Chapter 5
CHAPTER 5
“You’re so fucking selfish, Jay,” Sarah shouts. Her face glows hot. Her pupils burn like coals. “You only care about yourself.”
“You’re drunk. Let’s talk in the morning,” I say, trying to walk around my friend to get to my bedroom.
Sarah blocks my path.
“Look, any conversation we have right now won’t be productive, let’s talk tomorrow,” I say again.
“No, we’ll talk now!” Sarah’s voice is slurred. She stumbles forward and jabs my shoulder.
“Fine. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have taken off like that.”
Sarah snorts. “You’re not sorry. You don’t care. You’ve never cared. Meanwhile, I …” She sniffles and turns her head to look away from me.
Sarah’s always been an emotional drunk. Mostly, she’s a tight vault, keeping her thoughts and feelings to herself. But when she drinks too much, the vault door creaks open a bit and some of her secrets spill out. Considering how often she gets drunk, it’s kind of amazing that she managed to keep her romantic feelings for me to herself for so long.
Sarah’s back hits the wall, and she slides down it until she’s sitting on the floor. Tears roll down her plump cheeks like raindrops on a car window.
I go to her, crouching down beside her. “I shouldn’t have taken off like that. It was wrong of me to leave,” I repeat.
“Why did you?” Sarah asks, wiping her eyes.
Something tells me that bringing up Noémie would be a bad idea. “I guess, I’m not taking your leaving well,” I say. “I just needed some time to think. And before I knew it, I walked so far away from the lounge that it made no sense walking back.” It’s not a complete lie, and I think it’s what Sarah needs to hear.
“I’m sorry that I’m going,” Sarah says, sniffling. “But I need to go. I can’t stay here with you. I need things to work with Veronica.”
I don’t think things will work out with Veronica. I think her moving to Vancouver is a mistake. She shouldn’t go. She should stay here. But I can’t say that. And space is probably what our friendship needs.
I squeeze my friend’s shoulder. “I know. And all I want for you is the best. You deserve it.”
“I just want you to be happy too. I know you’re miserable,” she says. “You’ve got so much love to give, but you’ve let Samira trick you into thinking that you’ll never be good enough for anyone. I hate her for that.”
I want to deny it, but I know that if I do, it will only rile Sarah back up. So I say nothing.
Samira never tricked me. She only pointed out truths about me that I thought were surmountable. She’d been my longest relationship, and for a very long time, she’d been my everything. I thought we’d be together forever. But my ex wanted a type of intimacy I can’t give anyone—even her. She broke things off with us because of that. And it sucked, and it hurt—it still hurts so much.
The worst part of it all is knowing that she was right to end things. I’m not normal. I have a mountain of hangups that’s too high to climb, and I don’t think there’s a person out there who’d stick with me knowing they’d never be able to reach the top.
I push thoughts of Samira away. It hurts too much to think about her.
“I want you to find someone, Jay. A part of me wishes it could be me, but I know we’d never be able to make it work. We’re better as friends,” she whispers, her voice cracking.
A minute ticks by and then Sarah rises to her feet. I stand too.
“I need sleep,” she says, shaking her head and wiping her eyes. “Fuck, I’m going to be so hungover.”
She ambles towards her room. It’s only when the bedroom door clicks shut behind her that I make for my own bed.
The next day, around midday, Sarah’s father comes over with his truck. I help Sarah and her father haul boxes up the stairs, and we stack them neatly into the bed of the silver F-150.
Sarah isn’t looking too good. A few times, she looks like she’s going to toss her cookies. But she doesn’t.
We say goodbye with a hug that lasts a lifetime but is also somehow way too short. Then Sarah is waving from the passenger window as her father backs out of the driveway.
As I watch them drive away, I am consumed by the feeling of being left behind. I stay rooted to the asphalt until the truck is completely out of view.
The basement apartment feels less like a home without Sarah. I’ve always hated the space, and I never imagined that I could hate it more, but I do now.
I am irritable and revert to old bad habits. I chain smoke my way through Saturday and Sunday, not touching my tablet to work on my graphic novel. Instead, I rot in my bed and curse my upstairs neighbours for living and making noise. I watch video after video of some bald guy in Australia cutting rough opal gems because Sarah and I used to enjoy watching his videos together, and I want to recapture those moments with her.
I decide that I fucking hate Vancouver because it’s so fucking far away. I mindlessly scroll through Instagram. Flicking through the curated snapshots of my family, friends, and acquaintances deepens my sense of ennui.
Everyone appears so much happier than me.
My peers from high school and university are travelling the world or starting families. A few of them have bought their first house or condo. They brag about new jobs and announce engagements. They smile at Raptors games, plays, or concerts. All of them are moving forward in their lives while I am stuck—doing nothing. I’ve been left behind.
At some point, I wind up on Noémie’s account. The Poutine Princess still hasn’t posted anything recently.
After seeing her the other night, I’m even more curious to know why she’s gone dark. Does it involve the guy in the Ferrari? Maybe he’s her boyfriend? What had they been fighting about?
I get a WhatsApp message. Audrina’s name flashes at the top of my screen. I close out of Instagram and open WhatsApp.
Audrina, 4:16 p.m.
How’s your day going?
Usually I avoid responding too quickly to Audrina. But seeing her message right now is the highlight of my day. So pathetic.
Jordan, 4:16 p.m.
Sarah’s flying out today.
Ngl
feeling a little down :(
Audrina, 4:18 p.m.
Want to come over?
Accepting the invite is a bad idea. I know what Audrina is looking for. She wants a relationship—with me. In my opinion, she deserves to be with someone as amazing as she is. And I’m not amazing—I’m just a pretty face to look at. If Audrina and I ever got serious, she’d realize soon enough that I have nothing to offer and that I’m broken. Then, she’d break up with me just as Samira had.
But I need a distraction. I need to feel something other than this throbbing emptiness that weighs down my bones.
Jordan, 4:21 p.m.
Yeah, sure. Omw