35 Sloane
December 2018
Phillip hands me a blush-colored envelope. My name is written in calligraphy, and without even opening it, I know it’s Graham and Emily’s wedding invitation. The wedding isn’t until summer, but being early is on-brand for them.
I enter our apartment, which is filled with half-packed moving boxes, and avoid opening the envelope. I place it on the counter and stare at it for what feels like an eternity.
Am I ready to open it?
I carefully break the seal and immediately tear up. This is all I want—someone who loves me enough to commit to forever. Even though I know that marriage doesn’t always mean forever, people don’t go into it thinking they’ll get divorced. They go in wanting to spend the rest of their lives together. Why can’t Ethan give this to me?
I grab a magnet from the drawer next to the sink and hang the invitation on the refrigerator. My phone starts buzzing on the counter.
6:38 p.m.
Ethan Brady:Waiting on our food now. Be there in 30.
For a second I forgot about our plans tonight. I hit send on a simple reply and collect myself.
Even though most of our kitchen is packed, we left out a few wineglasses, knowing we’d need them. I reach into the cabinet above the sink for one, pour myself a heavy glass of cab and finish it before he arrives. Something tells me I’m going to need it.
Ethan reaches for two of the ketchup packets and squirts them on his fries. We eat in silence as the TV plays sports coverage from the living room. I pour another glass of wine.
“What should we watch? We need a new show, but I haven’t heard of anything good coming out on Netflix lately. Have you?”
He cuts me off. “I can’t do this anymore, Sloane. I think this needs to end.”
The wineglass in my hand falls to the floor, and I rush to collect the remnants. Tears fill my eyes as I pick up each piece and place it in my other hand.
Here I am again, crying on the kitchen floor.
“Fuck!” Ethan shouts as he rushes to my side. The urgency of the situation begins to sink in, even as my emotions cloud my reality.
I look at my hand and notice there’s a large piece of glass wedged into my palm. Why can’t I feel it? I can see the glass and the blood, but I can’t feel anything. The blood drips down my hand and onto the kitchen rug. I hope Lauren wasn’t planning on taking this with her. Ethan pulls out his phone and helps me up.
I watch as he calls an Uber and grabs my hand to inspect it.
“We should leave it in there. I’m worried about pulling it out. I don’t want it to bleed more.” He’s wrapping my hand with a dish towel while I’m still frozen in shock. Not from the blood but from the heartbreak.
***
“Sloane, I’m so sorry,” he says as he opens the car door. I get into the back seat, and he slides in next to me.
We arrive at the emergency room in what feels like seconds. I still can’t manage to form words, so I can’t tell him that I want him to leave. He checks us in and sits next to me in the waiting room, holding the dish towel over my hand and applying the slightest pressure around where the glass is to stop the bleeding.
“Sloane Hart?” a doctor says, entering the waiting room.
We follow her through a set of double doors, and she shows me to a bed, where I sit while she draws the curtain. I don’t make eye contact with Ethan, because if I do, I think I might be sick.
She examines my hand before reassuring me, “This doesn’t look too bad. I’m going to remove it and then clean the wound before wrapping it up. The cleaning will be the worst part.”
I nod in place of a reply.
I feel no pain as she gets the glass out and cleans my hand. I’m trying to wrap my head around what Ethan said after dinner. He’s had so many chances to end it. I’ve given him so many outs. And instead this is how it ends.
The car ride home is silent. Not even the radio is playing. All that I hear is I can’t do this anymore, Sloane.
I hate how he says my name. I hope I never hear him say it again.
We arrive at our building, and we both stand outside for a moment before walking in.
“Should I come to yours so we can finish talking?” he asks hesitantly.
“No, I don’t think we need to talk more.”
I finally look up and stare at him, pausing before I continue. “I just need you to know that you can’t do this to me anymore. There’s no going back after tonight. I can’t keep doing this to myself. I love you so much that it hurts. It’s made me physically ill on more than one occasion. Love shouldn’t hurt. Love shouldn’t make you sick. I know that you’re not ready, and nothing I can say or do will ever change that. The only person that can change that is you. I would’ve done anything for you—”
A tear falls down my face.
I wait for him to say something, but he doesn’t. We look at each other for a few seconds, and then I break eye contact, turn around, and walk into the building. I never look back.
The elevator ride feels centuries long. As soon as I’m face-to-face with the empty apartment, I break down. Everything is just as we left it. Our empty takeout boxes waiting to be brought to the trash chute, the remnants of my broken wineglass, bloodstained paper towels. I do my best to clean it up without hurting myself again.
I always believed that we’d find our way back to each other every time things ended. Except this time, it feels final—like I’ll never see him again. I can feel it in my bones. This time is really it.
It still hurts. Losing him and missing him still hurts, but in a different way than it did the other times. It doesn’t feel like an earth-shattering heartbreak, but a more subtle lingering pain.
I stay up most of the night replaying our relationship over in my head from the moment we met all the way up to tonight. Our first kiss, our first date, our last kiss, and our last date. I wish things could have unfolded differently between us. I know that deep down he loves and cares about me, but it still isn’t enough.
Some people don’t grow up in a house full of love, and even though my parents aren’t together anymore, for eighteen years of my life, they had a good run. I hate what I know about Ethan’s past, and I wish he felt like he could tell me. In more ways than one, I hate his parents. I hate them for leaving him, but I hate them even more for making him feel like he isn’t deserving of being loved.