Ann Aguirre - I Want It That Way

“Like this.” Stepping close, he swiped his thumbs across my eyes, dusting away the tears, then he pressed his lips to my eyelids, one at a time. I raised my face, showing him everything one last time. Ty kissed me softly, honey and salt, hello and goodbye, and all the words we would never whisper again, holed up in bed on a snowy afternoon. He ran fingers through my hair with an awful finality. My breath came out so loud it was almost a sob.

“No regrets. You are a hundred times more wonderful than I deserve.”

This hurt so much; it made me angry. I had no experience having my heart torn from my chest, and he was being so very kind about it. His kindness made me cruel. “My mom said I could do better.”

Ty held my look steadily. “You can. Goodbye, Nadia.”

“Bye, Daniel.” I was even colder than I’d dreamed I could be. That was never what I called him, only what she did. And then I left, like her, because he made me.

Completely numb, I stumbled into the apartment. Max took one look at me and leaped off the couch. He was at my side in an instant, arm around my shoulders. I couldn’t breathe for choking back the tears. My breath came in sharp bursts, bordering on hyperventilation.

He sat me down, rubbing my back. “Okay. Okay.”

Squeezing my eyes shut, I collapsed on him, and Max didn’t say anything else for a long time. Finally, he offered, “This might sound stupid, but I’ve been writing down the things I like about Lauren. I’m not sure it’s helping me get over her exactly, but...it is helping. Maybe you can try something like that.”

“Maybe.”

I loved that he wasn’t asking me to explain. For over an hour, we just sat together, holding hands. I didn’t cry; I couldn’t. When I heard Angus coming up the stairs, his tread too heavy to be Lauren, I retreated to my bedroom and closed the door. Always, I had plans and goals; I focused on what had to be done and worked through it. This situation was no different.

So I got out a clean notebook and started writing. I set down how I felt in this moment, and then I wrote about meeting Ty. Maybe I’d save the journal and read it later, once the memories weren’t so fresh. This way, I can keep them with me. Or hell, maybe I’d burn it. For now, the important thing was to finish.

I wrote until 3:00 a.m. and only stopped because Lauren came to bed then. I pretended to be asleep, and she didn’t bother me. There was a new distance between us, not because I didn’t care to share my pain, but because she’d chosen not to talk about hers. I fell asleep with the knife of losing Sam and Ty still in my chest, and it hurt to breathe.

Friday morning, I went to my practicum meeting, where I apologized profusely. Ms. Roberts was about ten years older than Ms. Parker had been, and she seemed more maternal, peering at me in concern. “People often get sick around the holidays,” she said, dismissing my worries with an easy wave. “And I can definitely see that you’ve been ill. Mind that you don’t let yourself get too rundown.”

“I won’t,” I promised.

The rules and expectations were more or less the same, and I left feeling like she’d give me a fair trial. See, Ty. I didn’t wreck anything. Outside the school, I sat in my car for at least five minutes, resting my head on the steering wheel. I skipped lunch and went home to change into my work uniform. I got to Rainbow Academy, knowing each day I spent with Sam would open the wound all over again, and I couldn’t let him see even a shadow of my pain.

In class I must’ve done a good job because he never gave me that big-eyed, worried look. He chattered and hugged me like always while I fought to keep the damage in check. It’ll get easier, I told myself. It has to.

That weekend, I holed up in my room and wrote more, until I came to the stopping point, our breaking point, and it was like a key turned in the lock, setting me free. I could breathe again because I had all the things I loved about Ty committed to ink and paper. The hurt dulled from dreadful-unbearable to the low throb of a broken bone, properly set. In my demented rush to finish the draft, I’d only thought of getting it out, like I was lancing a wound, and I’d pictured myself possibly burning it all, like an effigy, a symbolic cleansing.

But now, as I touched the pages, I couldn’t bear to imagine seeing everything I adored about Ty going up in sparks and ashes, only embers against the night sky. No, I’d keep it, instead. Someday, I’d want these words, needing to remember how these moments felt, before life went flat and quiet, and I learned to live without my heart. As I got back to my normal life—life without Ty—occasionally the pain flared.

Like two weeks later when Sam announced, “Daddy’s sad.”

“Oh?” It took every ounce of self-control to ask the question casually.

“Yeah. He draws your face a lot.”

