27
Andy
I begin my morning deep in denial. Coffee. Toast. Brushing my teeth. Staring at the wall.
Despite my best efforts not to think about last night, everything in the apartment reminded me of Sophie. Her sticky notes on the coffee table, her hairbrush in the bathroom, the couch where I held her just yesterday. Ten years of wanting her, all our memories, and I thought for a moment…
But now I’m here.
Robotically, I lace up my running shoes and force my feet to carry me anywhere else—away from the hollow echoes of our brief life together. Yet even outside, Sophie is inescapable.
Ghosts of our past selves stand on every corner.
I run past Allston Liquors where I see us as college kids, buying beer where we knew the cashier wouldn’t card.
I turn onto Comm Ave and see us as adults, moving our friends into new apartments.
I see us in the summer, lying in the grass by the reservoir.
In the fall, crunching reddened leaves beneath weatherproof boots.
Sophie is so central to my life here that I can’t imagine Boston without her.
The road arches like the curve of her smile.
The Green Line screeches along its track like a shriek of her laugh.
I can’t even escape her in the sky, as my traitorous mind draws up an image of her in a light blue dress—the one she wore to the Gardner Museum last month.
I know I’m torturing myself, but I stop in my tracks and take out my phone, opening the photos app.
My last two pictures are of her. First, her in that blue dress at the museum.
It’s candid. I don’t think I even showed it to her.
But she was looking so earnestly at a horrible painting, trying her hardest to find the good in it like she always does, and it was just so her.
Her body leaning forward, head tilted to one side, open and sincere.
The next picture is worse. The two of us, that night.
My eyes are closed, face half-buried in her hair, yet it’s so obviously the happiest I’ve ever been.
And Sophie, there in my bed, beaming and bright, the smooth skin of her shoulder, the freckles on her throat, the trust in the way she’s leaning against me…
I click off the screen, feeling myself getting lightheaded, chest constricting.
I close my eyes and breathe, focusing on the feeling of the ground beneath my feet.
I can hear cars driving past and I try to count them.
One. Two. Three. Four. I feel the cut of the wind on my face, wishing it would slice me open and let out this heavy grief.
How did I screw things up so badly?
I need help. I know I do. I’m no good at this. But the person who always gives me perspective isn’t talking to me, and I definitely can’t go to Lia or Nolan. I’ve been ignoring their texts since last night for a reason. I can’t bear their sadness when I’m drowning in my own.
That leaves one option.
Without giving myself time to think, I click on Owen’s contact. He picks up after only a few rings.
“Andy? Is everything okay?”
No. “Yeah. Um…what are you doing right now?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. This is a terrible idea.
“Nothing. I’m working from home but it’s a pretty easy day. Do you need something?” Owen is audibly concerned, and of course he is. We don’t do this.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I ask, “Could I come over? Now?”
“Of course. Yes. I’ll text you my address.”
“Thanks.” I end the call without a goodbye.
The 45-minute T ride to Owen’s apartment could not feel longer. Still trying to think about anything but Sophie, I’m left thinking about Owen. I don’t know what compelled me to do this. Maybe some part of my lizard brain still feels like my big brother will look out for me, fix things.
I transfer from the Green Line to the Red Line then walk from South Station. The front desk of Owen’s luxury high rise buzzes me in and I take the elevator up, finding his door and knocking twice.
Owen greets me with a simple “Hey, come on in” as I enter his home for the first time since he moved back to Massachusetts.
Owen lives on the 24th floor, with windows directly overlooking the water. It’s spacious, if sparsely decorated, with all new appliances. Sparkling hardwood floors, huge kitchen island, flat screen TV the size of my couch. I knew my brother made good money, but this borders on absurdity.
“Nice place,” I say, looking anywhere but at Owen.
“Yeah, I got really lucky. There’s a balcony too, here check it out.”
Owen leads the way through a sliding glass door, and we step out into the late-winter air. The balcony has two patio chairs and a small glass table. I sit in one chair and Owen takes the other.
There’s an awkward moment of limbo—neither of us knowing how to talk to each other anymore—before I give up and pick somewhere to start.
“I hooked up with Sophie.”
Owen’s eyes shoot to me with obvious excitement.
It’s not like I’ve ever explicitly told him how I feel about her, but evidently it wasn’t hard to figure out.
He’s been rooting for us—often obnoxiously—since the first time he met Sophie last year.
Despite this, something he sees in my body language must tip him off that the story doesn’t end well.
“It was bad?” he asks. And I should have known this was pointless.
“Honestly Owen, fuck you.” I stand to leave, but he jumps up between me and the balcony door.
