Say the Word(38)

And yet, deep beneath the surface in a place I didn’t want to admit existed even to myself, I was tremendously saddened by that knowledge. Irrationally jealous that he’d lived out our dream without me. He’d gone everywhere. Seen everything. And sure, I was living in the best city in the world — but I’d never left the country. Heck, I’d never left the east coast, or even been on an airplane. The most travel I’d ever done was when I rented a truck and drove for two days straight from Atlanta to New York.

There’s a nonsensical dichotomy that exists within you after you break up with someone — especially if it’s someone you loved deeply. A large part of you hopes they’ll move on, be happy, follow their dreams to the fullest.

That’s the side you show the world.

But a smaller part of you, whether you admit its existence or not, secretly and selfishly yearns for a reality in which that person would never move on. Never forget your love, or replace you with someone else; never be fully complete again, without you by their side.

That’s the side we hide away, the innermost part of ourselves that we push down below the socially-acceptable responses to heartbreak.

“You okay?” Fae asked.

“I could use a shot or two of tequila, but considering it’s ten in the morning I should probably wait at least a few more hours.”

“Valid point.”

Having finished his breakfast and gotten dressed for the day, Nate eventually joined us. The three of us spent a few more minutes scrolling through images of Sebastian — at art gallery openings, at awards dinners, in exotic locales — and I felt my stomach turn at the sight of all the women who’d graced his arm. Models, heiresses, accomplished artists — all of them beautiful, wealthy, and a better match for Sebastian than I’d ever been.

When the tears began to threaten, I knew I’d reached my limit so I asked Fae to turn off the computer. Nate slipped one comforting arm around my shoulders and Fae grabbed hold of my hand, and for a while we just sat there in the quiet. I focused on breathing in and out, lost in my thoughts until the door to Simon’s bedroom was thrown open with a metallic bang, and his voice cut through the loft.

“Jeeze, who died?” he asked, walking into the room. “Or are you guys putting together an ensemble audition for a production of Les Mis no one told me about?”

Nate, Fae, and I all burst into laughter at the same moment.





Chapter Fourteen





Now


The crowds were nearly oppressive, but that didn’t deter Fae from her mission.

After we left the boys at the loft, we’d headed back to my apartment for a quick change out of our evening wear. Fae was taller than me by a few inches, so even my largest shorts were booty-hugging on her frame, but she pulled off the look with the same cool confidence she exuded when wearing Prada and pearls. We set out for the flea market not long after, and she soon become a woman obsessed — not, unfortunately, with finding designer deals or hunting down hidden gems amongst the many racks and displays that made up the flea market, but with distracting me from all thoughts of Sebastian. We wound our way through the maze of colorful carts and tables, chatting with the street vendors we knew and giggling at the sight of confounded tourists trying to discern some kind of pattern from the chaos.

The first time I’d been here, I’m sure I’d worn that same shell-shocked look of astonishment as my unaccustomed eyes tried to take it all in at once. Milk crates full of vintage records were stacked along tabletops, mothball-scented mink coats hung from long racks, plastic bins brimmed with unorganized shoes of all sizes and styles, and various food carts exuded spicy, exotic smells. Though it was the first weekend of September, the day was unseasonably warm and sunny. Fae and I weren’t the only shoppers milling around in cut-off shorts and tank tops.

We wandered for about an hour without purchasing anything, before the unrelenting midday sun began to bake the concrete and my skin started to glisten with a thin sheen of perspiration.

“I’m going to grab an ice cream before we go, you want one?” Fae asked. “My treat.”

“Sure,” I told her, wiping the beading sweat from the back of my neck. “But I have to make a pitstop at Vera’s table, just to say hello.”

“Tell her hi for me,” Fae ordered. “What flavor do you want?”

“Mint chip, but only—”

“Only if it’s the green kind. I know, I know,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Don’t know why I even bothered to ask.”

“It doesn’t taste the same when it’s white!” I called after her.

I heard her answering laughter even after I’d lost sight of her in the crowd.

Turning, I made my way to the end of the row, where Vera always set up her table. We’d met last summer, on one of my many weekend trips to the market, and though our language barrier didn’t allow for much communication, we’d struck up an unlikely friendship through shared smiles, a few odd phrases, and a variety of creative hand gestures. Sometimes, after our visits, I’d plug whatever Albanian words I could recall from our conversations into my iPhone in a pathetic attempt to retrospectively decode the things she’d said to me. It was safe to say, the only words I could keep track of with any kind of consistency were “Alo!” for hello and “Mirupafshim!” for bye.