Call It What You Want, page 13
There was a pause, and I could almost hear Graham’s gears turning, trying to find the right words. “Look, Sloane, it’s not about you being enough or not. Ethan’s got issues, like…with letting people in. To be honest, I’m kinda shocked you got past his walls as much as you did.
“Wow, thanks, Graham.” I couldn’t help the slightly sarcastic laugh that escaped me.
“No, no, I mean—” He cleared his throat. “Sorry, I’m not really firing on all cylinders yet. What I’m trying to say is, Ethan’s never opened up to someone like he has with you. Maybe he just needs a bit of space… He might come around.”
“I shouldn’t want someone who comes back. I should want someone who never leaves. Right? I mean, that’s what Lauren’s been saying this whole time. I should be with someone who’s sure about me.”
There was a heavy sigh on the other end, the kind that said he was weighing his next words very carefully. “Okay, I’m gonna tell you something, and Brady would absolutely lose his shit if he knew I told you…”
“What is it?” My curiosity was piqued.
“This is between us. Got it? Not even Lauren can know.”
I gulped, my anxiety surging. He knew I was horrible at keeping secrets.
“Okay?” he asked again.
“I won’t say anything,” I promised.
“I still don’t really know all the details, just what’s been relayed to me through him, my parents, and some news articles,” Graham started. “When he was thirteen, both of his parents were arrested. They were drinking and driving, and they killed someone on a bike.”
I was speechless, so he continued. “Brady’s dad had a few prior DUIs. He owned a hole-in-the-wall bar in Carolina Beach, so I think he’d drink a lot while he was there. Apparently, there was a party at the bar the night of the accident, which is why Ethan’s mom was also in the car. She was sentenced to a year, mostly for hiding information about the case, and his dad was sentenced to ten. When his mom was released, we all expected her to come back for him. That was the plan, according to Brady. She never showed up, and it broke him. He never said it, but we all knew. We could see it in everything he did. My mom tried to get in contact with her a few times, but she acted like that part of her life never existed. As far as my family knows, his mom moved somewhere like Oklahoma or Texas, I forget which one, but she got remarried and has another kid. His dad gets out next year, but I don’t think they’re in contact.”
“Oh my—” I couldn’t even finish my sentence. I truly didn’t know what to say. What could I say to that?
“Yeah, so, I mean, I think that’s everything. Brady’s a good guy; he just has a lot of baggage, which is why I wanted to tell you this. It’s not that he can’t be with you; it’s that he can’t be with anyone. He doesn’t know how to. Does any of this help? Or did I make things worse?”
“It helps a lot. I just feel bad that I didn’t see it. How could I not see it?”
“You can’t blame yourself. Remember, you know none of this. It’s not something you need to address, but I was hoping it would make you see his side of things. He has a lot of work on himself to do, but I like you for him.”
“Thanks, Graham.” I wiped a tear from my cheek. “Miss you.”
“Miss you too, Sloane.”
My thoughts were racing at a million miles per minute as I tried to make sense of the situation. I felt bad, horrible actually, and I wanted to understand it, but I couldn’t.
If you loved someone, I mean really loved them, would you be willing to just let them go? Especially over something from your past that you couldn’t control? My parents’ divorce did a number on me. For a little while I wondered if I would ever truly love someone, and if I did, would I live in constant fear wondering if they’d just leave one day? Then I met Ethan, and those thoughts didn’t cross my mind once.
So no, I didn’t want to let him go. But I knew once the shock and initial pain subsided, I’d have to, because that’s what he did to me. He let me go without thinking twice, and I think that was what hurt the most—thinking I meant something to him, just for him to show me that I didn’t.
***
The next morning I felt okay enough to go back to work. I walked down the long hall from the elevator to my cube and wondered if I’d be able to focus on anything besides Ethan. I stopped in the doorway of my workspace and admired the bouquet that was placed in front of my monitor. I set down my bag and pulled out the note that was tucked in between the peonies.
