Page 44 of Drowning Erin
“I thought you lovedRob.”
“No, I love weddings,” she says. “I barelyknowRob because he’s always at work. He never comes out and he only made it tooneof our holiday parties. So goodriddance.”
“He didn’t cheat,Harper.”
“Hanging out with that girl for six weeks without mentioning it to you? Going to Belgium with her?” she scoffs. “You seriously believe he didn’tcheat?”
“Ido.”
She looks as if she feels sorry for me, which Ihate.
“It doesn’t matter,” she says. “He should have told you, and he shouldn’t have been taking you for granted all this time. So goodriddance.”
It should reassure me that I’ve made the right decision, but it’s always easy to sum up another person’s life as black and white: a bad, inconsiderate boyfriend, who may have cheated. Things are rarely that clear-cut.
Maybe he did things he shouldn’t have. Maybe I encouraged him to do those things. Maybe I should have been a little more assertive and forthcoming all along. And also, most importantly, we were happy. Not mind-blowingly happy, but I’m not convinced anyone is. And it’s sure not like I’m mind-blowingly happy now. So maybe I just gave up a relatively good life for nothing atall.
* * *
Iget home,feeling exhausted and overwhelmed by my own uncertainty and the decisions I have to make—like finding somewhere to live, when this has been my home for nearly three years. I chose every paint color, every piece of furniture in this house. There’s such finality to moving out. I text Rob, asking him to give me a week to get my stuff out since I’m leaving for Squaw Valley in the morning, and he callsimmediately.
“Babe, don’t move. It’s your house too. Come on. At least stay until I get back.Please.”
I don’t know. It seems like a slippery slope, claiming independence and still living in the lap of luxury, just waiting to get seduced back into all the ways being with him made my lifebetter.
“Rob, maybe I need to be on my own, completely on my own, so that if we try this again we’re making a cleanstart.”
“Wearedoing this again. It’s going to work out. I know that for a fact. You’ll see when I come back. So don’tleave.”
I tell him I don’t know. And then I realize after I get off the phone that he’s already back to ignoring the things I want. So I text him to say I’m moving. And I ask him not to call me again until he’s home forgood.
33
Brendan
Three YearsEarlier
Gabi is amazing.And it’s not just her looks, although in a country full of beautiful women, people still stop on the street to stare at her. She’s fun, easygoing, and fucking brilliant—heading to medical school at Stanford next fall. She can keep up with me on a bike as easily as she can keep up a conversation. In the months before she got here, I was basically fucking my way through Italy. Now I’d legitimately rather spend time just hanging out with her than sleeping with someoneelse.
Being around her makes me realize that I’ve maybe been a little homesick, too. There’s just a certain ease when you’re talking to someone who has all the same cultural references, who shares so much of your background. I can quoteTalladega Nights, for instance, without her looking at me like I’m insane. She fills a void I didn’t know I had, and I don’t even mind that we haven’t slept together yet—although when she looks up at me under those lashes of hers I sometimes wonder if I’m not going to explode waiting for it tohappen.
I find myself talking about home a lot. Nearly every high school story I have involves Rob—drunk nights out, hung-over mornings eating burritos at King’s Chef—reminding me of a time when I didn’t resent him the way I have of late. Gabi has fewer stories to tell because she was a much more driven student than I ever was, and being pre-med ate up all of her free time. She tells me she’s had two serious relationships that ended badly, but hasn’t done much casual dating. She asks about my relationship history and I’m reluctant to answer—if she’s looking for reassurance, I doubt the truth is going to offer any. I’ve never dated anyone longer than amonth.
“So you’ve never been in love?” sheasks.
“I think I was, once,” Iadmit.
“What was so special about thisgirl?”
I don’t know what to tell her, because it was no one thing. It was Erin’s looks, but it was also justher—her laugh and the way she tilts her head when she’s listening intently, the way she sings when she’s doing something mindless and how her eyes light up when something excitesher.
“I don’t know,” I tell her. “It was justeverything.”
“You sound like you’re not over her,” Gabisays.
“There was never anything to be over,” I reply. “We never went out once. And now she’s with my bestfriend.”
“Ouch,” shesays.