37 Sloane
December 2018
Today I decide to walk home from work because I can’t imagine dealing with an overcrowded subway car right now. The air is crisp and unusually warm for mid-December. I still zip my coat all the way up to my chin to avoid getting sick. The last thing I need is to miss more time at work. I ruminate on the last three, almost four, years as I walk down Park Avenue. I pull my headphones out of my pocket, plug them into my phone, and scroll Spotify to find a solid breakup playlist, filled with just the right amount of Taylor Swift.
I’m reminded of the night when I tried to convince Ethan that we should walk almost seven miles home because I would’ve done anything for more time with him. It’s funny how some things never change. Now here I am years later, in a different city, wishing the same thing.
I walk into the apartment and am greeted by Lauren who, in typical Lauren fashion, already has a drink waiting for me.
“Get ready,” she demands firmly. “We’re going out.”
I smile as I enter my room, observing the few pieces of clothing that I haven’t packed yet. I pull my favorite bodysuit off its hanger along with the jeans that used to fit me perfectly, but now gape a little in the back, and get dressed.
Lauren emerges in my doorway. “Do you want to talk about it?”
She takes a seat on my bed as if to say I have no choice.
I shake my head. “Not really. There’s nothing to talk about.”
She presses anyway. “How are you feeling?”
“Oddly enough, not as bad as I expected to,” I confess. “I saw it coming. I think I just hoped that I was wrong.”
We throw on coats, and Lauren calls us an Uber to Miles’s place so she can drop off a few of her boxes on the way to the new bar in Chelsea that she’s taking me to. His loft is a New York City dream. It’s everything I used to picture we’d live in until I realized most people can’t afford it. Exposed brick, high ceilings, and a spiral staircase that takes you up to the lofted bedroom and full bath.
“This is amazing,” I say, feeling a ping of envy.
“Isn’t it?” Lauren agrees, prideful as she unloads her boxes.
“Where’s Miles?” I ask.
Her response comes with a tilt of her head towards the liquor cabinet. “Out with clients. Want a drink before we go? We can sit up on the roof.”
“Sure.” I shrug.
I make my way around the loft, admiring every detail, hoping I’ll live like this one day. I follow her down the hall to the elevator, and we take it up two floors. The doors open to an empty hallway with one door at the end of it. I follow her through it and watch as a gorgeous view of the city emerges.
“Wow,” I breathe.
She leads me to two sling chairs, and we both take a seat, wrapping blankets around us even though we’re wearing our winter coats. The city stretches out before us, a canvas of endless stories. I can see people partying on other rooftops, couples making dinner through their windows, cars zipping through traffic below.
Lauren breaks the silence. “Are you going to be okay?” I turn to her because I’m unsure if she’s joking or not, but the concern in her eyes tells me she’s serious. She’s worried about me.
“Lauren.” I put my hand out to offer reassurance. “I’ll be fine.”
She exhales, the sound heavy with guilt. “I just feel shitty,” she confesses, her eyes dropping. “Like of course this happens as I’m moving out. Timing’s a bitch.”
“It always is.” I can’t help but laugh.
We never end up going out. Instead, Lauren brings up a bottle of tequila, a space heater, and an extension cord as we sift through memories, essentially running through the entirety of our friendship.
“I think my favorite memory of you, a story we’ll definitely tell our kids when they’re heading off to college, is junior year spring break,” she recounts.
“Which part?” I pass the bottle back to her.
“When you almost got arrested at that bar in Key West. I’ll never forget the look on your face when the bouncer snatched your ID and told you to stand to the side. I’ve literally never seen you run, ever, except for that day.” She nearly chokes on laughter and tequila.
“I can’t believe he didn’t recognize us when we went back an hour later. All we did was swap sunglasses and T-shirts.”
“Wait, remember sophomore year, when we were so excited to use our new fake IDs, and then the bouncer at Jerry’s peeled the film off of them and told us to get lost?” Her laugh is infectious.
“That was easily one of the top five most embarrassing moments of my life. Everyone behind us in line looked at us like we were idiots.”
“We were idiots,” she agrees, taking a hearty swig of tequila, scrunching her face in response to the burn.
I shake my head in disbelief at our current situation. “I can’t believe we’re taking a bottle of liquor to the face right now.”
“Can you not? We used to do this every weekend with Burnett’s and Bacardi.” Lauren waves off my comment with another laugh.
“Oh god, don’t remind me.” I playfully gag; the past tastes bittersweet now.
We lose track of time until there are no more stories to tell. The day we met at our dorm hall orientation, the first time we got drunk together, senior year spending hours applying to any job we could find, thinking we’d never land one in a city like this. Yet here we are—sitting on the rooftop of the apartment she now shares with what I’d like to consider her soulmate.
How lucky is she to have found love at the age of twenty-three?
I glance at my phone—it’s getting late, even for us.
***
Outside, Lauren’s grip on my shoulder halts me. “Hey, Sloane?” Her voice is soft but firm.
“Yeah?” I turn to her.
“One day he’s going to wake up and realize that he lost the best thing he ever had. He lost the only person who would’ve loved him through anything. I hope he hurts. I hope he regrets it. But even more importantly, I hope he learns. I hope he learns that love isn’t always easy. Love is compromise. It’s understanding and accepting. Someone else is going to give you all of that and more one day, and I can’t wait to see who he is.”
Her speech is a Band-Aid to my broken heart, and as I hug her, the world feels a little less cold.
“I love you,” I say, and with that, I step into the Uber.
A few minutes into the ride, a wave of nausea hits me. I’m more drunk than I thought. I wonder if it’s from the lack of sleep or the lack of food. Either way I try to close my eyes and stay off my phone to keep me from getting sick and being charged a cleaning fee.
The drive takes unusually long, so I open my eyes and notice we’re taking a longer way through the West Village. Usually, I’d be worried about something like this, but my nauseous state won’t allow me to. Before I can close my eyes again, I see Reese’s building. In the back seat of the Uber, I start crying because I broke up with a guy who loved me for a guy that never could. Why am I the way that I am?
I scroll through my contacts until I see Reese Thompson. My finger wavers over the call button, but eventually I hold the phone up to my ear. It rings and rings. No answer. I lock the phone and close my eyes until we get to my apartment.
When I finally get into bed, I reach for the charger to plug my phone into. Before I set my alarm and go sleep, I pull up Instagram and type Reese’s name into the search bar. I’m surprised to see he unblocked me. There it is—a picture of him with what I’m assuming is his new girlfriend at a wedding a few weeks ago. The cliché caption, Forever wedding date, confirms it. I stare at the screen and debate my next move. Before I can stop myself, I hit send on a text to Ethan.
12:20 a.m.
Me:Can you sleep here? Just for tonight? I don’t want to be alone.
I put my phone on do not disturb even though I continue to check it every few minutes to see if he replies.
I toss and turn all night, unable to turn off my brain. All I can think about is Ethan. What if I never get over him? What if I go to bed and wake up every day for the rest of my life wanting him? What if I keep waiting for a call or a text or a sign that never comes?
Morning comes, and I check my phone once more just to find no new messages.