Love In The Countdown
1. Emily
emily
I woke up this morning without a clue it would end with me being single and homeless before the day was over. The thought of Logan breaking up with me seemed absurd a month ago. In fact, it was almost laughable. I thought we were happy and in love. I was so confident in us.
The weight of Logan’s unhappiness, recounted over three years of our relationship, hit me hard; each word was a heavy stone in my gut.
Despite the racing thoughts in my head, I try to keep my composure. His words are sharp and cold. Callous. They slice through me as a stark contrast to the future I envisioned with him. I’m desperately trying to understand them. To wrap my mind around how disconnected we were in our relationship.
Logan’s droning voice fills the room; the repetitive phrase, “no future,” echoes in my ears, each repetition a fresh stab of pain.
He ends his hurtful speech with a surprising announcement.
He wants me to move out as soon as possible.
My throat constricts, a silent scream trapped behind the lump of panic rising in my throat.
The worst part? It’s New Year’s Eve, and we had plans tonight.
His graciousness in breaking up with me before noon meant I had the entire afternoon to make new plans with my friends.
The urge to slap him was so strong I had to sit on my hands.
It was probably illegal to hit a police officer, no matter how heartless they may be.
I didn’t need to add jail time to the growing list of issues in my life right now. Or, well, ever.
The sheer thoughtlessness of waiting until New Year’s Eve, a day brimming with hope and expectation, to end things feels like a cruel twist of fate, a stark contrast to the celebratory atmosphere surrounding it.
Not to mention the fact that Logan knows how superstitious I am about New Year’s Eve.
I always take extra care to make sure nothing bad happens on this one day.
I don’t want to have a whole year of bad luck ahead of me.
Asshole.
The same thought keeps repeating itself in my mind as he drones on and on… How did I not see this coming?
Sure, our relationship was easygoing. We rarely ever fought or disagreed about many things. We share the same hobbies and work ethics. And the sex? Well, that was fine, too, I suppose. So, where did things go wrong?
I try to run through the events of this morning to figure out if there was a tipping point or even any clue that this was where the day was going to lead us, but I’m still baffled.
It’s been just like any other typical day for us both.
We woke up in the same bed together and went to our respective gyms with plans to have breakfast when we both got home.
We normally go to the same gym where we first met.
However, I also split my time at a popular yoga studio in town. So, today was my yoga day.
The only unusual occurrence was Logan did not answer the phone when I called him to let him know I was done and heading back to our apartment.
Honestly, when I walked into our apartment and he told me he wanted to talk to me, my heart leaped to my throat at the prospect of him finally proposing. I mean, after three years together and discussing our future many times, it would be a natural assumption.
Boy, was I wrong.
Logan had taken me by the hand and led me into our living room. He sat me down on the couch, where I perched expectantly, thinking this was it. The moment we had been talking about. I tried to school my features into a mask of nonchalance, though my knee bounced restlessly.
Only, instead of getting on one knee, he’d sat across from me and told me the complete opposite.
It took a few seconds for my mind to register what was happening.
Once the news settled in, I sat there in quiet disbelief while he disassembled our last three years together like it meant absolutely nothing to him, as if we didn’t live together and share most of our free time together, as if we didn’t share mutual friends or go to the same gym.
But, not to worry; since it was not yet noon, I had plenty of time to make plans with my friends since I was clearly no longer invited to go out with his friends anymore.
Did I really want to make last-minute plans for New Year’s Eve? I know that all my friends have had their plans set for weeks, if not a couple of months. I would feel so awkward trying to join in on their fun while moping about my newfound single-woman status.
Regardless, how could Logan do this to me? Do this to us?
After what feels like an hour, Logan finally gives me a sympathetic look as he nervously takes my hand and apologizes to me like we’re strangers. Then he takes off to shower while I sit speechless on our couch.
Now what?
I never thought I would be alone on New Year’s Eve, crying my little heart out while watching episodes of Friends on Netflix, yet here I am.
I’ve been running through the conversation with Logan from this morning over and over.
I still haven’t figured out how I missed the signs that he’d been unhappy.
From what I vaguely remember during his speech this morning, he had been unhappy for a while. At least a few months. But where were the signs?
I feel so blindsided.
Betrayed.
While I sit here having a pity party, he’s out with his work buddies. I didn’t end up reaching out to any of my friends to tag along with their plans; I didn’t want to be the black cloud and bring down the mood with news of my breakup.
Plus, I’m not ready or in the mood to tell everyone about our breakup.
So, here I am.
Alone.
On New Year’s Eve.
Crying while eating my favorite mint chocolate chip ice cream and drinking from the bottle of my favorite pinot noir, surrounded by piles of tissues as if they could shield me from reality.
I figured I could give myself at least one night to feel sorry for myself before I picked up the pieces of my life and moved on.
But tonight, I would allow myself to feel my heart as it broke into a million pieces.
Reluctantly, I flip the channel to tune into the live show of Times Square.
The crowd looks on with hope and excitement as they wait for the ball to drop.
I’ve always loved this part. The countdown until the ball drops has always brought me so much joy.
Usually, Logan would be right there with me to share a toast and a sweet kiss as the clock struck midnight, signaling the end of another year and the beginning of a new one.
But tonight, I’m alone, and instead of champagne, it’s wine.
The crowd at Times Square becomes boisterous as the clock shows the last minute before midnight. Their bright smiles and exuberant mood did nothing to lift her spirits. If anything, the joyous atmosphere made the weight of her predicament feel heavier, like a weighted blanket.
I grab a fresh tissue and wipe my tears away. Blowing my nose and balling the tissue up to throw at the TV. It’s the best I can do, given the circumstances.
The camera pans around the crowd and returns to the giant ball, which is now the focus of everyone’s attention. Finally, the moment everyone has been waiting for arrives. The ten-second countdown. The noise escalates as the crowd joins in exuberantly counting down the seconds.
10…
9…
8…
7…
6…
5…
4…
3…
2…
1!
I raise my glass of wine in a mock toast and take a generous sip.
“Happy New Year,” I murmur.
In the morning, I will deal with the aftermath of what the ending of this relationship entails.
Like moving out.
Fuck. Me.