit down for a second and?—”
“No!” she shrieks, spinning to face me, her face twisted with anguish. “Don’t tell me to sit! Don’t tell me to breathe! I can’t—I can’t even talk about it, okay? I just can’t! I have to go; please stop asking questions.”
“Okay, whatever you need.”
She paces, arms flailing as she explains between hiccups. “I won’t be back for the Fourth of July. You probably wanted to do something together, but I just—I need to be with my family at this difficult time.”
I fight back a wince. Even before deciding to break things off, I had zero plans to spend the holiday with Olivia. Nina, Tristan, Hunter, Rowena, and I are headed to my parents’ place in Mystic, Connecticut, for a big family weekend—grilling burgers, setting off sparklers, and lounging on pool floats with cold drinks. Days soaking up the sun, the smell of barbecue in the air. Nights lit up with fireflies and fireworks. A mental image where, once again, Olivia doesn’t fit.
But of course, I can’t say any of that. Not now. I nod, guilt twisting tighter in my chest as she sobs and packs in frantic bursts. I try to make sense of it. If Theo was her best friend, why is her family so involved? She’s from a small town. Maybe it’s one of those tight-knit communities where neighbors are practically family. I want to ask, but she’s begged me not to. Also, I’m a little scared to probe. She seems riled up enough.
How do I help her? Do I hug her? Pat her shoulder? Both strike me as insensitive considering what I came here to do. But standing in her living room like a statue, tongue-tied and useless, seems equally heartless.
The seconds stretch out, filled only with the sounds of Olivia’s sniffles and the zipper of her suitcase. I’ve never felt more adrift between what I should do—support her unconditionally without throwing another wrench into her night, and what I want to do—break up with her.
Olivia whirls around, her amber eyes wide and pleading. “We could escape somewhere the weekend after the fourth? Since we can’t spend the holiday together?”
I stand slack-jawed and scrambling for something to say, but my skull is filled only with critters scraping their claws against the bone; all the words have left. I’m here to cut her loose. I don’t want to string her along now that I know we won’t work out as a couple. I can’t make plans with her. But how do I explain that without telling her I’m breaking up with her? Because I can’t pull the trigger when she’s reeling from a loss and looking at me like I’m her savior.
“Um, sure, maybe.” I nod mechanically.
I hate the side of me who’s relieved the confrontation is postponed. He’s not getting this win. I’ll talk to her, soon. After the funeral, once things settle. Do this right. But for now, I paint on a smile and pretend everything’s fine.
“Do you want to book something? The funeral is going to be agony, and I could use a break.” She gestures at the four walls surrounding us as if they were responsible for Theo’s death. “Away from here.”
I can’t break up with her tonight, but I should definitely avoid making promises. How? The critters resume their frenzied scrambling inside my skull. I need an excuse that sounds thoughtful, or at least halfway decent. A snippet of a conversation from Saturday night at Adrian and Rowena’s pops into my head, giving me a perfect out. “Actually, that weekend might be tough for me. It’s Rowena’s engagement party, out in the Hamptons.”
Olivia’s eyes light up, her grief flickering in the background. “Oh, Rowena, the friend you went to see Saturday night?” The lingering accusation of and didn’t invite me still strong behind her casual tone. “I’d love to go together.”
Crap. That backfired spectacularly. I fumble for any reason to tell her no. But I’m drawing a total blank. “Uh… mmm… It’s a small party for just close friends and family. I’d have to check if it’s okay to bring someone else.” I keep vague, giving her an indefinite answer carried on a wave of guilt and cowardice. Outside, I’m trying to keep neutral. Inside, I’m Kate Winslet at the beginning of Titanic —screaming.
Olivia launches herself at me as if I’d given her a solid yes, her lips finding mine in a fierce kiss. I go through the motions, but the contact is hollow. No spark, no warmth, just a gnawing void where something bright should be blossoming.
She steps back, gives me a teary smile, and hoists her suitcase. We walk out together. On the curb, she hugs me tightly before sliding into a waiting cab. At least I did the right thing by not offering to take her to the airport—too romantic. Would’ve given the wrong signal.
As the taxi merges into traffic and disappears, I let out a gusty sigh. I royally screwed up. But at least I’m getting a reprieve— a week without having to pretend or force non-existent feelings.
The thought of heading home to Mystic, of long, sunny days spent with the people I love most, wraps around me like a warm hug. The salty tang of the sea air, Mom’s peach cobbler, shooting hoops in the backyard with Tristan… Hunter in a bikini. I censor the image before my brain can pull up memories from the last time she visited Nina at my parents’ place.
On second thought, my so-called “reprieve” sounds more like torture. Four days of Hunter in swimsuits, and me stuck in romantic limbo, playing the role of the platonic friend… Now I’ve turned into another character from Titanic : Captain Smith, fucking iceberg alert in hand and still ordering more speed.