My insides squeezed, and mumbling to the lead teacher, I excused myself. In the bathroom, I crouched inside a stall and cried until I saw stars. The wound widened, but I breathed through it. I put cold water on my eyes, and when I went back to Mrs. Trent’s room, I was an iceberg.

Though I tried not to let on, Sam picked up on my mood. He tried to climb on my lap, and I couldn’t let him. I told myself it was because I had work to do, but he must’ve sensed my reservations. His face crumpled when I set him down, big brown eyes swimming in tears.

He clenched two small fists, and he kicked me in the shins.

“You’re mean! And I hate you!”

“What’s wrong?” Mrs. Trent came over, kneeling down to study him in concern because this behavior wasn’t like Sam.

Shit. This was exactly what Ty wanted to avoid.

“He wanted to look at a book together, but I have to clean up first.” It sounded plausible, and Mrs. Trent glanced at Sam, brows raised. Guilt stung me.

“That’s not why. You don’t like me anymore. You haven’t told me a dinosaur joke in forever and you never smile.”

Get it together. You can’t let the breakup affect how you treat Sam. He deserves better.

“That’s not true. I’m sorry if it seems like I’ve been cranky lately. Give me five minutes and I’ll read to you, okay?”

Sniffling, he nodded, watching with worried eyes while I picked up toys. Once I finished, Sam climbed into my lap, and I did the voices for his favorite story. When I finished, he hugged me around the neck; I resolved not to let my misery impact him ever again. In the days that followed, I worked. I studied. I did everything I was supposed to, tiptoeing around the hole inside me. Some nights, I dreamed of Ty. It was never profound, just those little things, like him opening the car door or framing my face in his hands, and I always woke with my face wet with tears. I don’t know how to be brokenhearted. I wish you hadn’t taught me. A few times a month, I saw them coming and going, father and son, twin copper heads shining in the sun. Their circle was complete without me. I turned away from the window; I never went out on the balcony anymore, and not because it was too cold. Probably it was a good thing Ty had never hung out here in the apartment with me. I’d have to move.

Toward the end of January, my roommates threw a small party. Courtney and Emily came, and a new guy Angus was dating, Del Webber. He was cuter than the ex-boyfriend, J-Rod, African American instead of Puerto Rican, plus sweeter and kinder, too. Luckily, it wasn’t the kind of bash we hosted for Lauren, just a few close friends, plus beer and pizza in honor of my birthday. There was cake, one Lauren and Angus baked. They lit candles and sang to me, and I could only wonder, Does Ty know? Is he listening for my steps? Or has he stopped?

Objectively, the night was a success. I had fun. I opened presents. Afterward, I thought, So I’m twenty-two. Lauren was oddly quiet after everyone left, and I decided I’d had enough. Leaving cleanup to the guys, I said, “You and me. Now.”

A small sigh slipped out, but she nodded and said inexplicably, “This is what I was waiting for, anyway.”

In our room, I shut the door, sat down on my bed and folded my arms expectantly. There was most definitely something on her mind, but I couldn’t imagine what. “Well?”

She curled up on the floor beside my bed and rested her chin on the edge of the mattress, a pose familiar since high school. “We talked a little before about how I’m not sure PoliSci is right for me.”

“I remember. Did you decide to change your major?”

Lauren shook her head. “It’s not that. There’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll just come out with it. I’m going home.”

“What?” That didn’t even make sense.

“You wanted so bad for us to go to college together, and when we were eighteen, I wanted it, too. But I hate Michigan. I miss Sharon—never thought I’d say that—and I miss my mom.” From her expression, this wasn’t homesickness talking, something most people got over freshman year. “I tried so hard to make this work, but...this is your dream, not mine, Nadia. I didn’t want to let you down, but I just can’t pretend anymore.”

“So what’re you going to do?” Somehow I didn’t yell at her or make this about breaking a childhood pact. I had to be better, stronger, than that. Somehow. Even though most of me was screaming that I couldn’t give up Lauren so soon after Ty.

It’s too much. This can’t be happening.

“I already lost my scholarship,” she said softly, not looking at me. “I tried to prepare you when I said I didn’t do well at midterms. I did not, in fact, make it up at finals. So...Mom can’t afford tuition now, and I’ll be withdrawing before the cutoff date. I’m going home in four days.” She didn’t sound sad, though. It was more like there was a smile hidden like a sunrise at the back of her throat, and she was just waiting for me to say it was okay, so she could let herself feel the happiness and relief.