You Can Remember the Breakup

"I told my parents about us on Saturday morning," Grant said. "My father started having chest pains. My mother called an ambulance. He said he couldn't believe I was doing this to him."

I kept my hands folded on the folder.

"He was admitted for tests. I left after an argument with Owen, and I crashed the car. When I woke up here, my parents were in the room. My mother was crying. I thought I could take it back. I thought if we weren't together, everything would settle down."

"So you decided to make me disappear."

He flinched. "I thought it would hurt you less if you believed I couldn't help it."

"You let me stand in a room full of people who knew I loved you and ask myself whether I was allowed to say it. How was that supposed to hurt less?"

He looked down.

There was no pleasure in his confession. I had been right, and it felt exactly as awful as being right sometimes did.

"I panicked," he said.

"I know. You usually panic more quietly."

He rubbed his face with both hands.

"I haven't done this before. My parents expected me to marry a woman. There are things about my family you don't understand."

"Then you could have told me. I wasn't asking you to invite me to Christmas before you'd worked out how to say my name. I was asking you to mean it when you said we were together."

I looked at the dressing on his temple. I still wanted him to heal. I still wanted somebody to make sure he ate, and that irritated me more than anything he had said.

Love, apparently, did not uninstall cleanly.

"Do you know why I answered the way I did yesterday?" I asked.

"Because you were angry."

"Because I was tired. Angry came later."

He lifted his eyes.

"I was getting ready to leave before Thursday. I'd already started handing things over at work. I thought perhaps if you stopped seeing me every day, I'd finally stop waiting for you."

"You should have told me."

I almost laughed.

"I asked you to dinner. You said work made it complicated. I asked whether you wanted something to happen between us. You said you needed time. When I stopped asking, you brought me coffee and wanted to know why I wasn't myself. I told you, Grant. I just didn't use a presentation deck."

His mouth tightened, then loosened.

"I wanted you here."

"Yes. As long as wanting me didn't require a decision."

The words sat between us, plain and ugly.

For the first time, he didn't try to arrange them into something easier.

"I've resigned," I said. "Caroline has my notice. My last day will be two weeks from today."

"Miles, don't make a career decision because you're upset with me."

"I'm making a life decision because I haven't liked my life for a while. My work is good. I'm proud of it. I don't want it anymore."

"What will you do?"

"Sleep. See my friends. Become a burden on the bar's coffee supply. I'm considering several exciting avenues."

He gave a short, helpless laugh. It hurt to hear it. I had worked so hard for that sound once.

"Can we talk when I'm discharged?"

"You can contact Caroline about the handover. You don't need another personal meeting to understand this one. We're finished."

I stood.

"For three days, I was your boyfriend. I would have liked longer. I won't keep auditioning for it."

He said my name, but he didn't reach for me again.

I left the folder on his table. There were copies at the office. I no longer needed to take everything away with me.

In the elevator, my eyes filled.

I stared aggressively at the floor numbers until the doors opened.

A woman with a bunch of balloons held the door for me. One balloon said IT'S A BOY.

I briefly considered borrowing it for my next coming-out announcement. At least somebody would have been prepared to celebrate.

At the office, Caroline took one look at my face and didn't ask.

She put a fresh coffee on my desk and reassigned the remaining hospital visits.

Over the next two weeks, I did my job.

I trained my replacement, a calm woman named Priya who asked sensible questions and showed no signs of being attracted to the management. I gave her all the information she needed and none of the advice she hadn't requested.

Grant was discharged midweek. His messages changed from work questions to invitations to talk, then back again when I answered only the work questions.

On my last afternoon, he was away from the office. I was grateful enough to suspect Caroline of organizing it.

She handed me a farewell card with a coffee stain on the envelope.

"Go and have an interesting life," she said. "Preferably with fewer urgent calendar updates."

"That's a high bar."

"You own one. You'll manage."

I hugged her. Then I carried a small box out to my car.

Three years fitted into a mug, a desk plant, and an emergency bag of candy. I was offended by the efficiency.

At home, I blocked Grant's personal number and removed his access to the shared work calendar.

Then I stayed up playing a game until five in the morning, because apparently my first act of freedom was becoming sixteen again.

Noah's message arrived as I was losing a fight to a man dressed as a mushroom.

I've set up a separate savings account for repayments. Would monthly transfers work for you?

I wrote back that he could finish school before worrying about it.

The typing dots appeared, vanished, and reappeared.

I understand. Thank you. I'm heading to the bus now, so I may be slow replying.

I checked the time.

Me: Why are you catching a bus before the sun has submitted its availability?

Noah: First orientation appointment. It takes two connections from home.

Me: Are you still closing at the bar?

Noah: Some nights. Tessa lets me leave early if it's quiet.

I thought about the distance between the apartment he shared with his parents and the college he had mentioned. I thought about him carrying a textbook onto a bus after midnight.

Me: We should talk tonight. Are you working?

Noah: Yes. Is everything all right?

Me: Everything is fine. Stop apologizing before I've even complained.

Noah: I didn't apologize.

I looked at the screen.

Then I laughed into my empty apartment.

Me: Excellent progress. Keep it up.