Page 66 of If the Stars Align
I can’t breathe.
How many more times can I go through this before it kills me?
…
“Does this happen to you a lot?” she asks me when it’s finally over.
I wipe the sweat off my brow and sigh. “Yeah,” I tell her. “It does. Not as much when we’re together. That’s why I needed this weekend so badly, Sunny. I can only be my real self when I’m with you. When you’re gone, I’m a disaster. I’m up all night panicking. You’re my remedy Sunny. Or youwere. But now I’ve lost you.”
Her lip quivers. “I can’t believe I didn’t know. I remember you got upset like this when your dad was sick, but….I had no idea how much you’ve been suffering.”
I shake my head. “I didn’t want you to.”
I didn’t want her to see how fucked up I am and run away.
Exactly like she’s doing now.
“Dex, I know you think I’m the solution to your anxiety, but I’m just a temporary fix. Have you…talked to anyone?” she asks me, wiping tears from her eyes. “Your doctor? Or a therapist?”
I look down at my lap. “When I was a kid. Not recently.”
“You need to tell someone, Dex. You shouldn’t have to live like this.”
The pity on her face when she looks at me—it destroys any hope I’ve ever had that I can be the man she deserves.
I give up. Why try anymore? I’m pathetic.
I’m worse than pathetic—I’m Ollie. So I cry, like a child, in her arms.
She sobs with me. “Please promise me you’ll get help,” she says.
I know I won’t. But I’d like to leave here with a shred of dignity, so I lie.
After nearly fourteen hours of travel from Paris Charles de Gaulle Airport—including a layover at JFK and an airport shuttle from Indianapolis—I’m finally back in Bloomington.
As luck would have it, Sam is in Indy for a friend’s baby shower this weekend and called to see if I’d be up for a visitor. She said she’d be happy to drive an hour south to see me, especially considering it’s the shortest distance we’ve been from one another since college. Shortly after we graduated, Sam left to tour Southeast Asia for the better part of a year, then moved to New York, where she’s been working toward a PhD in philosophy at NYU.
Sam’s phone call was a welcome surprise. My semester in Paris is over, and I’ve never felt so low in my life. I haven’t seen Dex since we broke up three months ago. After he went back to London, I didn’t leave my apartment for five whole days. I hardly left my bed. I barely ate. I slept to avoid the torture of being conscious, but then I’d dream of Dex kissing me, andholding me, and loving me, and I’d wake up sobbing. I told my professors I had the flu. I let myself have one week off from school to wallow, knowing full well that, afterward, I’d have to pick myself up and learn enough to pass the semester. Luckily I did. I already have a job offer from the firm where I summered—one of the best firms in Chicago—and I can’t afford to lose it. My law career is the only thing I have going for me right now.
I’ve been looking forward to Sam’s visit all day but, somehow, I managed to lose track of time in between watching old episodes ofSex and the Cityand eating cold leftover pizza. Now I’m scrambling to get out of my pajamas when she calls me from downstairs.
I buzz her into the building, throw on a sweater and a pair of jeans from my still-packed suitcase, and run to the door. I greet her with a huge smile on my face—which is mostly genuine since I’m excited to see her—but I dial it up a notch to make sure I don’t look like I’ve been on the verge of tears all day.
Sam’s eyes go wide when she sees me. “Oh my god, Sunny! You look so different!”
I run my fingers through my hair. “I know. I went to a salon in Paris and got it straightened before I left. I had them chop several inches off too.”
Now, instead of curls cascading down my back, my hair is sleek and shoulder-length. I thought, maybe, if I came back to Indiana looking like a completely different person, it would help me see this chapter of my life as a fresh start. A new beginning, instead of a bitter ending. But, so far, my plan’s fallen flat.
“Wow,” shesays as she reaches out to touch my silky hair. “It’s beautiful. It’ll take some time for my brain to adjust, because you don’t look like Sunny without your curls, but you’re gorgeous either way.”
“Thanks,” I say, smiling. I wrap my arms tightly around her. “I’m so happy you’re here. It’s been too long. Come in and have a seat. Do you want anything to drink? I have beer, wine?—”
“Wine’s great,” she says as she sits on my couch. I pour two glasses of pinot noir and join her.
“I want to hear all about your PhD program,” I tell her once we’re settled.
Sam rolls her eyes. “Trust me, you don’t. It’ll bore you to tears. I mean,Iabsolutely love it—but if you’re not a philosophy person, you probably won’t want to hear about my research on metaphysical solipsism. It took a string of several bad first dates before I figured that out.”
