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“Maybe we did,” I answer in a low voice, leaning low to the table, not wanting the rest of the coffee shop to hear me having it out with my ex-boyfriend. “But it’s over now. I can’t stay with someone who … who …”
I swallow thickly. It’s hard for me to even put into words what he did, wanting to toss me aside while he screwed his way through Europe and then pick me up once he got back, like I’m no better than an appliance in his apartment that he leaves unplugged while going on a long trip.
He shakes his head with entitled exasperation, his thick, black hair swaying with the motion. “Couples take breaks, Summer. It’s normal.”
Pain pangs in my chest. Suddenly, I can’t stand sitting across from him anymore. I reach for my AirPod case and stick the earbuds into it.
“Well, then, it should be easy for you to find someone who feels the same as you do if it’s so normal,” I say, spitting the word out bitterly. “But I …”
He cuts me off. “Don’t throw away a year and a half over nothing.”
“You threw it away!” The thread snaps and the words shoot out of me, much louder than I intended. My shoulders hitch as I feel every pair of eyes in the café pointing at me.
I need to get out of here. I can’t even talk to Sean right now. Not without risking blowing up at him and making an even bigger scene.
I quickly stand up, snatching my bookbag from where it was leaning against the leg of my chair. But in my haste, I forget that I had it zipped all the way open; the contents come spilling out, notebooks flopping open, pens and pencils clattering against the floor, and my laptop dropping hard on its back.
I let out a frustrated gasp. Now all the eyes in the café are really riveted to me.
Everyone must think I’m nuts. Tension and anxiety coil all around me, and the hot feeling of tears pushing against the backs of my eyes is stronger this time. I blink hard and fast to beat them back.
I hurry to shove everything back in my bag, doing it quickly so that Sean doesn’t have the opportunity to “help.” I zip it up and fling it over my shoulder.
“And please, Sean,” I say, “don’t try to talk to my partner and offer him any more of your advice.” I put an extra bite on that last word.
Still feeling eyes burning on me, I walk quickly out of the café. Once I’m a couple paces out the door, I check over my shoulder. At least Sean isn’t following me. This time.
The tiny relief I get from that fact doesn’t last long. My skin feels hot with embarrassment thinking about what a scene I just made. Everyone in Brumehill Brews are probably tittering to themselves about getting a front-row seat to a juicy mini-meltdown.
The English lecture hall is still empty when I get there. I’m glad, because I really don’t want to be around anyone right now. I need time alone to decompress.
I plop down into my regular seat. I try to let out a long sigh to relieve some of my tension, but all that comes out is a harsh huff. The tension only grows as I replay what just happened.
Fresh outrage surges in me, thinking about Sean’s presumptuousness; the entitlement and arrogance dripping off of him when he looks at me like it should be a foregone conclusion that we’d get back together, after he told me loud and clear that he only cares about me when it’s convenient for him to.
We were together for a year and a half. I put everything I had into our relationship. My whole heart. I didn’t even think about doing anything with any other guys while we were together.
I mean, could I appreciate the sight of a cute guy walking by who wasn’t Sean? Sure. Could I swoon over an imaginary book boyfriend? Of course.
But in the real world, I was committed to Sean, because to me, that’s what you’re supposed to be when you’re in an exclusive relationship with someone.
I think back to how excited I was for him when he got the news that he’d be touring Europe.
I remember looking forward to FaceTiming him from across the ocean, gasping in delight as he’d shown me the Eiffel Tower, or the Colosseum, or a beautiful German village in the background of our call.
Getting excited every time the mail would be delivered, waiting for his next postcard.
Missing him every day despite being happy for him, then getting giddier and giddier as the day of his return approached, meeting him at the airport and flinging my arms around his neck, so happy to see him that tears stream down my cheeks.
Pain zings through my chest as I think that while I was feeling all that, he was just thinking about setting me aside so he could bang random girls he’ll never see again, and then pick me up off the shelf and dust me off once he got back.
And he thought I wouldn’t mind. I guess he thought that I shouldn’t mind, that I’d have no reason to.
My tight muscles relax, but without any accompanying relief. The anger I was boiling in transforms into sadness; a sharp, pointed sadness pressing deep into my chest.
My bottom lip quivers. I pull in a deep breath through my nose. The seats in the auditorium are starting to fill, and the last thing I need is for everyone to be looking at me again, this time because I’m breaking down in sobs before English class.
I close my eyes, grit my teeth, and let out a low, long breath through my mouth, feeling my emotions steadying enough to keep from spiraling. But still, I can’t keep one small tear from trickling out of my left eye and gliding slowly and coldly down my cheek.
