Page 70 of The Probability of Us

“Warren?” My voice waivers, suddenly uncertain.

“You’re already at the airport,” he says, his voice is cold and distant. I don’t recognize it. I don’t like it. “I was hoping to catch you before you got there.”

“What do you mean?” I squeak, my stomach twisting. Something’s wrong.

“You shouldn’t come see me.” His words are matter-of-fact, emotionless. They’re a knife that’s slicing through me. They’re my greatest fears coming to life.

“Is it not a good time?” I try to be understanding, a lot is changing for him too. I could just be getting ahead of myself. “I can resched?—”

“No.” He cuts me off with the one word that feels like a fatal blow to my heart. “I don’t mean you shouldn’t come now. I mean you shouldn’t come ever.”

“What?” The word barely makes an audible sound. He didn’t say that, did he? I heard wrong. I had to have heard him wrong.

“This isn’t going to work, Analise.” He continues as if he doesn’t hear me. “We were kidding ourselves to think it could.”

“Warren—” I start.

“Goodbye, Analise.” His voice wavers for just a moment before the line goes dead.

I keep the phone to my ear, staring straight ahead. That’s it? That’s all he’s going to say? After everything we’ve been through, he’s not even going to give me an explanation?

All of my adrenaline turns into anger and I call him back.

“Motherfucker,” I curse under my breath when it goes straight to voicemail. Did he turn his fucking phone off? Did he block my number already?

The longer I sit there, my anger slowly fades to sadness and pain. The reality of what just happened hits me like a train.

Oh. My. God.

Warren just broke up with me.

I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with him. Fall asleep in his arms, wake up to his kisses, and grow old with his banter. Our path was set, clear skies, no turbulence—a smooth ride. But I guess we veered off course and entered the Bermuda Triangle when I wasn’t paying attention, because now everything is lost, suddenly disappeared. That life, that path, no longer exists and I don’t think it’ll get rediscovered.

Sometimes those lost planes and ships get found years later, or in shows they just reappear, unaware that so many years have passed in the real world. But that’s not realistic. Warren doesn’t make impulsive decisions. If he’s breaking up with me, then that means we’re done for good.

What the hell happened to all of those promises he made me not even a month ago? How do you tell someone you’ll love them forever, that you can’t imagine your life without them, and then break up with them over the phone a few weeks later?

He told me he loved me enough that the distance wouldn’t matter.

He told me we would make it work.

But it took less than a month to settle into life without me. To leave me. There wasn’t even enough time to try to make this work. He just gave up on me, on us.

“Flight 5044 with service to Washington D.C. will begin boarding momentarily.” The voice over the intercom is cheery and happy and I want to yell at the attendants. There’s nothing to be happy about. How can they not see that the world is ending?Myworld is ending. And they’rehappy.

Five minutes until boarding.

It now counts down until my heart will shatter beyond repair.

Slowly, the people around me stand and get in line. Pre-boarding begins. Then the groups start, but I just sit and watch everyone else move on with their life as mine stays frozen. I sit and watch until the last person has gotten on the plane. Until they’ve called my name over the speakers. Until they’ve given up on me—just like he did—and finally close the doors. Until the plane leaves the gate and starts barreling towards the person I want to see more than anything in this world, without me on it. Until the tears start to flow and I grow tired of the judging stares.

I text Ali and ask her to pick me up from the airport—I don’t want to be alone right now—then I slowly trudge out of the terminal, leave security, and pass baggage claim. The airport isn’t far from us, so it’s not long before her red car stops in front of me. I’ve been holding it together as well as I can but as soon as I shut the door behind me I break down.

I sob.

I wail.

I can’t breathe.

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