“No, Andy, wait.” His hands are up in a placating gesture. “I’m not trying to be a dick. Really. I’m just trying to figure out why you’re upset. I’m sorry.”
I stare him down. It’s obvious how hard he’s trying to help, he’s just shit at it. So, with no other choice, I retake my seat. He does the same.
“Ok then, so it wasn’t bad.”
“No, it wasn’t bad. It was… really good.” I can’t look at him, so my eyes lock on the place where the sky meets the harbor. “And I think she thought so too. I mean, everything she said made me think she wanted us to really be together.”
“What happened?”
I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees and bowing my head. “She had her PhD interview yesterday and it really freaked her out. She thought it went horribly. So now she’s convinced she’s not getting into Ashmore and she’ll end up with her fallback plan in San Diego.”
“And you don’t want to do long distance?” Owen guesses.
“No, I want to move with her. I would go anywhere for her. And the thought of her moving away and me staying in Boston is like… for what? My job is remote. There’s nothing here for me.”
I quickly realize what I just said, and look up at Owen in apology. “I mean, not that—”
He just shakes his head. “I get it.”
I exhale. “I tried to tell her how I feel, that I want to go wherever she goes, and she just wouldn’t let me. She said she doesn’t want me to uproot my life for her, and that she’s worried I’ll resent her or change my mind. And I couldn’t…
I couldn’t find the words to explain that could never happen. She said we should take some space.”
My voice tightens and I can’t stop it. “Now I’m worried it’s over when I just got her.”
I clench my jaw as hard as I can, but a rogue tear stubbornly streams down my cheek.
We sit in silence for three seconds—three long seconds as my brother figures out what the hell to say to that. Then, to my surprise, he reaches over and places a hand on my shoulder. Without a word, the gesture speaks volumes: he’s here, and he knows there’s more to it, and he’s ready to listen.
“Maybe she’s right,” I continue, wiping furiously at my eyes.
“Maybe it couldn’t have worked out. It’s not like I’ve seen a lot of great relationships. Maybe everyone falls out of love eventually. I mean, look at the example we had with mom and dad. They had a great marriage and then he just left. He just changed his mind and left. Maybe that’s in my genes.
Maybe I’d end up making her miserable.”
“Mom and dad never had a great marriage,” Owen counters.
“You might have been too young to see it but please trust me, it was a good thing dad left.”
There’s a beat where Owen seems to consider saying more, but he changes course.
“Besides, you and Sophie are not mom and dad. You would never… you are not dad.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do know that,” Owen pushes, raising his voice.
“You might not think I know you anymore, and you’re right that I could’ve been a better brother, but I know who you are at your core and you are not him. You are a good man, and loyal, and you care about everything so much even when you don’t let it show. Sophie would be lucky to be with you.”
I keep my gaze fixed on the water as I say, quietly, “I don’t know what to do.”
“You fight for her.” When I don’t reply, Owen continues. “Andy, I know it’s still new but… have you actually told her you’re in love with her?”
I huff out an annoyed breath—clearly he’s not understanding the point here. “Owen, I promise she knows I love her. We say it all the time. We’ve said it for years. And it’s obvious I’m out of my league here. There’s no way she doesn’t know.”
“Not that you love her—your friends throw around ‘I love you’s like confetti. I mean that you’re in love with her.”
That gives me a moment of pause. But no, yes, of course I have. Because she said she loved me yesterday in the middle of the conversation, and I…
I rub my hands over my eyes, furious and frustrated and edging towards panic again.
“I—I don’t know. I feel like I can’t keep track of what’s staying in my head and what’s coming out of my mouth. I have no control around her.”
“Did she tell you she loves you since you’ve been together?”
“Yes.”
“And did you say it back?”
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to catalogue our conversations. She said it twice since we’ve been together—I remember each time perfectly, along with the feeling of overwhelming certainty that she couldn’t possibly love me as much as I love her. In a sprawling, consuming, driving way.
But did I say it back?
I might not have used those exact words, but she knows how I feel. She knows, right? She has to know. I cannot be that much of a fuck up. There’s no way.
“I… dammit, I don’t know! I don’t know if I told her. I should have told her, but maybe I didn’t and now it’s too late. Fuck.” My voice breaks again as I bury my face in my hands.
“You have to tell her now, Andy. All of it, the whole truth. If you don’t, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”
When I don’t reply, Owen continues. “Hey, if you’re worried about finding the right words on the spot we can think it through ahead of time. We’ll figure it out. I’ve got nothing but time. But we’re not giving up without a fight.”
And that ‘we’ means more than I can say. It’s a ‘we’ I’m so used to hearing only from Sophie, and it’s a relief that even without her here I might not be alone.
Maybe it really isn’t over yet.