Chapter 33
PAIGE
Tiny golden confetti fills the screen of my laptop as a little girl realizes her dreams have just come true. Simon Cowell rushes to the stage after hitting America’s Got Talent’s golden buzzer for the first time of the season. The girl’s tears drop down her face as Simon congratulates her, but her tears are no match for my own. I just got broken up with, I haven’t slept in thirty-six hours, and I am self-medicating with inspirational YouTube videos. So yes, crying is my profession today.
The next YouTube video in line starts to play, and I roll over in my bed, taking my laptop with me. I set it up in a new location beside my pillow to get a better angle for my puffy red eyes to watch the screen. My eyes beg me to close them, but I know what I’ll see if I cave in to their demands. I’ll see Jordan. Apparently the back of my eyelids are the perfect canvas for his face, because every time I so much as blink, I see the pain in his eyes as he tells me to leave. And I’m quickly reminded that Jordan and I are done.
We’re really done. The throbbing in my chest that I’ve tried desperately to ignore since leaving the hospital comes back with a vengeance, radiating an acute ache throughout my limbs. I lost Jordan once before, but the pain I felt then is nothing compared to this. Back then, a part of me always hoped that we could be friends again one day, but now, after knowing what it’s like to be in a relationship with him, going back to being just friends is not an option.
From the finality in Jordan’s tone this morning, I know he feels the same. Our friendship has run its course—it has no more track to tread.
From the corner of my bedroom, Cabby Cat meows at me. Whether she’s putting in her two cents about Jordan’s and my relationship or simply commenting on the color of her pillow, I don’t know. She hasn’t dared touch me since I got home. “Emotional-support animal” isn’t exactly her MO. She can probably smell the breakup on me like it’s a rotten can of sardines. Therefore she has chosen to remain near her own comforts for the day.
“I don’t know. I just got home from brunch with my cousins fifteen minutes ago, but I don’t think she’s come out of her room all morning.” Missy’s voice speaks in hushed tones right outside my room. Our house was built in 1927, which means our walls have the soundproofing capabilities of a candy wrapper. “I heard her watching Golden Buzzer moments just a second ago.”
“Oh no,” Ji says.
“Do you think…”
I don’t let Missy finish that sentence. “I’m fine,” I say, raising my voice so they can hear the lie a little better. “And I can hear everything you’re saying, so you might as well come in.”
Missy opens the door warily and scans the room. When she spots me on my bed, her eyes widen, and she places her hands on her hips. “You are not fine ,” she says, stepping farther into my room to let Ji in behind her.
I sit up in my bed for the first time since I got home from the hospital this morning and am forced to view the carnage strewn across my room. It looks like winter’s come early as my tear-stained white tissues blanket the bed and floor next to me.
Ji picks up my small wire trash bin and starts tossing tissues into it, eyeing me with concern. Missy tiptoes through the wreckage then brushes some tissues off my comforter with her sleeve and plops next to me on my bed. “Honey, what happened?”
For the next several minutes, I give Missy and Ji the bare-bones version of the breakup through shuddering sobs. My tear ducts have no off valve today; they just flow. Missy squeezes my hand, and when Ji finishes cleaning, she comes and sits on the opposite side of the bed from Missy. Their faces are full of understanding and heartache.
“I’m sure it wasn’t easy walking away. I’ve got one brave friend.” Missy pats my blanketed leg reassuringly, her eyes sincere and warm.
“I took a self-defense class a few years ago, and I’m pretty sure I could break Jordan’s nose for you,” Ji says.
This has become graduation night all over again—me nursing a broken heart, Missy doling out comforting words, and Ji making threats.
I manage a small chuckle. Honestly, part of me wants to take Ji up on her offer. I want to lash out and be angry with Jordan. In my mind, I’ve already slapped him many times, right before I tell him that he’s making a big mistake and that we’re meant to be together. But the most frustrating part about my feelings is that the only time I’ve truly been angry is when I realize that I’m not actually angry at him. Yes, my heart is broken, and I feel like the big file folder in my brain that holds all my happiest memories with Jordan has been sliced in half with a machete. But I’m not angry. Instead, a deep throbbing fills my chest. I hurt for him. I hurt, knowing Jordan tortures himself through his guilt and I can do nothing to stop him.
“So, what now?” Missy’s lilting voice tugs me out of my thoughts.
I take a deep breath and lean against my headboard, my genuinely messy bun sliding farther atop my head. I’ve been awake for a long time, which lends itself nicely to thinking about things like what happens next. Jordan made his decision, now it’s time to make my own. And fortunately, the answer comes easily. “I’m going to California to work for Z3.”
Ji looks at me with an expression of resigned acceptance. We were roommates in college. She knows better than anyone how much I loved it in California, and from the look she’s giving me now, I can tell she knew it was only a matter of time before I would go back.
Missy swallows, and her eyes shimmer with unshed tears. “I’m so happy for you.”
A sniffly chuckle escapes me. “You don’t look happy.”
Missy lets out a wobbly laugh and waves a hand in the air. “I know this is good for you. I’m just going to miss you is all.”
As I look at Ji and Missy, my heart hangs heavy for an entirely new reason. “I’m going to miss you guys.”
I bend forward and wrap my arms around both of them, and for a long while we huddle in a triangle hug with our heads together, something we’ve done since we were teenagers. I squeeze my eyes closed and fight back a fresh batch of sobs.
When we all pull away, I’m surprised to see that even Ji is wicking away her own tears. Moments later, Ji whips out her phone from her linen pants pocket. “Best hotels in San Francisco during Thanksgiving,” Ji speaks into her phone’s search engine.
“Ooo! Yes, please.” Missy pulls her legs onto my bed and tucks them underneath her. “And what about a girls’ trip down to San Diego in the spring? Maybe we can rent a boat and go out on the water with cute sailors.”
Ji and I laugh.
Missy shrugs. “What? It will be fun!”
Looking at Ji and Missy, I’m reminded how lucky I am to have friends like them. Through all my ups and downs, they’ve always been there for me. “Thank you.” I wipe my cheeks. “You guys are the best.”
“We know,” they practically sing together, and then we all start laughing at how creepy it sounded. The genuine laughter nestles inside me, a singular bright spot amidst so much pain and sadness. And for one glimmering moment, I feel a spark of hope telling me that even though I might not have Jordan, I’ll still have moments like this to keep me company when the chill of his absence digs bone-deep.