Sloane, a card and flowers can’t make this better, but I’m giving them to you anyway. XO, Annie.
How did Annie know about the breakup? I sorted through my tote bag until I found my phone and immediately pulled up the message Lauren had sent to her yesterday on my behalf.
7:08 a.m.
Me: Hi, Annie, this is Sloane’s roommate. To be completely honest, she got broken up with last night and isn’t doing too well. She really needs to take the day. Hope you understand, and please don’t fire her for this!
“Got a sec?” Annie appeared at my desk.
“I’m so sorry about this.” I held up my phone, which was open to our text conversation. “I had no idea.”
“Don’t be sorry. I appreciate the honesty. You have a great roommate.” She leaned on the edge of my desk. “Your twenties are hard, and breakups are no joke. Why don’t you try writing about it? Maybe you can pitch me some bylines next week? Or whenever you’re ready. No rush! Just don’t be afraid to be vulnerable and put these feelings into words. You’d be surprised at how cathartic it is. Plus, it might just help you find that depth you’ve been searching for.”
Annie was right. I plugged my laptop into the monitor and sent Mila a meeting invitation for that afternoon.
“Breakup brainstorm?” Her head popped up over the half wall that separated us. “What happened? I thought you were so excited for your weekend together.”
“Long story short, he’s not ready. Too much too soon. Do you think you have some extra time this week to help me on a pitch to Annie? It seems like she’s interested in something I have to say… I just have to figure out exactly what that is.”
“Of course! I’m sorry though, about the breakup. That sucks. Well, I’ve never actually been dumped, but I can imagine that it sucks.”
“You’ve never been dumped?” I envied her.
“Nope, I end it with them before they have the chance to do the same. Saves me a whole lot of heartbreak.”
“Save it for the brainstorm sesh.” I laughed and shooed her away.
***
“Let’s start with some topics.” Mila stood in front of a whiteboard.
“If we want the readers to follow the journey of the breakup, I’m thinking we start with something small and work our way into the deeper stuff,” I explain. “Maybe like, We’ve made a postbreakup playlist, so you don’t have to?”
“Genius,” she said. “What’s next?”
“Our best breakup advice, before you get into an ‘almost relationship,’ read this, an open letter to the guy who didn’t want to date me.”
We sat in that conference room until well past 5 p.m., spewing off advice, stories from past relationships, and things we’ve read or watched in movies that stuck with us.
I spent the entire subway ride home writing articles piece by piece in the notes app on my phone. I swore, if anyone ever had access to these, I’d have personally dug my own grave and buried myself in there. Midnight thoughts, drunk rants, things I’d never have told anyone. Good thing they were password protected. Hopefully Annie would like at least one of them. Maybe this could finally be my big break.
20
Sloane
September 2017
In the months that followed our unofficial breakup, I threw myself into work. I stayed late at the office, wrote article after article, and Annie loved them. The Gist published three of my pieces, one of which seemed to be resonating with hundreds of thousands of people: “An Open Letter to the Guy Who Didn’t Want to Date Me.” Annie had taken a chance on me, allowing my voice to rise from my notes app to the spotlight of a byline, and it paid off.
I started to realize how common almost relationships were. So many people had that one person they loved but never truly dated, but hardly anyone ever talked about it. Slowly, I started to feel at peace with the fact that Ethan and I were meant to be but weren’t meant to last. It hurt to think of us that way, but it was true.
“Sloane! Your article from last week hit a million reads!” Annie shouted from her office, followed by cheers and shouts of congratulations from the surrounding cubicles.
I couldn’t help but cry. Mila handed me a few tissues and hugged me.
“I’m so proud of you,” she said.
“Thank you, Annie,” I managed to say, “for the opportunity.”
“Wanna pop into my office?” Her tone was casual, but there was a twinkle in her eye that hinted at something more. I nodded, dabbing at my eyes, and made my way over.
Inside Annie’s office, the buzz from the editorial corner was a distant hum. She gestured to the chair in front of her desk with a smile.
