It was agony.
I spent a lot of time wondering what I could have done differently. Was this somehow my fault? Had I rushed it? Had the relationship been more one-sided than I realized? But no—he’d wanted to stay with me nearly every night. He’d taken me to meet his family. He’d called me his girlfriend first. This couldn’t be my fault.
But that didn’t make the breakup any easier.
At home, I put the house projects on hold and channeled my emotions into creative passion. I went to the antique bookstore, found an old volume of mythology that included the tale of Cupid and Psyche, and felt immediately inspired. At home, I began sketching a design based on Canova’s famous sculpture of Cupid and Psyche’s kiss.
The work didn’t heal the wound in my heart—Cupid’s aim was never so good, nor his arrow so sharp—but it did bring some comfort, and at least I’d have another book to display at the art fair. I also made a list of local shops I thought might be interested in selling some pieces, and I gave myself a one-week deadline for approaching at least two of them. Then I surprised myself by going to all five stores on the list—and three of them said yes!
The other two said they weren’t busy enough right now but might be interested in the future. They gave me business cards and asked me to approach closer to summer, when they’d get busy again. It was much less painful than I’d anticipated, and gave me the confidence to start up my own shop on Etsy. Jaime helped me set it up and then took me out for dinner over the weekend to celebrate my new ventures.
“So how does it feel?” she asked.
“Good.” I smiled, grateful that I finally felt hopeful again. “Like I’m moving forward.”
“I’m so glad to hear that.” She raised her glass of wine. “Cheers, babe.”
I touched my glass to hers, took a drink and set it down. “And guess what else I decided?”
“What?”
I took a deep breath and forced myself to say out loud what I’d been thinking about for the last week. “I’m going to book a trip to Paris.”
Her eyes went wide. “But what about the flying thing?”
“I’m going to deal with it.” I sat up taller, feeling even more grit and determination return. Being with Theo had taught me that I liked the way I felt about myself when I stepped outside my comfort zone. Faced my fears. Put on the red lipstick. And watching him let his fear ruin us had forced me to think about all the ways I still let fear hold me back. “I’ve wanted to visit the museums in Paris since I was a little girl. Yes, I’m scared of flying, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to let anxiety keep me from making that dream a reality. I can’t go through life being afraid and careful all the time. At some point, I have to go for what I really want and trust in fate. What’s meant to be will be.”
Jaime blinked at me. “I feel like I should applaud right now. This is the strongest you’ve sounded since the breakup for sure, maybe even ever.” She grabbed my wine glass. “What’s in here? I want some.”
Laughing—God, that felt good—I took it back from her. “It’s not the wine. It’s just that I’ve had a lot of time to think recently. When I first met Theo, he said something to me I often repeat to myself. He said, ‘You don’t have to be anyone else. You just have to stop staring over the edge and jump.’”
“Good advice.”
Talking about it brought even more clarity. “You know, I think for so long I felt like there was something innate about me that wasn’t good enough, exciting enough, resilient enough, talented enough to put myself out there. I talked myself out of so many things because I looked at them as opportunities to fail, not as opportunities to succeed. I was so afraid to fall that I never let myself fly. Does that make sense?”
“Of course it does.” Jaime reached out and put a hand over mine. “I agree one hundred percent, and I have known you a lot of years. As much as the breakup hurt, I think this relationship was good for you.”
I nodded slowly. “I think so too. I just wish it hadn’t ended like that. Or at all. I can’t stop thinking about him.”
“How long has it been?”
“Ten days.” I met her eyes, feeling mine get misty. “I miss him. When will I stop missing him?”
She patted my hand. “I don’t know, sweetie. Give yourself more time, and don’t feel bad about missing him. You loved him—of course you miss him. I bet he’s just as miserable.”
“Maybe.” Somehow that didn’t help. I didn’t wish him misery—I wanted him to be happy.
“In fact, I bet he’s even more miserable since this is his fault. I was in his shoes once.” She shook her head. “It’s the pits.”
“Yeah, but you weren’t like Theo.”
“I wasn’t damaged like Theo, maybe, but I was stubborn as hell. It took me some time to come around. You never know.”
Her tone carried a note of hope, but I wasn’t too optimistic. I wished I could turn back time and return to our snowed-in days at the cabin. We’d been so happy there.
But I couldn’t. I had to move forward, but at least I would do it having more courage, more confidence, and more self-awareness than I’d had before.
No matter what, I’d always have Theo to thank for that.
Thirty-Eight
Theo
* * *
The first few days after I broke things off with Claire were the darkest in my recent memory. A huge weight sat on my shoulders. My limbs felt heavier. A constant ache throbbed in my chest. I went to the gym in the morning, worked during the day, and sat at home every night, wallowing in misery and loneliness. At work I played a role, burying my sadness in order to appear friendly, helpful, knowledgeable, and caring.