“You’d be correct.” I roll over and switch my phone to the other ear while I think over my next words. “I don’t want to have to tell them I failed. I don’t want to hear their disappointment.” My voice cracks.
“Isa.” Nico’s gentle voice is like a warm blanket. It’s not a tone I’m used to hearing from him. We antagonize each other, not comfort. “You’re not a failure. And they won’t be disappointed in you. They’d just want you to be happy.”
I scoff. “Easy for you to say. You don’t have to live up to the same expectations as me.”
He hums. “Maybe not, but I was the one who was still at home after you left for LA. I saw how proud of you they were. How they would brag about your new life out west to everyone who would listen. Never once was your job the highlight of their bragging. Sure, it made an appearance, but they bragged aboutyou. Their strong, independent daughter who chose to find her own way in the world.”
I sniffle as tears burn the back of my eyes. “Really?” I don’t even try to hide the emotion in my voice.
“Really. So, I can say with a fair amount of confidence they’ll only care that you’re happy and safe.”
“I was happy,” I whisper the secret in the dark quiet of my room.
“Then maybe you should find a way to get that happiness back. Whatever that looks like.” We both fall silent for a few breaths before Nico speaks again. And ruins the moment. “Sooo, are we done with this emotional shit so I can yell at you for not telling me you were dating Ryan fucking Fletcher?” I let out a wet laugh as he peppers me with questions.
The bedroom dooris flung open, and I cringe away from the light flooding in from the living room, like a vampire.
“That’s it. Time to get up.” Jordan says, her voice firm and final as she rips away my blanket cocoon.
“Hey!” I protest.
She plants her fists on her hips and glares at me. “No. Don’t ‘hey’ me. You need to get out of bed. I’ve let you hide in here for almost a week now. You lost your job. So what?” I open my mouth to argue but she holds up a hand to cut me off. “You broke up with your boyfriend? So. Fucking. What? You can’t hole up in your room for the rest of your life. We need to solve one problem at a time, and hiding in here won’t do it. You need a job. So let’s go out there and start looking for a new job.” She extends a hand in my direction. I stare at it, blinking back more tears.
She’s right. I know she’s right. I’m ashamed of myself. I didn’t even hole up like this after my last breakup. I moved on with my life the next day like nothing had even happened.
That’s because you didn’t love him like you love Ryan, a voice whispers in the back of my mind.
Jordan is the bad cop to Nico’s good cop pep talk from a few days ago. After I hung up with Nico, I bit the bullet and called my parents. I told them everything. Well, sobbed it to them, but same thing. And as much as it pains me to admit this—which I willneveradmit to his face—Nico was right. My parents only responded to the news of losing my job with the concern you’d expect. There was no disappointment. They didn’t call me a failure. They didn’t blame me. In fact, my mom told me she looked up pictures of this Ryan Fletcher and gave me her two thumbs up stamp of approval.
I cave and drop my hand into Jordan’s, letting her tug me out of the bed. I tell myself it’s because I’m hungry and I do need to start the job hunt finally.
It’s definitely not because tonight is the first game Ryan is playing after being benched under the league’s concussion protocol. I certainly haven’t been stalking news on the team to see how he’s been doing.
When I drop onto the couch with my laptop, Jordan’s already queued up the game. My eyes flick to her, questions swimming over my face.
She simply shrugs and pops a bowl of popcorn between us to snack on.
I’m able to get through updating my resume in time for the start of the game. I close my laptop and shove it away so I can focus on the screen.
The second Ryan’s face pops up, I can’t help the words that come out. “He looks like shit.” There are dark smudges under his eyes and his cheeks look sunken. His typically neat trimmedscruff is, for lack of a better word, a mess. The bright blue of his eyes are flat and dull.
I guess the concussion has been a tough recovery.
As if she can hear my thoughts, Jordan shoots me a knowing look that tells me to ‘be for real.’
He doesn’t look like shit because of the concussion.
It’s the breakup. He looks terrible—probably as bad as me if I cared to look in a mirror—because of our breakup.
A fact that only makes me feel worse about myself and the situation I’ve put us in.
Jordan nudges my shoulder with hers. “You should call him.”
All I can do to answer her is shake my head as I continue to stare at him on the screen.
I can’t call him. He probably doesn’t even want to speak to me.
I broke his heart.
