That sounds horribly dramatic, but it’s true. It feels like this whole life I envisioned was there one moment, and stripped from my fingers the next. As much of a douchebag as Nathaniel is, I still invested years into him, and into us, and to lose that feels like losing a part of me.
I’m stepping out of the office now to head back to Xan’s. It’s Friday, and I just finished my first whole week back since the split. To be honest, admitting to my coworkers what happened was almost harder than the breakup itself. I felt like an idiot. Not even two weeks prior, I was leaving work to propose to him, only to return after a week-long hiatus, cheated on and broken up. Talk about a fucking deep blow. The sad, pathetic part of me almost wanted to lie and say the proposal went great. Shit, I even considered telling them he fucking died. Their looks of pity and the walking on eggshells are almost too much to handle.
Nova’s been staying with my mom and stepdad since I moved out. I miss her a ton, and her cuddles would probably help a lot. Xander told me a few days after I got there that I could bring her to his house, but I didn’t want to uproot her life more than I had to, and taking her from my old house to my mom’s to Xanders, and then finally to wherever I end up after, seemed like too much for a dog. Plus, Xander has a bitchy little hairless cat that doesn’t like anybody or anything. That seemed like a recipe for disaster since Nova loves everybody.
When I asked him why on earth he got one of those, he shrugged it off and said I wouldn’t get it.Whatever the fuck that means.
Nathaniel never called me back after the ridiculous voicemail I left for him that night I kissed Xander. Not that I expected him to. I do hate how much I’d hoped he would, though. Not even necessarily because I want to take him back, but to feel like I had the upper hand for once. Like I had the ability to turn him down, to crush him like he’s crushed me.
Maybe it’s petty of me, or toxic, but I want to hurt him in the same way. But that’ll never happen. Nathaniel has always had the upper hand in our relationship. Everybody always has the upper hand with me. I don’t think I’ve ever been in a position to break anybody’s heart before. Not that I’d want to, but still… always being the one hurt and left behind fucking sucks.
As screwed up as it sounds, I can’t help but chronically compare every man to my father. And not in a fucked-up, incestuous way, but in a did he leave me for the same reasons they’ve left me type of way. My dad was the first man to ever break my heart, and goddamn, did it leave a lasting impression. Because not only did he dip out on my mom, sister, and I, but he started a whole ass new life to boot.
I’ll never forget the betrayal and the hurt I felt at seeing him with his new family across that basketball court in high school. The eye-opening realization that he didn’t leave because he simply didn’t want to be a husband and a father anymore. No, he left because he didn’t want to bemyfather anymore. I’ve wondered on more than one occasion—usually after I’ve been screwed over or dumped or replaced for someone hotter, smarter, or all around better—if my love life would be any different had my father not abandoned me for some other family.
Xander’s already home by the time I pull my car up to the sidewalk in front of his lawn. He texted me a few hours ago, letting me know he was cooking us dinner tonight. My appetite has been kind of shot lately, but surprisingly, my stomach is rumbling. Probably because it knows what a damn good cook Xan is. His mom is a chef for some majorly important restaurant in New York, and he’s been cooking beside her since he was a little kid. It shows.
The house smells like oregano, garlic, and cheese as I step through the front door, and Xan’s got music pumping through the speakers in the kitchen. Despite it being nearly freezing outside, the back door is open, and I can hear him singing along to the Sleep Token song currently playing. Bet he’s even dancing to it too.
Xander is such a happy guy. It’s one thing that drew me to him when we first met, because normally, I am too. When I’m not in the middle of a breakup and an existential crisis, I’m a glass half full type of person. We’re both extroverted and enjoy being around people. It’s something that made us fast friends. Lately, though, it’s nauseating. I know he’s been trying his hardest to give me space, but also to cheer me up. Somehow, it’s all ended up feeling overwhelming and suffocating more than anything else.
I feel bad for getting so annoyed with him, because it’s not his fault. He’s been more than supportive and gracious through all of this. Giving up his spare bedroom for me. Cooking for me. Pretending he doesn’t hear me sobbing at night through his very thin walls.
Rounding the corner, the kitchen comes into view, as does—yup, I was right—Xan dancing to the beat as he stirs sauce on the stovetop. He tosses a glance over his shoulder at me, a smirk tugging on his lips.
“What’s up, man?”
“Smells fucking good.” I tip my chin past him.
“It's only tortellini in a homemade five-cheese marinara sauce. Nothing fancy.” He waves a hand before returning to the food. “How was work?”
I grab a beer out of the fridge, twisting the cap off and tossing it in the trash before taking a long pull. The crisp, amber liquid feels refreshing going down my throat. Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I grumble, “It was okay. Happy to be off for the weekend. How about you?”
“Not bad,” he replies with a shrug, his back to me. “It was busy as fuck, though. I have to work tomorrow.”
“On a Saturday?”
“Jordan is sick, so I have to cover.” He glances over his shoulder, rolling his eyes. “Not happy about it, but whatever.”
Letting him know I’m going to shower real quick before dinner, I head to the guest room, grab a change of clothes, then hit the bathroom. All in all, it only takes me about ten minutes before I’m all clean and back out in the dining room. Just in time, too. Dinner is done.
We both dish up, taking our seats at the table. Digging in, it’s fucking delicious. An involuntary groan leaves my mouth as I shovel a bite in that’s probably much larger than appropriate for table manners.
“This is fucking bomb, Xan,” I tell him, taking a swig of my beer.
“Thanks, man,” he says quietly. Based on his body language, I can tell there’s something on his mind.
“Just say it,” I blurt out, then set my fork down.
He peers over at me, something in his expression softening as he takes me in. “I love you, Trav, you know I do. But I think it’s time I give you some tough love for your own good.”
I have to fight not to roll my eyes. I knew this was coming sooner or later.
When I don’t say anything, he continues. “It’s been over two weeks now, and I think it’s about time you let yourself start living again. Besides going to work, you don’t do anything other than lay around.”
There isn’t an ounce of judgement woven between his words, and I love him for it. If anyone understands what it’s like to always be an option, latching onto the first person who shows them the time of day, it’s him.
Clearing my throat, I mutter, “I’m fine.” The declaration is weak, and it’s clear I’mnotfine, but fuck, I don’t want to admit that.
