Epilogue Sloane
September 2019
It’s been nine months since Ethan ended things between us. Nine months can really change a person. Nine months ago, Ethan knew me like the back of his hand. He could predict my every move. Surely he can still recognize my face in a crowded room, but he doesn’t know the things that define who I am now.
I haven’t seen or heard from him, not even a happy birthday text, which I’ve come to learn is a good thing. My therapist says you never want an ex who tries to happy birthday their way back into your life.
I think back to who I was in December—it seems like such a long-lost version of myself, someone I don’t know anymore. Losing Ethan made me realize that I wasn’t mourning the memories of him. I mourned the idea of him that I created. I mourned the future I built in my head using our best moments. I mourned the potential I saw in him, and the life that I saw for us.
In the spring I adopted a cat and named him Ollie. He’s perched on the windowsill, watching as the neighbors begin their early morning commutes. I never thought of myself as a cat person, but I know a dog is too much for the city.
I turn on the coffeepot and reach for a muffin in the pastry case my mom brought me as a housewarming gift. Once it’s brewed, I pour myself a cup and sit at the bistro table, where I typically begin each morning.
Right after the breakup, if you could even call it that, I started journaling again. I pour my feelings onto the pages every day, sometimes more than once, and have filled almost two. Annie gave me the idea of starting a blog so that all my professional work didn’t revolve around heartbreak. I loved the idea so much that I worked on it all night.
In just three months, I’ve gained close to twenty-five thousand subscribers. It was scary at first, being so vulnerable online, but I saw how many people my open letter article resonated with last year and knew I had the opportunity to turn my heartbreak into something worthwhile. Now every morning I wake up and write for thirty minutes before I head into the office. I sip my coffee and stare at the blank screen that sits in front of me while I try and figure out today’s post:
The most important thing that I’ve learned over the last six months is that you need to show up for yourself. I know this might sound bleak, but the only person we really have at the end of the day is ourselves. You’re the one that gets yourself out of bed every morning and tucks yourself in every night. You’re the one that picks yourself up off of the bathroom floor after a few too many. You should always love that person more than someone who broke your heart.
If you feel like you lost yourself in a past (or even present) relationship, spend time getting to know who you are. Find new hobbies or fall back in love with old ones. Mine are reading and therapy. Both have been reminders of how beautiful, sometimes sad but mostly beautiful, life is.
I read the words on the screen and try to convince myself that I believe them. Sure, I’m proud of myself for how far I’ve come in six months, but it hasn’t been easy, and there are days I still cry because I miss him. I remember when I thought I couldn’t live without him. I remember when I thought I’d never meet anyone like him when, really, he was just another person who was coming and going from my life. He’s someone who taught me things that I could never teach myself. He taught me how to fall in love. He taught me how to be vulnerable, with myself and others. He taught me that I’m too sure of myself to be crying over someone who isn’t ready for me. He taught me how to love myself the way he never could.
***
Friday rolls around, and I get out of bed later than usual because I took the day off of work. Lauren’s due at my apartment in an hour because that’s when I scheduled our Uber to pick us up for the airport.
I went back and forth for months about what to do regarding Graham’s wedding. In fact, I missed the RSVP date, which is why Graham called me in the middle of a workday last month. I was avoiding his texts; if I’m being honest, I didn’t want to think about the wedding. I wanted to avoid it (and Ethan) for as long as possible. Begrudgingly, I stepped into the lobby and answered his call.
“Hey, Graham,” I answered wearily.
“Wow, you picked up,” Graham teased. “Why have you been dodging me? Well, I think I could probably guess, but I’d rather hear it from you.”
“I’m sorry. I know I’ve missed the RSVP date. I just couldn’t think about it,” I apologized.
His tone softened. “I don’t care about the RSVP date, Sloane. Well, Emily does, but we care more about you. I know this is an awkward situation, which is why I’m calling. Emily and I talked, and we think you should bring Lauren.”
“Really?” I remember how shocked I was to hear that.
Besides the one night out in the city last summer, Graham and Lauren haven’t spent any time together. They also haven’t spoken. I guess they don’t really have a reason to speak, but I was surprised to hear he didn’t mind her being in attendance at the wedding.
“Yeah, everything with us is water under the bridge. We dated for a few months in college and broke up; it’s not like we got divorced. We’re both with other people now; everything worked out the way it was supposed to.” His explanation was matter-of-fact.
I smiled, though he can’t see it. “I love that. Thanks, Graham.”
As we were about to end the call, Graham’s voice held me back. “Sloane, one other thing.”
“Yeah?” My pulse quickened. Was he about to drop a bomb on me? Was Ethan seeing someone? Or worse—bringing her to the wedding?
Graham let out a heavy sigh, and I could almost picture him running a hand through his long wavy hair.
“I realize how ominous I just sounded. Ethan’s not bringing a date, but that’s not what I was going to say. I’ve been keeping up with your blog, and I just wanted to apologize,” he said.
