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“Because you like them,” I said, throwing up my hands. “Why is that a bad thing?”
“Because youhate oatmeal.”
I sighed.
“Look, Cici, I’m not tryna come down hard on you. I’m just saying.” She peeled back more of her candy wrapper, taking a large bite. “It’s pathological.”
I didn’t know what to make of it, or how to even address something that seemed so ingrained in me that it was now part of my personality. All I knew was that I was miserable without Nathan, and that misery somehow seemed to be tied into my inability to speak my needs into existence.
One night, I was hanging out with Brooklyn and bemoaning the fact that Nathan still hadn’t answered any of my texts. It had been weeks since I had left Massachusetts, and I had gotten nothing but radio silence from Nathan. It was because of the lack of response that I sent him a text: it was time for us to talk about divorce.
“Now you know I’m not usually on Nathan’s side, but you did give him the ‘but your feelings aren’t real anyway’ spiel before you left,” Brooklyn had said one night. She often came to visit me on campus, and we would have lunch or hang out in the quad. Sometimes, when I just needed a break from schoolwork, she would come over with ice cream and greasy food, and we’d have a movie marathon until we passed out from exhaustion.
I took the pint of ice cream from her, glaring as I did so. “I gave him the spiel, but he put up every little protest, proving my point,” I countered. “I’ve been reaching out to him all summer, and he hasn’t responded to any of my texts. I even tried to call once, and he sent me straight to voicemail.”
“He’s been grieving the death of his motherandthe loss of your relationship because, despite what you may say,” she said over my protests, “that’s what that was. You got on a plane and didn’t look back, and then tried to text him on some ‘I’m gonna pretend like I didn’t do that’ bullshit.”
I sighed. “Fine. But why wouldn’t he answer the texts about the divorce?”
Brooklyn shrugged, her gaze sliding to the TV. “Maybe his silence is his answer.”
As much as I didn’t want to hear the truth in her words, I knew she was probably right. Nathan had probably lost more and more of the love he had felt for me with each passing day. I worried that my initial instinct was true: that the moment I was out of sight, I was also out of mind, and he realized just how little I fit in his world. He had the estate; what else did he need me for?
Just as I had that thought, someone started banging on my front door. Brooklyn and I looked at each other in alarm. My roommates had gone out for the night, each with their respective friend groups, so it was just me and Brooklyn in the apartment.
“Let’s go get knives from the kitchen,” she whispered. She quickly ran down the hall to the kitchen, shuffling about to find what she was looking for. I waited by the front door, holding my hand out for one of the weapons that Brooklyn provided.
Looking in the peephole, however, made me sigh with relief. “It’s Nathan,” I whispered to Brooklyn. Then, I blinked as my mind caught up with my senses.Nathan? What’s he doing here?
I unlocked the door and swung it open. “Nathan?” I said. “It’s ten o’clock at night; what are you doing here?”
“I saw your texts,” he blurted. “I came as soon as I could. Don’t file for divorce.”
Brooklyn was shuffling around behind me, and before I knew it, she had her jacket and overnight bag. “I’m, uh, just gonna go home,” she said, nodding toward the open door. She gave me a one-armed hug. “Call me later, okay, Cici?”
“Will do.” I glanced at Nathan as he moved farther into the apartment and Brooklyn closed the door.
We stood in the entryway to my apartment for a few awkward moments before I gestured toward the living room. “Do you wanna sit?”
“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea,” he said.
We both sank into the couch, facing each other. “How did you find me?” I asked.
He smiled slightly. “You gave me your address in one of your earlier texts. It took some scrolling, but I found it.”
“Oh.” I grimaced. “Makes sense.”
“Look, Ciara, I’m just gonna cut to the chase,” Nathan said finally, leaning toward me. “I don’t want to get a divorce. I want to stay married.”
“But why?” I looked away, not wanting him to see the hope in my eyes. “It hasn’t seemed like it.”
“I know. I know I’ve been ignoring your texts and not responding.” He picked up my hands, holding them between his. “I’m sorry for that. I was angry with you for a long time, but I’ve finally gotten to the root of my feelings. And I realized I’m not angry with you anymore.”
I was silent for a moment, taking it all in. I was cautiously optimistic, worried that he would sayJust kidding; you hurt me too badly for me to want to be with you.I had to get assurance from him that he wouldn’t change his mind and leave me here the way I had feared all those weeks ago.
“I’m glad to hear that you’re not angry anymore,” I said quietly. “I know that I hurt you deeply, and I’m sorry I did that. I should have trusted your love instead of listening to my own irrational fears. But I do have to ask: are you sure about this? You left me on ‘read’ for weeks. You had every right to be upset, but it did kinda prove my point—the moment I questioned our relationship and your love, you folded.”
He nodded, looking down. “You’re right,” he said. “I did do that. I should have done more to prove to you, to convince you, that my love was real and sustainable. But instead, I got in my feelings. But I’m different now, and I’m willing to prove it.”
