broke up with me by way of a letter, he responded.
He told me he needed to focus on the album.
And when I pressed him, he told me we could talk after the album was done.
It was the same story he’d told his sister, apparently… album after album.
And I held onto that hope, that fragile timeline, with my heart beating steadily in a dark, quiet box, on hold.
Could take a week.
Could take the rest of my life.
The first time I ever met Cary, that was what he said to me, when I asked him how long the Players’ album would take to be completed.
And when I looked back, all the time that had passed since that first day became a murky blur. It was like I didn’t want to remember. Nothing seemed quite real. Like if it never even happened, it wouldn’t have mattered.
It shouldn’t have mattered.
That was fucked-up, but I let myself indulge in the idea that it shouldn’t have hurt me like it did. I didn’t know him very long. I didn’t love him that deeply.
It didn’t matter.
What evidence did I have, anyway, that it was real, except for this hole inside of me? This dark box wherein my heart stuttered along, waiting… unsure of whether or not it should actually be in mourning.
And of course, there was that money Cary had put in my back account.
And the text stream that I couldn’t bear to delete from my phone, even though we’d exchanged maybe twenty words… and none that actually meant anything at all.
All I got from him, if anything, were one-word answers to my occasional questions about the album and how it was coming along, when it would be done. It was the only thing he’d actually answer me about.
Yes. No. Thanks. Soon.
September
Unfortunately for me, it was the season of love. Romance was heavy in the air, like too much perfume.
Everyone seemed to have something to celebrate.
Except me.
I really didn’t feel like celebrating. But I still tried to show up.
For the most part.
I went to so many parties, I lost track. Old friends of mine and new ones were getting engaged. Getting married. Having babies.
Landing dream jobs.
And then, of course, there was my dream job. The one I’d landed after Cary broke my heart.
Life went on.
Courteney and Xander got engaged, and when Courteney called to tell me, I cried.
I wasn’t sure if it was joy or self-pity.
Bit of both?
She said Xander had proposed to her on the Cambie Bridge. The same place where, exactly one year before, he’d told her he was going to ask her to marry him someday. It sounded incredibly romantic.
They threw an engagement party at their condo, and Courteney invited me.
I went.
Cary didn’t.
He didn’t even show up to celebrate and support his own sister’s engagement to his best friend. I wasn’t sure who I felt more sorry for that night. For Courteney, for Xander, or for myself.
I wondered why we did this to ourselves.
For him.
I couldn’t not love him if I tried. I knew that much. And I knew Courteney and Xander felt the same.
And so, we waited.
I deliberated.
I stalled out.
I texted him. I waited, long and hard and breathless, for him to text me back.
I really wasn’t sure what to do with the money he’d paid me. I’d worked for it; for some of it, anyway. But I didn’t need it. I kept wondering if I should give it back. If he’d ever ask for it back.
I kind of wanted him to, just so he’d say more than one word to me.
An actual sentence. Was that too much to ask for?
I kept dreaming of Liam showing up in a dark car to drive me over to Cary’s house, where he asked me for his money back. And held me down while he fucked me again.
Yeah. Those dreams.
I had a lot of those dreams.
I just kept thinking that this nightmare would end, that it would have to end. That he’d reach out to me when the album was done, and we’d work things out.
And in the meantime, I waited.
I waited for him.
It was like there were two Taylors: the one who worked her ass off at her job so maybe no one would notice how bad the other Taylor was suffering… and the one who zoned out while jogging, while driving, while lying on the couch, spiraling endlessly over a puzzle that could never be solved. The why and the how that could never be explained, because the one person who had the answers