“What do you mean? Apologize for what?”
“I feel like I played a part in all of it. I encouraged you to wait around for Ethan, to cut him some slack. I should’ve done the opposite. I just wanted the same thing you did. I wanted it to be you. We all did,” he confessed.
I knew he meant well, but hearing those words choked me up. I felt a lump in my throat forming as tears welled up in my eyes.
“There’s no one here to blame except for him and me,” I assured him.
“So I’ll see you next month?”
“I wouldn’t miss it.”
“You tried,” he reminded me.
Thank god for Graham and Lauren. They’ve both gotten me through some dark times, and if they weren’t so mature things would have been a lot different.
***
“My stomach is starting to hurt,” I whisper to Lauren when we arrive at the venue.
She places a hand on my shoulder before firmly reminding me, “You’re gonna be okay! Just remember, no direct eye contact. And no crying.”
Two ushers appear, and they lead us past a champagne wall, encouraging us to take a glass before finding our seats. Somehow we manage to snag two spots in the third row. I twirl the glass between my fingers as I anxiously wait for the ceremony to start.
The groomsmen descend the aisle, and I watch one by one until I notice the back of his head. When he gets up to the altar, he stands to the right of the best man, Graham’s brother, and I watch him scan the crowd. Is he looking for me? And just like that, he finds me.
A slight smile falls over his face, and my entire body locks up. My heart sinks to my stomach as I realize I’m in the crowd, watching him stand at an altar, and it’s not our wedding. It never will be. I used to dream about the day we’d eventually figure out our qualms—he’d ask me to be his girlfriend, we’d move in together after a year or so, and soon after he’d propose to me in a park or on a rooftop when I least expected it. I thought about what it would be like to have the guy who wasn’t sure about love or commitment finally get down on one knee because he knew I was the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. But this moment isn’t that.
Instead, we both exist in the same room and act as though we’re strangers now. A polite smile is the only moment we share. No small talk or asking how each other has been, because it hurts too much to know. It hurts too much to go back there again. I know he feels it too.
Countless nights I’ve tossed and turned, wondering if the end of us affected him as much as it did me. Or even slightly. I watch his eyes dart down to his feet, and I know exactly what he’s feeling. The same pain I’ve felt almost every night since we parted ways on that sidewalk in Murray Hill. The pain of wanting something you can never have. The pain of wondering if it was the right person at the wrong time or just the wrong person. The pain of his first real heartbreak.
I often wondered if he ever loved me, because he was never able to say it. Sometimes I felt it though—in quiet car rides, in the way his heart would beat faster whenever my head rested on his chest, in the smaller moments that I can hardly remember now. I know he loved me, and I’d like to think that a part of him still does. Maybe, like me, a part of him always will.
The pianist strikes the keys to the tune of “Can’t Help Falling in Love” by Elvis Presley, and the guests rise to their feet to watch the bride’s grand entrance. With a trembling hand, I grab Lauren’s, and she reassures me with a gentle squeeze. The entire room is left in awe as Emily glides gracefully down the aisle. She’s beautiful.
“We’re gathered here today to witness the union of Emily Miller and Graham Clark. Marriage is a journey that will have its ups and downs. It’s not always easy, but it’s worth it. To make a marriage work, it takes love, patience, understanding, and forgiveness. It’s a bond that grows stronger each day.”
“Graham, you’ve shown me nothing but unconditional love since the day I met you. Throughout our relationship, your love for me has never wavered. You’ve never made me question or doubt how important I am to you, because you show me every day,” Emily says.
As I sit in the third row, taking in every word of their vows, tears stream down my face. It isn’t that I’m not happy for Graham and Emily; in fact, I’m elated to see them so in love. But as I listen to her speak about unconditional love, I can’t help but think about the way I loved Ethan. I had been the only person in his life that wanted to love him through anything. Even after years of being strung along, confused, and hurt, I still loved him through it.
Here’s the thing about unconditional love though—it isn’t one-sided. It isn’t standing in someone’s doorway begging to be let in. It isn’t taking your heart out of your chest, bloody and beating, and handing it to someone to do whatever they want with it. Unconditional love is someone breaking down the cage of your ribs to get your heart and you trusting they’ll protect it just the same.
This isn’t one of those beautiful love stories where they get back together in the end. This is one of those stories where the hurt and the confusion consumes them. It’s one of those stories where the person who is in pain gets up, brushes themselves off, and realizes their worth.
As much as I’ve always wanted to end up with Ethan, I think I knew he’d never be it for me. Is it scary to think about falling in love again? Opening my heart up to someone who could potentially damage it even worse than he did? Of course, it is. But that’s what love is right? Love is taking risks regardless of the outcome.
Our relationship may not have been conventional. It wasn’t a fairy-tale romance that we’d tell our kids and grandkids about one day. It was comfortable silences, familiar laughs, and hugs that felt like home. What we had wasn’t something I could ever put into words. It was just us.
Call it what you want, but for me it was love.