Chapter 18 448 days before the breakup
After Friendsgiving, we didn’t talk about the fight.
Not really. We brushed it under the rug like college roommates who’d learned to live with each other’s messes.
I pretended that I didn’t care, while Grace and Savannah overcompensated with extra niceness that felt more like guilt than affection.
We still hosted our white elephant Christmas party, still posed for photos, still slipped into the rhythm of the trio we used to be.
For a night, it almost felt like old times—inside jokes, too much wine, Grace’s Spotify playlist from junior year.
But even as I laughed, I knew something was off.
The glue that once held us together had started to crack.
By the time the lease renewal letter showed up in the mailbox this spring, it felt like the unspoken decision had already been made.
Grace moved in with Tucker. Savannah moved in with Demi and her roommate.
And I? I finally signed a lease on my own, even if part of me wished we had just one more year.
“Damn, Ains,” Cole called down the hallway as the last box thudded onto the hardwood floor. “You still have this much stuff? I thought moving into your own place meant downsizing.”
I shot him a look from the kitchen. “You’ve moved me before. You knew what you were signing up for.”
He smirked, wiping sweat off his forehead. “Yeah, but back then, I was trying to impress you.”
Back then.
I laughed, pretending that didn’t sting a little. “Blame Grace and Savannah. We split the shared stuff, but I think they gave me more out of guilt.”
What I didn’t say: Maybe they were just ready to be done with me.
And maybe, deep down, I was too. The duplex had charm, but it also had creaky floors and passive-aggressive Post-it notes about whose turn it was to empty the dishwasher.
My new apartment was all mine, and no one here could talk behind my back in the kitchen while they thought I was in the bathroom.
Lucas appeared in the doorway, balancing a lamp in one hand and a bag of books in the other. “This place is nice. It feels like you.”
“It’s brand-new. One month free rent was enough to convince me.” I motioned to the tall windows. “And I can actually write here without hearing Grace’s true crime obsession through the wall.”
Lucas nodded. “Tragic loss, in my opinion.”
I looked around at the scattered boxes, still feeling the phantom weight of the lease I’d signed alone. “Okay. Should you guys work on the TV stand while I start unpacking the kitchen?”
My phone buzzed on the kitchen counter. It was Grace, checking in about doing something next weekend.
She suggested brunch or Taco Tuesday at her place.
I stared at the message longer than I should have, torn between wanting to say yes and knowing I didn’t have the energy.
I told her I was too slammed with moving and book edits, which wasn’t exactly a lie.
I missed how easy it used to be—when plans with them felt like the highlight of my week instead of something I had to gear myself up for.
I told myself I’d reach out in a few weeks when things settled down, and I wanted to believe I would.
Cole grabbed a beer from the fridge without asking. “Sure. Let the master builders handle it.”
He tossed one to Lucas, and they got to work. I peeled tape off the box of silverware, half listening as they argued about Allen wrenches and screwdrivers. They finished fast—no leftover parts, no wobbly legs. I was impressed, but more than that, I was relieved.
After Lucas left, Cole stayed to help with the finishing touches.
We built the desk together, folded laundry, hung the mirror above the couch.
The apartment finally looked like something lived-in.
But Cole felt foreign. He didn’t offer opinions on where to hang things or ask if I wanted to grab dinner or celebrate.
He just moved from task to task, helpful but quiet, like he was checking things off a list.
It had been building for months, if I was honest. Ever since Thanksgiving.
He wasn’t cold exactly, just careful. Like he was keeping score of the mess with Grace and Savannah, and my failure to fix it had dulled something in his eyes.
Whenever I tried to close the distance—asked what he thought, how he felt—it was like pulling teeth.
I’d bring up little things: whether he wanted a drawer here, whether we should start looking at apartments once my lease was up.
He’d brush it off with a joke or a distracted we’ll figure it out.
Back then, I told myself it was the stress of moving. Now I know better.
I know as time went on, my love for Cole changed.
Throughout our relationship, I loved him in different ways.
In the beginning, I was in love with him and every new, exciting thing about him.
It was a scary rush, an immediate jump, but in so many ways, I relished it.
Nothing he did made me roll my eyes when he wasn’t looking or made me silently cry myself to sleep while he lay there beside me.
In the middle, I loved him with a surety, like the buzz from two glasses of sauvignon blanc—light, warm, steady.
I didn’t realize how easily it could wear off.
In the end, I loved who he used to be. I wanted so badly for him to be the Cole I fell in love with on the Ferris wheel.
Our spark was gone. I could tell he hadn’t loved me for a long time.
I tried to ignore it, bury it, and pretend it wasn’t true.
But the fear of losing him kept me awake most nights, and now I’m living that nightmare.
Eventually we collapsed onto the couch. He threw his arm around me, and I leaned in like I always did.
“Moving is taking the life out of me,” I groaned. “I don’t even want to think about meeting my parents at IKEA tomorrow.”
“I made a playlist for our road trip,” he said, brushing a piece of hair from my cheek. “Flamin’ Hot Cheetos and a Celsius are already packed. You’re welcome.”
I smiled, kissed his jaw. “You’re the best.”
Later, we stayed curled up long after the TV stopped making sense.
My legs stretched across his lap, his fingers tracing lazy circles along my thigh.
