44. Annie
Annie
The gala was perfect. From the speech Zayn gave, to the outcome of the auction, to the dancing. Everything in between was magical, letting us have our last perfect event before something happens.
Because something has to happen.
I have to move.
To New York.
If I could find a new job, or even a lead for a new job, I would consider staying. But I’ve been searching online and haven’t found anything. I’m losing hope.
There’s one more week left in this contract.
One more week of living with Zayn. A few months ago, I was looking forward to this.
I couldn’t wait for this ending to come, to move on to my next client, to use this as a launch pad for everything else.
And yet here I am, still in bed at ten in the morning, replaying dates and talks and Zayn’s face over and over and over.
Praying I don’t forget any of it the moment I step past the threshold for the last time.
Not that we have talked about this relationship being over.
That is one conversation we have yet to have, and I think it’s because neither of us wants to admit that this is ending.
This perfect, tension-filled, romantic relationship that started as a seed has bloomed into something beautiful.
Maybe we are like a weed. Weeds can be pretty, right?
But I don’t want to cut us down anymore, I want to let us grow, let our love blossom and take shape.
My head tosses and turns on the pillow, which is essentially my tell that I should just get out of bed.
Zayn left an hour ago to go meet Logan for breakfast to debrief on the last week before his meeting with Ed.
After he left, I left his bed and crawled into mine.
Well, what used to be mine in the other bedroom.
I’ve hardly stepped a foot in this room in the past month except to maybe grab an item of clothing.
And that’s a small maybe because I now have space in his closet, a drawer in his dresser.
Loud knocking echoes down the hallway, interrupting my lingering thoughts. I guess I’ll have to pencil in time later to wallow about all of this.
My feet find their way to the floor, sliding into a pair of pink fluffy slippers to match my pink sleep set that I’ve yet to change out of, and I yawn as I leave the room.
You’d think I’d get more sleep the longer I’m with Zayn, that the late nights wouldn’t be so.
..late. Nope. Still late, still exhausted, still pleased.
It’s the only reason why I’m not grumbling and complaining on my walk to the front door.
More knocks come, annoying me more than normal.
“Hold on,” I mumble under my breath, now starting to get grouchy.
When the door opens, I see three of my favorite people standing on the other side, and my frown immediately turns up.
Cassie, Lucy, and Marcy all stand outside my front door.
Cassie is holding a pink box from Flora.
I hope she brought me a blueberry muffin.
Lucy has a multitude of drinks in her arms.
“Going to let us in?” Marcy greets, launching herself at me into a hug. “Why does it feel like I haven’t seen you in ages?”
“It’s been like two days.” I roll my eyes as I open the door.
“Two days, two months, same difference.” Marcy shrugs.
Cassie and Lucy follow, setting the food and drinks on the counter.
“Decaf?” I raise my brow at Cassie, who now has a tiny bump.
She’s not supposed to drink as much caffeine now. That’s what the internet told me, at least.
She just glares in my direction and says, “I’m allowed to have a cup of coffee a day, Anns.” She takes a sip to prove a point.
I turn to the island and open the lid of the pastry box, searching for the one thing that always manages to brighten my day. Who knew a pastry had that much power?
And there it is, my blueberry muffin, surrounded by various pastry cousins.
“You girls are the best,” I say, already getting emotional.
And it’s because they were thoughtful enough to bring me my favorite breakfast without knowing why I asked them to come over this morning.
Since I normally see Cassie on the weekends and we have had to cancel the past couple of weeks, I knew I still had to talk to the girls about New York.
I needed someone besides Zayn, someone from the outside looking in.
“Okay,” Lucy says, taking a bite of her chocolate croissant, “tell us what the issue is.”
“How do you know there’s an issue? Everything could be perfect,” I say, leaning back on the couch with my coffee and pastry.
“Your face doesn’t look like everything is perfect,” Marcy says, never holding anything back. “It looks all sad.”
“My face? What does my face know?” I try to throw them off, or at least try to pretend that I’m not as sad as I am. I’m shattered inside, but I need them to think that I’m only beginning to crack.
“You’re moving in a few weeks, Anns,” Cassie says, wearing her own sort of sadness on her face.
