“We’ve been together for over five months now. Your place is big enough for the two of us.” She looked around and gave a short laugh. “Well, eventenof us could fit in here. But I don’t like to share.”
“Reeva, the size of my apartment is irrelevant.” My heart beats sped up, I needed to stay calm.
“I know, but now I’m suggesting I move in. Anton, I’m sure once you get used to the idea, you’ll see how wonderful it couldbe. Besides, you’ve always been so busy. Wouldn’t it be nice to come home to someone who truly understands you?”
She didn’t understand me at all, and action didn’t seem like a suggestion. It was afait accompli. She came with her suitcase and all.
I loosened my tie the rest of the way, feeling like it was a noose. “Reeva, you’re not moving in with me,” I calmly said.
She moved closer, her voice dropping to a coaxing whisper. “Come on, babe, give it a chance. You won’t regret it. We can make this work together.”
Her words were smooth, but all I could think about was how her presence was ruining the quiet evening I’d been looking forward to. You really didn’t know someone until you’d walked—no—dated them.
How could I say what I wanted to say, as smoothly as possible? I didn’t plan on ending things tonight, but this was the last straw.
“I’m already here. My lease is up in a few weeks, so it’s the perfect time to move,” she said.
“Reeva, you’re not moving in with me,” I repeated, firming my stance.
“We’ll be happy together. Why are you being difficult?” She pouted, fluttered her lashes, and then wandered to the kitchen. “Come on, babe, get changed. I'll make dinner,” she crooned, further irritating me.
My patience snapped. “I don’t think you get it, Reeva. You’re not moving in with me. This relationship it’s over.”
Her eyes widened, lips parting slightly. She crossed her arms defensively, her stance rigid. “You can’t be serious! We've been dating for almost half a year now, but you’ll break up with me because I want to move in?” She said, trembling with a mix of frustration and hurt.
Suddenly I had enough. “Take your bags and leave. We’re done.” I walked into my bedroom to change.
I felt tired of these types of relationships. Perhaps I was growing a heart in my old age, if one could call soon to be thirty-fourold. I should’ve ended things with her a long time ago, or better yet never started a relationship.
Thirty-four was approaching fast, each passing year adding another layer to the wall I’d built around my heart. My parents’ early difficult marriage, a battleground of unmet expectations and unspoken resentments, had long convinced me that commitment was a treacherous path I’d be best to avoid. The likes of Reeva with her demands, sense of entitlement, and blatant disregard for boundaries, only reinforce my conviction that a long-term relationship wasn’t for me.
When I came out in my gym clothes, Reeva hadn’t moved. Her gaze fixed on me with a mixture of defiance and desperation.
“Anton, there’s still time for you to take back your words, and I’ll forgive you.”
She really was entitled.
“Reeva, this breakup is something I’ve been thinking about for a while. It has nothing to do with you moving in. Let’s make it easier on both of us. I don’t want to see you here when I return,” I said calmly, put my jogging shoes on and opened the front door.
“Anton!” she gasped.
I had to leave. I walked out, closing the door behind me.
So much for a peaceful evening.
Chapter two
Celia
The taxi driver didn’t give me my change or offer a hand with my suitcase. Once it was out of the trunk, he drove off, narrowly missing another car. Lesson learned: always get your change first.
I wrestled my bags onto the curb, struggling to balance the duffel bag on my shoulder. Maddison, my cousin, had warned me about New Yorkers being in constant rush, and from what I’d seen in just two hours, she wasn’t wrong.
I dialed her number, holding onto my suitcase for dear life.
She answered immediately. “Hey, Celia! Are you here yet?”
“I’m in front of your apartment building,” I said.