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“You’re the one who taught me to stop settling for the silver lining, Will. To demand more from life than just accepting the bad and focusing on the good. So why would I stay with someone who has hidden part of who they arefor months? If you and I were still just friends and I were dating a man who did the same thing, would you be telling me to stay with him?”
Will’s eyes are bloodshot and wide when he swallows once. His voice breaks again when he answers, “No, I wouldn’t. I’d tell you you deserve better.”
I nod between tears. “Exactly.”
When I wipe my nose with the back of my hand, I realize we’re just a block away from my place, and what perfect timing. I take a deep breath and really look at Will. Get my last fill of the only man I’ve ever truly loved before I walk away from him and what I thought was the best relationship I ever had.
WILL
He always knew getting his heart broken by his own stupidity would be a risk. But seeing her face, tear-streaked and pained, cut through him sharper than any knife ever could. He hadn’t prepared for that kind of pain.
His blood runs cold, his own tears run hot as he watches her exit the car, and all he wants is to throw himself at her feet and beg for forgiveness. But he knows it won’t do any good. Nothing will, now.
He’s lost her forever.
32
HOW TO HEAL A BROKEN HEART: ONE TUB OF NUTELLA + ONE TUB OF PEANUT BUTTER + AN OLD FRIEND
Being fired and breaking up with the man of your dreams on the same day is really not recommended for your mental health. In fact, if there’s a way to avoid it, I would do so altogether. Space it out, if possible. Because normally, if you lose one, you’d at least have the other to throw yourself into. Distract you from the loss. Otherwise, you’d find yourself in my situation: wrapped in a blanket in your bed, can’t remember when you last washed your hair, on your computer looking for jobs, licking a mixture of Nutella and peanut butter off a spoon (like a melted Reeses’s cup). You’d be stuck thinking nonstop about how much of a loser you are, all while your cat judges you from afar. And while, a week later, I don’t regret standing up to Lena for what I believe in or ending things with Will, it still sucks.
I sigh and look over at the kitchen counter, where a heap of Will’s apology gifts have started piling up. A whole collection of items filled with reminders of how well he knows me or things tied to inside jokes. Friendship bracelets, sketches, a gorgeous vintage Oscar de la Renta dress in my size, a book on tambour embroidery (a new technique I’ve been experimenting with on used clothing I’ve purchased recently), and flowers. So many flowers—all cat friendly, of course.
While they’re all beautiful and fill my depressing apartment with an amazing scent, all they serve as is a reminder that he hurt me. Betrayed me. That the man I fell in love with and gave myself to completely was a liar. Just like the ones before.
“I’m going to have to throw it all out, aren’t I, Ginger?”
My cat lifts her head to glare at me from the chair. She doesn’t understand why Will hasn’t come by in days, and I think she hates me for it. We both grew too attached when we should’ve known better.
With a sigh, I use my non-sprained hand to dip my spoon into the peanut butter again, followed by the jar of Nutella, and then shove the whole concoction in my mouth.
“I need a job. STAT.”
* * *
After a lotof introspection and weeks of rationing that bring back nightmares of times when I experienced food insecurity as a child, I finally find a job. And while it isn’t working at the corporate level, it’s still somewhat in the fashion realm. Somewhere I quickly excel at and am passionate about.
Necessity is the mother of invention—that was my childhood’s motto. With my mother being so unreliable, I had to learn early how to work with what I had, which is what gave me such great instincts and a knack for creative problem-solving while working at Sartoria. It’s also why I decide on a job working in retail again—this time at a second hand shop.
The salary as a sales associate isn’t enough to cover all my expenses, but I use my discount to buy the pieces that aren’t moving on the floor that I know I can do something with. After that, I work my magic on them and resell the pieces either in the same store or online for a pretty reasonable profit.
It’s fun, a fantastic creative outlet, and it almost distracts me from the fact that I am absolutely miserable.
Because I am. Miserable, that is.
Three weeks after our blow-up, Will stopped trying to contact me. No more flowers, no more gifts, no more calls. And while I never once wanted to call him back or reach out, it killed me. His gifts were the only remaining connections I had to him, the only way of knowing that he was even still alive. I mean, what if something had happened to him? What then? We had no friends in common who would’ve been able to communicate it to me.
I struggle to not let myself go down that rabbit hole, but some days are harder than others. As the early days of summer are fast approaching, I’m saddened to think that all the fantasies I dreamt up of the things we’d do once the warmer weather hit won’t be happening. No outings to the beach. No picnics outdoors. No weekend trips up to Connecticut to visit his mom.
Despite still being mad at him, more than anything, I’m devastated to think that after just a few weeks of trying to apologize, he’s given up on us when I haven’t stopped loving him for a single second.
Not one.
* * *
The first week of May,I come home from a shopping spree to my favorite vintage shops and craft stores to find a visitor waiting for me on my building’s stoop. I stop dead in my tracks just a few feet away, because the last time we spoke feels like so long ago, I have no idea what to say.
Molly sees me approach, and her eyes widen as she gets to her feet.
