Three #2
His teeth gnaw at his lip when he nods, still avoiding my gaze as if it will hide the fact that he’s crying. “It’s over.”
The shakiness of his voice brings empathetic tears to my eyes. I give in to my instincts and pull him into a hug. Resting my cheek on his chest, I can hear the stressed quickness of his heartbeat and feel his shaky breaths.
“We have the same suitcases,” I say to distract him, acting as if it’s not one of the most common hard-shell brands.
“Really?”
“Yes. We have impeccable taste when it comes to inanimate objects only, I fear.”
A weak laugh pushes past his tears. Finally, he hugs me back, both arms wrapped around my shoulders, his cheek resting on top of my head. We fit together well, both in our misery and in our questionable posture. Slowly but surely, his heart rate calms.
I let him go, finding a grin beneath his reddened eyes. That’s an improvement. “Are you ready to go?” I ask.
“Yeah. Let’s get out of here.”
~
Back at the hotel, my good deed done, Liem and I wash the day away over a responsible amount of wine from the restaurant downstairs.
After Liem books his flight, we relax in the most mindless way possible, exchanging funny videos from social media—finding that we have liked many of the same ones—making ourselves laugh until we are in tears for a good reason, up until the waiter alerts us of last call.
“It’s that late?” Liem says with the same surprise as me. “Damn it.”
“You should probably get some rest before your flight.”
“I should.”
Both of us are avoiding the situation at hand. The minute we go upstairs, we’ll never see each other again. While I’m happy to forget this weekend ever happened, saying goodbye to him is bittersweet. Leaving so soon feels like a theft. The loss of a friendship I had no idea I needed.
Liem and I wait for the elevators that will take us to our separate floors to resume our separate lives, neither of us speaking. Knowing he will leave the hotel after tonight, our next words are our last words.
“Thank you for today,” Liem says quietly beside me. “And yesterday.”
“No problem,” I say and mean it. “I’m not happy we had to go through what we did, but I’m glad I met you.”
“I’m glad I met you too.”
The doors open. We step inside and push the buttons for our floors.
We linger in the quiet of an unspoken ending. I count the number of beeps as they count down the last moments I’ll have with him. Why does it feel so wrong to say goodbye?
The doors open, and the right words don’t come. “Have a safe flight back home,” is all I can say.
His lips gain a rueful tilt. “Have a beautiful life, Bri. You deserve it.” Those words touch me more than they should.
I wave goodbye, feeling more emotional than I have in quite some time. His eyes linger on me while he leaves the elevator. The doors close before he can look away.
Crossing my arms, I blink away tears I don’t need to fall right now. I’ll miss my temporary friend.
~
Last night, I sent The Text to the group chat, my small circle of girlfriends from college and before.
We had our quarterly brunch right after I got the invitation from David, and since it was the only big event happening in my life, my impending engagement became the headline.
The chat has been silent since I left, the conversation likely continuing in the Bri-free side chat, probably making bets on the size of my rock or how he’d propose. It was time to fess up.
Me: We broke up.
Within two seconds, replies flooded in. So many questions—mostly different versions of What the fuck?
—but I didn’t have answers for anyone, especially myself.
I couldn’t tell them why he cheated, who it was with, or how long I had been oblivious to what was going on.
I turned off my phone, not capable of providing more than proof of life.
It’s nearly eleven in the morning, but I still want to curl back up and sleep for another two hours. The world feels heavier now. The weight of the breakup is harder to bear with two fewer shoulders, but I’ve carried burdens much heavier than this. I’ll survive.
After a night of wallowing, I’ve recovered from the melodrama, ready to start fresh. Somewhere during my tossing and turning, I realized something.
While David might not have wanted me in his picture anymore, a piece of me has wanted the same.
There was a reason it was so easy for me to accept that his job would make our relationship long-distance.
I was happy to be on my own, living in a space by myself, getting a glimpse of the independence I’ve always wanted—the ability to embrace what life could be, now that I no longer lose weeks each month to pain.
The only difference now is I’ll have to embrace life without David’s financial support. I want a job that pays enough to cover my bills and my own apartment before my thirtieth birthday. Five months is plenty of time to pull a new life out of debt-riddled air.
But first, coffee.
Half a block away, a café is advertising croissants and blasting “Blow” from Beyoncé’s self-titled album loud enough to hear from the sidewalk. The espresso is delicious, the pastry less so.
While I lament over my budget, a couple discusses finances behind a laptop in a nearby booth. Shamelessly, I listen as their bickering turns to flirting. The looks they shoot at each other tell me the sex between them must be crazy. Financial literacy help and hot sex? Must be nice.
With a full stomach and less of a headache, I finally turn my phone back on and see the twenty-eight missed calls from Keisha. I want to be mad at her, blame her for not warning me, but she might not have known either. There’s no more avoiding it. I connect my earbuds and video call her.
“Bri, baby, are you okay?” She sounds genuinely concerned.
“I’m alive. And I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner.”
“It’s okay. Your location sharing is still on. I’ve been watching you walk around the city.” How could I forget the joy of overly protective friends? “Tell me what happened. You and David broke up?”
“Yep. He was never going to propose.”
“The fuck you mean he wasn’t going to propose? The flight? The hotel? Was sense chasing him and he made it a race?”
I usually love the secondhand idioms she pulls out, but I’m not in the mood. “He flew me out here to tell me he’s been cheating on me.”
Her jaw drops and stays there for what feels like a minute. She turns from the phone and goes full banshee on her poor husband. “Kelly!”
Kellen pops his head through the doorway behind her like a prairie dog in the distance. She spews a line of questioning to find out how much he knew, but it appears he didn’t know anything.
Keisha is my family, my friend of almost twenty years. She wouldn’t have sent me out here if she’d had the faintest idea I would get hurt. This mess has me placing blame on everyone and their mothers. It also has me missing the person who could relate better than anyone.
As if I spoke him into existence, I glance through the windows and recognize the approaching man in a heartbeat.
Liem walks into the café with his suitcases, the picture of nonchalance, staring up at the menu while he orders.
He either found me and is playing coy or he’s being my twin again.
Either way, my desire to cry fades at the sight of him.
“Babe, I have to call you back,” I say.
“Okay. I am so sorry. I’ll get to the bottom of this.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m over it,” I say—and probably mean it. “I’ll call you in a bit. Love you.”
“Love you!”
I rest my chin on my palm, waiting for Liem to turn around and see me. When he does, his pretty eyes widen with surprise.