Page 110 of Kissing is the Easy Part
Sean’s too smart to not get it at once. “Your wonderful boyfriend isn’t so wonderful if the idea of tiramisu made you cry.”
We fall silent, the weight of that sentence hanging between us. We sit there for what feels like an eternity, measuring the silence, until I finally break it. “I’m not sure . . .” My voice is small, like I’m being called on in class to solve a math problem I don’t know the answer to. “I’m not sure I can do this anymore. Maybe we should stop before I do something to hurt you.”
There’s no trace of surprise on his face. “You’re doing it right now.”
“I can see us going downhill, and I’d rather end it early than badly. I can’t bear the thought of us ending badly.”
Sean stays strangely calm, and like rehearsing a line, he says, “You have no faith.”
“I want to be better for you. I need time on my own to figure things out. We love each other, but we want different things, and we’re not good for each other right now. I need time to figure out who I really am, outside of you.” By now, I’m rambling between hiccups, not even sure I’m making sense. “You’re perfect and I love you, but you’re not perfect for me.”
“I’m not perfect. When you say that, it’s a slap in the face because I don’t know what I can do to fix it.”
“There’s nothing to fix. It’s me, and I’m not ready. I don’t know how to love you and myself at the same time. I don’t know who I am anymore, and I feel like I can’t breathe without you. I can’t keep clinging to you like you’re the only thing holding me together. It’s not fair to you, and it’s not fair to me. Can you . . . can you give me some time?” I wince at how selfish that sounds. “I still love you. I just need some time apart to clear my head.”
“How much time?”
“I don’t know. A short break.”
He shakes his head. “No.”
“I want a break, not a breakup.”
“That’s exactly the same to me.”
Sean likes clear answers. It’s either a serious relationship or nothing.
My eyes well up again. I expect this to hurt, but not so much that my insides turn over. I might puke. I can’t be with him, but I can’t be apart from him either. It’s impossible to decide.
But then there’s the alternative—we learn to resent each other. Or worse, we grow so far apart that we end up strangers.
“I guess we’re breaking up,” I choke out in between sobs.
“Are you sure?” he asks, almost serenely. “I don’t want to break up, but once you decide, that’s it. I’m not doing this back-and-forth thing.”
Of course I’m not sure. But after an eternity, I nod.
“Okay. If that’s your decision, then I accept.”
He’s composed throughout the conversation, as if we’re discussing dinner options. There’s no bargaining, no pushback. He justagreed,more undisturbed than a lifestyle coach saying they support my journey while my entire world caves in.
We sit and mull in silence. He picks up the photos I brought over again. This time he examines them more slowly, his head lowered, going through each one without saying a word. My chest is so tight I can barely breathe.
A teardrop rolls down his cheek.
My heart shatters. Sean’s never like this. He’s always so poised, so in control of his emotions. In that fleeting second, he’s never looked nobler.
He’s trying to make this easier for me.
A second later, he wipes his face with the back of his hand, and he’s back to his usual self. “Sorry about that. I thought my tear ducts shriveled up back in third grade.”
“Sean . . .”
He glances up. “Can I keep the photos?”
“Of course.” My own tears fall, each one quicker than the last. “Those are for you.”
“Thanks.”
