Brief Chronicle of Another Stupid Heartbreak

by Adi Alsaid

  Cal is charming and considerate, less sure of what he wants from life, but certain that he loves New York too much to leave it. He’s got a hipster aesthetic and a few cheesy tastes, but is to his core a good soul that wants the best for others. He’ll attend Columbia in the fall.

  Together, they make storybook love feel possible. They actually go out of their way to remind me that it is. “It’s all about keeping the door open to the possibility,” Cal says, quoting a short story, a habit they both share, though it’s unsure whether they’re drawing on the same material or each have come into this admirable quirk separately. They go on dates to Central Park in order to watch meteor showers, even on overcast days, because Cal doesn’t want Iris to go through life never having seen one. Their first date would be the envy of even the swooniest contemporary YA novels. They learn how to cook pasta together, even when they know it’s a skill they won’t get to share together for long.

  In my mind, if I managed to capture the magic of their relationship in one of these columns, then I would be better off. I would have learned something valuable about love, understood relationships better, gotten marginally better at this thing we’re all walking around obsessing over all the time. Maybe I could help some of you avoid the same fate I’d met by teaching you to hang on to whatever love is in your lives.

  What I managed to do was miss my deadline a bunch of times, lose this job, lose my scholarship, neglect my friendships, neglect my family, fall in love with Cal, and not know what to do when my ex succumbed to my silent wishes and changed his mind, begging to see me again.

  This is the point in the column where I tell you how I learned to let go of my broken heart and move on from my ex, how Cal and Iris taught me that love that ends is, even with that bitter end, still love. Or I tell you Cal and Iris’s secret for maneuvering the minefield of the summer before college. I tell you how they succeeded where I—and maybe many of you—failed.

  Except love isn’t that tidy. You’ve all seen that, if not firsthand then at least in this column. Spending time with a couple doesn’t mean I know how they’ve cracked the secret to love. Hell, the fact that they’re happy and facing a difficult decision with levelheaded maturity doesn’t mean they’ve cracked the secret to love at all. It doesn’t mean they’ve learned how to avoid heartbreak.

  Did I learn a lesson through all this? Kind of. It didn’t come from Iris and Cal, but from a bookseller named Starla that I’ve become friends with. Love that ends was still love.

  Have I absorbed that lesson deep in my heart so that it can fight off all the hurt swirling around inside? No, not really. I think that’s just how love kind of works.

  * * *

  I finished the column, finally. It wouldn’t run, but I guess I needed someone to read it, and that someone may as well have been Hafsah. It wouldn’t fix anything, but at least I’d know that I had turned something in, in the end. I shut my computer and creaked open my window, then slipped into bed. Somewhere nearby, I could hear neighbors arguing, their voices carrying through enough that if I truly listened, I could have made out what they were talking about. Instead, I closed my eyes, and let the conversation fade into white noise.

  27

  YEAH WHATEVER

  The weekend passed by uneventfully, a definite weight off my chest now that I’d managed to write again. Not that my chest was particularly weightless.

  I went to work, happy that I could do so next to Pete again. Afterward, we jumped around from bookstore to bookstore. We hung out with Starla for a bit. Then I went back home and had dinner with Mom and Jase. It was supposed to be another New Jersey weekend for us, but Dad had to take a last-minute trip to a conference in Denver, which was fine by me because I don’t know if I was ready to face New Jersey again, or his questions about my scholarship.

  I resisted texting Cal or Iris, the shame creeping down my spine every time I even looked at their names in my phone. It was weird to miss not just Cal, but Iris too. And on top of that, I couldn’t ignore the fact that Leo was still in love with me. I couldn’t help but imagine being by his side again, doing it better this time. Going on Cal and Iris–esque dates in Central Park, keeping the door creaked open for life like the movies to sneak in.

  On Monday morning, as I was walking to the theater for a shift, I got an email from Hafsah. I didn’t want to get my hopes up, but hopes are rebellious little buggers that do what they want. I clicked on the email immediately.