It should’ve felt like everything I wanted, and maybe, for a while, it was.
But even with his hands on me, I couldn’t ignore how far away he felt.
Looking back, I wish I’d asked myself why I wanted it all to feel so permanent.
I think I was afraid that if I slowed down or if I stopped long enough to really look at what we were building, I might realize it wasn’t as solid as I needed it to be.
* * *
IKEA was pure chaos, which was to be expected on a Sunday in the middle of the summer.
Families were bickering, toddlers were screaming, couples were intensely measuring dressers.
Cole leaned in and somehow made the day not only bearable but almost fun.
He took the cart from my dad and lifted the heavier boxes when he couldn’t.
He let my mom talk his ear off about her green thumb, agreeing that fake plants were tacky and belonged only in waiting rooms. He asked me questions about what kind of desk would be best for writing and even picked out a piece of artwork that, against all odds, I didn’t hate.
Halfway through the showroom, as we paused in a staged kitchen to look at spice racks, my mom turned to me casually. “So why didn’t you two just move in together? It’d save you a little money, and it’s not like you don’t already spend most nights together. Right?”
I froze, but Cole didn’t.
“We didn’t really talk about it,” he said with a soft smile. “I’m just getting back on my feet again after getting laid off, so I figured one more year with roommates couldn’t hurt. Ainsley has expensive taste.”
“You can’t say that while we’re perusing the aisles of IKEA!” I protested, heat rushing to my cheeks.
“You know I’m kidding,” Cole replied easily, already reaching for a catalog. “But on a more serious note, I think next year will be our year. The big two-five.”
“Your father and I got married at twenty-five. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?” Mom turned to look at my dad for backup, but he was too busy admiring the TV consoles.
I jumped in before Cole could try to smooth things over again. “That’s so outdated. Elizabeth didn’t even get engaged until she was twenty-five, and they’d been dating almost ten years! Did you get on her case about it?”
“Honey, you know that’s not what I was saying.” Mom clicked her tongue.
The conversation died there, replaced by a silence that was somehow louder than the toddlers wailing in the next aisle.
Cole gave me a little shrug and a wink, and I smiled back on autopilot, but my stomach stayed tight.
Grace moved in with Tucker. Sav with Demi.
My mom’s comment had me questioning everything.
Were we behind? Why didn’t we talk about this already?
Shouldn’t we have? Why hadn’t Cole wanted to? Was it something about me?
The drive home was quiet. Cole kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the gear shift.
I leaned against the passenger-side window, arms crossed, cheek pressed to the cool glass.
I watched the trees blur together and checked the time again.
Thirty-four minutes since we pulled out of the IKEA parking lot.
I clicked the side button of my phone. Locked it.
Unlocked it. Checked it again. Thirty-seven.
He hadn’t said a word about my mom’s comment.
About the way I’d gone silent afterward.
About the fact that my mood had dropped faster than the boxed furniture we barely fit into the trunk. Forty-five.
Finally, his voice cut through. “Are you mad at me?”
I didn’t turn toward him. “No.”
“You’ve barely said two words since we left.”
“I’m tired.”
“Ainsley.”
I sighed and sat up straighter, brushing hair from my face. “I’m not mad. I just—” The knot in my chest wouldn’t untangle enough to explain.
“I didn’t know your mom was going to say that,” he said. “It caught me off guard too.”
“I know,” I said. “But it made me realize we never really talked about moving in together, and that didn’t feel great.”
“I thought we were in a good place.”
I turned toward him then, sharper than I meant to.
“That’s the thing, Cole. I’ve tried to bring it up before.
The drawer. Apartments. Even just asking what you want, and you’ve brushed it off every single time.
And then tonight, in front of my mom, you’re suddenly Mr. Next Year Will Be Our Year? Do you know how confusing that feels?”
His grip tightened slightly on the wheel. “I wasn’t brushing it off. I just…didn’t think it was the right time. I didn’t want to add more pressure when we already had enough going on.”
“Like what?” I pressed.
He exhaled through his nose. “Ains, come on. You’ve been juggling teaching and edits and trying to launch an entirely new career. I got laid off, remember? I was scrambling just to land interviews. You think that was the moment to start apartment hunting?”
I shook my head. “But that’s the thing. It would’ve been easier. Grace moved in with Tucker, and you were scrambling to find a subletter. The obvious solution was right there! We could’ve just moved in together, but instead you acted like it never even crossed your mind.”
“Because I don’t want to move in together out of convenience,” he shot back, voice louder now. “Or because it saves us both a headache. That’s not what it’s supposed to be about.”
“You’re making it sound like I just wanted a roommate. I wanted you. I wanted us to take that step because it felt like the next step,” I said.
He ran a hand over his jaw, eyes fixed on the road. “I get that, but rushing into it just to line up with your friends or because my lease was ending didn’t feel right. I want to move in together for the right reasons.”
I didn’t reply, because on some level, I knew he was right. But knowing that didn’t make me feel any better. It only made the gap between what I wanted and what he was willing to give feel even bigger.
Finally, Cole reached over and took my hand, his thumb grazing mine in that familiar, practiced way. “Hey, I love you. This life stuff like timing and logistics doesn’t change how I feel about you.”
I stared down at our intertwined fingers. They still fit so perfectly together.
“I know,” I said, even though something in me wasn’t so sure.