I’d been waiting for—dreading—this moment from the beginning. But I never would have guessed that this would be how we’d end. With an emotion-fraught phone call on the same night we’d planned to spend together.
“I haven’t decided on Paris. I haven’t made my decision.” When I found myself staring at the wilted daisies, I made myself look away. “But clearly you have decided.”
He’d been about to say something but stopped himself. All I heard was his uneven breathing for the next few moments. “I keep telling you I’m not your dad. Stop treating me like I am.”
My dad. He was behind me. Why did Soren want to keep pulling him to the front?
“Then stop acting like him.” An explosion erupted from me then, resulting in me shoving the table as hard as I could. Its legs whined across the floor, and half the contents on it toppled to the floor when it came to a stop.
“Yeah.” From his voice, I knew. I’d lost him. “And I finally just accepted that you’re never going to believe me.”
Neither of us said a word, but it was deafening.
My jaw worked. “Say it.”
“You’re the one who made the call. You say it.”
Saying the words wouldn’t change anything—but it would give us both closure. And they were the words I always knew I’d have to say to him—they were the ones I’d practiced in my head. I knew it. He was learning it too.
Love like this didn’t last. It couldn’t. It was only a matter of time, similar to planting a flower in the dark and expecting it to flourish. Life couldn’t bloom from darkness. I’d never realized how much of it I carried inside me until I was forced to confront the end of our relationship.
“It’s over, Soren.” I spoke each word slowly, like a vow.
“There wasn’t anything to be over, Hayden. I just realized that finally too.” Where mine was empty of emotion, his voice swam with too much. “You’ve been trying to tell me that the whole time, right? Message finally fucking received.”
I pushed myself from the chair, forcing myself to turn my back to the life we’d created inside this small, crummy apartment. “Enjoy Miami.”
“Enjoy Paris.” He’d barely finished before the line went dead.
What we fear losing most, we almost always wind up losing because of that fear.
That was something I’d learned over the past month from talking to someone about my issues stemming from my dad’s departure. Those same issues I’d spent years convincing myself I’d tucked away so they didn’t affect me, were the same ones that had been steering my life’s ship for years. I’d tried so hard to put him behind me, and in so doing, I’d only given him that much more power in my present.
Of course I’d realized that a month too late to do any good for my relationship with Soren, but as my counselor reminded me, if I hadn’t lost something so big, I might never have realized I had a problem that needed to be addressed.
That was what was on my mind as I climbed out of the subway tunnel near the apartment. It was a hot, muggy day, a stark contrast to the first day I’d arrived.
My fear of being abandoned had driven him away before he could leave of his own choice. The better-to-leave-than-be-left mentality of people who struggled with the issues I did. It had cost me dearly, and I never wanted to pay the same price again. I wanted to fix myself as much as I could. That was why I talked with someone twice a week and currently had an impressive, virtual stack of self-improvement books on my e-reader. I’d made it through most of them already too.
I wasn’t foolish enough to think that spilling my guts to a therapist or devouring self-help books would cure me of my demons, but they’d opened a window to healing myself. It was up to me to keep clearing the dead spaces to make room for new life.
As I climbed the steps to the sixth floor, I found myself taking each one slowly, almost savoring them. This would be the last time I’d ever climb these endless, decrepit things. Funny how the things we thought we despised could become nostalgic through the scope of new eyes.
I hadn’t been back to the apartment since the night I’d left it in such a hurry a month ago. I’d been in France the whole time. He hadn’t tried to call or make any kind of contact. Why would he? I’d pushed him away, and he’d stayed where I’d driven him. Away.
He must have been in Miami by now. I didn’t know for sure, and another wave of nostalgia overcame me when I reached the top floor and accepted that the person I’d cared so deeply for had a life I had no claim in anymore. I didn’t have the right to know where he was or what he was up to or how he was doing.
That was exactly why relationships were so damn hard. One minute, a person could be your everything, and the next, they were gone.
As I turned the key in the lock, I found myself glancing down the hall toward Mrs. Lopez’s apartment. I wondered, now that we were both gone, if anyone gave her a hand. I hoped so. From the way her door looked freshly painted, I guessed someone had stepped into the empty space Soren had left.
Steeling myself before entering, I reminded myself I could do this, then I moved inside the apartment. I was surprised to find myself feeling relief instead of the opposite as I breathed in the familiar scents and took in the familiar sights. It was the sensation of coming home.
To say good-bye.
I’d brought a few boxes to pack up my belongings—the old duffel I’d arrived with could hold the rest. I’d put this off until the last possible day. Tomorrow was the last one of our lease.
When I glanced into the kitchen, I was surprised to find some dishes and cups still scattered around the counter. I saw the same thing when I came into the main space. All of Soren’s things were still there—at least most of them.
The ache in my chest that manifested from seeing an old pair of his sneakers against the wall sent me back a few steps. My eyes traveled to his favorite pillow he used to share with me—or swing at me, depending on the mood we were in—still resting on the mattress.
He’d left it all behind. He didn’t want any of it.
Accepting what he’d left made me wonder what I was doing there. What was I there for? I’d left nothing of value to be packed. Clothes, secondhand dishes, a mismatched assortment of décor.
Memories.
Those were here too. In everything I looked at. Each and every item had some memory attached to it, and there was its value. That was what I was packing to take with me.
The memories. They were all I had left of Soren Decker. They were more than I was entitled to.
The first box had just been folded and taped when the sound of the lock turning over in the door made me still. It was probably the furtive landlord come a day early to check on the place, but when I heard the first few steps move inside, I knew who it was. I’d memorized the way he moved before I’d accepted that I’d fallen for him.
He moved into the room, distracted by the mail he was sorting through. He didn’t notice me until he was passing by the table. He stopped abruptly, his whole body stiffening. When his head turned, his hands curled around the mail.