It’s the way she barely meets my gaze and the way her hands trace her stomach more than normal. It’s the way she bites her lip and her eyelashes flutter at a rapid pace.
And that’s when the tears fall, landing on my perfectly crumbled topped blueberry muffin.
“I don’t—” I catch a breath, trying hard to keep myself together enough to spit the words out. “I don’t know what to do.” The words finally tumble out of my mouth.
“Can you walk us through it? Help us understand?” Marcy asks. Cassie and Lucy sit in silence, waiting for me to answer. Being patient for me, not pushing for any answers.
“What part?” I ask, wincing at how Marcy and Lucy only know half the story. How they don’t know about Dan. Fuck, Cassie doesn’t even know what happened at Thanksgiving. I’ve been plastering this picture-perfect attitude toward my professional life for so long that it’s just become me.
“Start from the beginning, Anns,” Cassie says.
And so I do.
I tell them every painstaking detail.
Starting with Dan and recounting how we dated and things fell apart.
Moving on to the moment I stopped believing in myself and needed to put on a mask to continue to convince myself everyday that the decision to chase my dream was worth it.
The moment I finally landed the internship and felt like everything was starting to fall into place.
Working my ass off for three years at Starlet PR, making sure that everyone knew how much I loved the opportunity that was given to me and that I would do anything to keep it.
To starting to heal from the hurtful words Dan said, and the opportunity to land a permanent role at the firm, finally thinking that maybe this was all worth it.
That the journey might have been hell, but if it led me to this moment, then it had to be worth it.
And finally, to Zayn. My Zayn. My ex-boyfriend’s older brother. Everything that has happened between us over the past few months, from our first kiss, to mornings in the kitchen, to dancing at events, Thanksgiving, and last night.
“So, yeah, I don’t know what to do.” I finish after having talked for thirty minutes straight, recounting the past few years and forcing them to sit there and listen to me ramble and apologize for not being more open about it all.
“Annie, you can do whatever you want,” Marcy argues.
“But I can’t. Did you not hear what will happen? I won’t have a job, Marce. If I don’t go to New York, I get fired. Then what?”
“Then, you look for a new job?” she asks, shrugging.
“No one will hire me. Not only having the experience of one client. And I can’t guarantee they won’t call Greg to ask about my performance, and if he tells them that I refused a client, that will not do me any favors.”
“We could ask around for you,” Cassie offers, and I love her for that, but I can’t be hopeful for something that doesn’t have a likelihood of happening.
“Thanks Cass.”
“Have you talked to Zayn about it?” Lucy asks.
I shake my head. My coffee is still in one hand, likely cold by now. My other hand holds my half-eaten muffin, but I hardly have the appetite to finish it.
“Annie, you need to talk to him about it,” Lucy says.
“I know...” I whisper. “I know, but I—” I try to continue talking, but it’s hard. It’s so fucking hard. “I love him. I don’t want to leave.”
“Does he know that?” Marcy asks.
I shake my head again.
“You need to tell him,” she says.
Again, I shake my head. “I can’t. Not when he’s getting everything he’s wanted.”
Cassie speaks up. “He’s not getting you.”
Lucy hands me tissues without me having to ask for them. I smile at her, knowing that the tears will continue to fall until this conversation is over.
“He doesn’t need me,” I argue.
He doesn’t, right? He will move on, find someone who can give him the same company, the same love, the same support. Long distance wouldn’t work, not with how busy we both are.
“Annie...” Cassie says, and I hear the pity, the sadness in her voice.
“It’s fine, it’s fine,” I say, wiping the tears from my eyes, begging them to shut off and save any more tears for later. “It will be fine. I knew this would happen, I knew I wouldn’t avoid it. It doesn’t make it hurt any less, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. You know?”
Marcy scoots closer to me on the couch and throws an arm around my shoulder, pulling me into her, and says, “You’re doing what you need to do and I am so fucking proud of you. But know he would do anything for you.”
He would do anything for me, and that’s exactly why I can’t ask him to try to continue this when I move.
I don’t want to be a distraction, someone who steals his time and attention when he starts the most important role of his career.
I don’t need to split his love in two directions.
He would fly to me every weekend if I let him, I know he would.
He’s selfless, and fuck, I love him so much.
It’s because I love him so much that I know I need to let him go.