“I’ll cut right to the chase,” she began, her hands clasped together as if she were containing her enthusiasm. “A million reads is no small feat. It’s exceptional. And it’s clear to me—and to the readers—that you have a lot more to say.”
I sat, waiting for her to continue, as the remnants of my tears dried on my cheeks.
“So how would you feel about a promotion to staff writer?” Annie’s question hung in the air. I couldn’t believe it was finally within reach.
I blinked, the weight of the offer settling on my shoulders. “I—that would be amazing, but I…”
“You’ll still need to handle your current tasks for now. We’re aiming to hire someone by year’s end. But Sloane, your writing”—she paused, her gaze steady and sure—“it’s raw, it’s real, and it’s what we need.”
The office suddenly felt too small for the enormity of the moment. Staff writer. It was all finally happening. Maybe I didn’t have Ethan, but I had everything else I wanted. My emotions were a cocktail of fear and excitement. Would I be able to live up to these newfound expectations?
“Thank you, Annie. I won’t let you down.” The words came out of my mouth before I could stop them.
Annie’s smile widened. “I know you won’t. Now, go celebrate. You’ve earned it.”
As I left her office, the reality of her words began to sink in. My new title felt like a badge, a testament to surviving heartbreak and turning it into something that moved a million souls. And maybe, just maybe, it was the first step toward finally moving on myself.
***
“Can we get a bottle of prosecco?” Lauren asked the bartender and then turned to me. “So how does it feel?”
“How does what feel?” I arched an eyebrow.
“To turn this heartbreak into something good.”
“It’s hard to explain.” I sat back in my seat. “I read those words, and sometimes I believe them, but other times I can’t even believe I wrote them. It’s only been three months, so I know I’m not fully over him yet, but I’m getting there. These comments and posts from girls who are reading and relating to my article are helping to accelerate it though. They’re giving me the closure he was never able to.”
“I’m so proud of you.”
We lifted our flutes and cheersed each other. After finishing the bottle, we ended up at a piano bar on the Upper East Side, right around the corner from our apartment.
“We really need more friends in the city,” Lauren sighed as we settled into a two-top near the window. “This would be the perfect night to go out, like really out! Not just to a bar close to our apartment.”
“Who else do we know here?” I said, scrolling through my contacts.
“No clue.” Lauren rolled her eyes and took a swig of her vodka soda.
My phone vibrated, and though I’d usually try to be respectful and not check it, I picked it up immediately in hopes that it was someone that I’d been waiting on. As confusing as it was to admit, I think part of me wrote this article hoping that Ethan would read it. I mean, it was an open letter to him after all. The romantic in me hoped that maybe he’d digest the words, feel the same way, hop on a flight, and confess his feelings, his trauma, his every waking thought. I knew that only happened in the movies though.
Instead of being greeted by a text from Ethan, it was the last person I’d expect to hear from.
8:37 p.m.
Reese Thompson: Hey there. Heard you moved to the city, also happened across your article earlier. Congrats on everything! Are you free for drinks or dinner this week?
“Oh my gosh.”
“What?” Lauren asked. “Ethan?”
“No…Reese Thompson.” I set my phone back on the table.
“Stop! You’re gonna answer right? Wait, I bet he has roommates. Tell them to come out tonight!” Lauren begged.
I played along. “Fine.”
What did I have to lose?
An hour and a half and two more vodka sodas later, Lauren and I were waiting in line at The Gem Saloon. Since we only moved to the city a few months ago, we hadn’t explored many places outside of our neighborhood yet. According to Reese, Gem was one of the better weeknight spots.
“I’m nervous,” I said to Lauren as the line slowly inched forward.
“Don’t be! Reese is great. Plus, he was like obsessed with you, so that’s a plus,” she said.
“Oh, was I?” a voice replied from behind us. I spun around and there he was—Reese Thompson in the flesh.
“Kidding! Hey, Reese!” Lauren hugged him and proceeded to introduce herself to his friends.
“Hey, you.” He side-hugged me.
“Sorry about all of that.” I blushed.
“Don’t worry about it; it was flattering. Now follow me; I know the bouncers.” Reese took my hand, confidently guiding us past the waiting crowd. The bouncer, a broad-shouldered guy with an easy smile, chuckled as Reese slipped him cash. With a friendly nod, he ushered us through the door.
The Gem Saloon was just like any other hole-in-the-wall bar except it was decently sized and had a ton of windows, which seemed rare for New York. As we followed Reese through the lively chatter and clinking glasses, he steered us to the bar in the back—well stocked, with a much shorter line. He ordered with a familiarity that told me he’d spent many nights here. The bartender lined up our drinks, and after distributing them to the group, Reese grabbed my hand. Before I knew it, I found myself hoping that he wouldn’t let it go.
The DJ started to play a mix by Calvin Harris, a favorite of Lauren’s. Reese’s eyes met mine, a silent question hanging in the air between us. I nodded, and without a word, he led me to the dance floor. His friends followed suit.
With every beat, the space between Reese and me seemed to dissolve. My heart raced, not just from the movement, but from a crush I tried to deny I ever had. Reese was the nice guy, the one I knew would’ve treated me right, had I given him the chance. Instead, I chased someone who barely gave me the time of day. Somehow months later I was hundreds of miles away from Wilmington, dancing with Reese and not Ethan. It was funny how life worked.
As the song wound down, our movements slowed, and we found ourselves in a quiet corner of the bar. Reese’s gaze was intense, more intimate than the dim lighting of the bar warranted. He leaned in, his voice low over the fading music.
“You know, I’ve always thought there was something between us,” he confessed.
“Maybe there’s still something there,” I whispered back.
And then, in a moment that felt both like the end of a journey and the start of another, his lips met mine. The kiss was soft, hesitant at first, like a question. But I kissed him back, affirming what we both felt.
That night I realized that losing someone doesn’t necessarily mean losing. Every time someone walks out of your life, someone new eventually walks into it. Losing someone means you’ll eventually gain someone even better.
An Open Letter to the Guy Who Didn’t Want to Date Me
By Sloane Hart
Dear ex-“something,”
I’m writing you this letter in hopes that it’ll give me the closure that you were never able to.
September first is this week, which means it’ll be the third month without you. Three months without you in my bed, in my inbox, and in my heart as someone who didn’t break it. It’s weird seeing the seasons start to change. It’s like time is moving so quickly yet so slowly. I think back to that night in June, the night you ended things. Sometimes I feel like it was a year ago; sometimes I feel like it was yesterday. The days are easy, but the nights are hard; that’s when I miss you the most.
What I don’t miss, though, is the hurting. I mean, I do still hurt, but not in the same way I did when we were together. The constant wondering: Am I not enough for him? Why am I not good enough? Why doesn’t he love me the way I love him? Will he ever love me? Even just typing out these questions hurts my heart so badly.
Somewhere along the line of loving you and then hating you and then missing you and then hating you again, I realized that you did all you could. We weren’t made for each other, no matter how much I tried to convince myself we were. Although this isn’t me making excuses for you. I deserved so much more than you were ever willing to give me. So why did I used to think that I wasn’t deserving of any of it? I thought I wasn’t worthy of love, and I feel so sorry for the version of myself that believed otherwise. I deserved a title. I deserved a label. I deserved honesty. I deserved clarity. I know that now.
I didn’t want this to be a lesson; I wanted it to be love. But if we weren’t meant to last, then the best I can hope for is that you use our time together as a learning experience, a source of wisdom, a reason to change. I never asked for much from you, but I need to ask this one thing: please, don’t treat someone else the way you treated me. I hate that I’m saying this—my stomach turns at thought of you with someone else—but I know eventually you will move on to another relationship, and I hope it’s different than this. I hope you meet a girl one day that changes the world for you. I hope you love her enough to lay down your armor and give up the fight. I hope that you finally realize you deserve to be loved in a way you never were before, in a way that you couldn’t return to me.