  Hey Lu,

  I’d guessed there was a reason for the missed deadlines. Wish you would have channeled some of those frustrations and heartache into writing, but I understand that’s not always how it works. I talked to the team and we decided we will run this column next week. I’ve attached my notes.

  Unfortunately, it will be your last column, as I’ve already filled the position. If you have any pitches for one-offs in the future, please do reach out.

  Take care,

  H

  That felt like something. I didn’t know what, exactly. But it was something.

  Later that night, I found myself with Pete traversing the particular circle of hell that is Times Square. “I can’t believe Leo is holding his going-away party at Dave and Buster’s,” Pete said, avoiding contact with one of those dudes that dressed up like the methed-up nightmare version of your favorite superhero.

  “I think he’s doing it tongue in cheek.”

  “But you’re not sure.”

  I sighed, avoiding accidentally photobombing about six different selfies happening at the same time. “No, I’m not sure.”

  We pushed open the doors and entered the adolescent casino. Baseball and soccer games were on every one of the approximately three hundred television screens around the bar/restaurant/arcade. Dudes were running around holding their twenty-ounce beers and jumping from machine to machine like they never wanted to grow up. I couldn’t blame them much. I scanned the crowd, looking for a place Leo and his group of dweebish friends might be hanging out, and spotted them at a long table littered with half-drunk sodas, half-eaten nachos, and fully-eaten chicken wings. Leo himself was not far off from the table, at one of those basketball games where you have to shoot a tiny ball into a tiny hoop to get a tiny amount of tickets.

  “We could leave,” Pete said, looking around the room, clearly uncomfortable at the abundance of noise and absence of books.

  “As much as I want to, I should probably have this interaction. Closure, and all that.”

  “Alright. Want me to come with? Or should I go pretend I know how to play Skee-Ball, kind of keep my eye on you and watch for some sort of signal that it’s all going terribly so I can come intercede?”

  “Yeah, the second one.” I watched Leo shoot small hoops for a while. He was wearing the outfit I thought he looked best in, his black jeans, a light green T-shirt, and his gray hoodie, which he brought everywhere with him even in summer because he hated intense air-conditioning. I remembered wearing the hoodie a few times, its oversize sleeves feeling like Leo himself was wrapped around me. I remembered the first night we’d ever kissed, how he was wearing a similar outfit, but with a couple of added layers because of the weather. His skin had been warm, his cheeks flushed from the fleece and body contact. The night we’d broken up he was also wearing those pants, only with a tank top instead of a T-shirt. And he’d pulled away as soon as I’d tried to touch him, so there wasn’t a clear memory of how his skin had felt.

  Pete clapped a hand on my shoulder. “I don’t mean to be an unsupportive friend right now, but can I borrow five dollars for tokens?”

  I sighed and gave him the money, then crossed the mayhem of the arcade to approach the stupid, beautiful jerk of an ex-boyfriend who’d landed me in this predicament in the first place. He was next to his friend Miguel, who saw me approaching and thankfully peaced out.

  “Lu,” Leo said, combing his hair back behind his ear. I wondered if he
knew what my name in his mouth did to me. “You came.”

  I crossed my arms in front of my chest, now wondering if this was a good idea. I tried to look anywhere but into his beautiful brown eyes. There’s much to be said about the attraction of new people, but so much more to be said about someone whose eyes hold history for you. “Yeah, I thought it’d be best to say goodbye in person.”

  Leo rubbed the back of his neck. “Oh. Yeah. Right. I’m glad you’re here.” Then he broke into a wide smile, his eyes shimmering with what could well have been tears. “Can we go somewhere a little more quiet?”

  I looked around. “We’re at a Dave and Buster’s, I don’t know if that exists here.”

  He chuckled, then walked over to a Jurassic Park shooting game where you could sit down in your own little private booth thingy that was maybe meant to represent a car. He pulled the curtain aside and peeked in. “This is open.”

  I bit my lip, thinking of sitting in an enclosed, private place with Leo again. I turned over my shoulder and saw Pete playing Skee-Ball, but then spilling a handful of tokens out of his shirt pocket as he tossed a ball. He leaned over to pick them all up, not looking in my direction. “Sure,” I said to Leo, stepping inside the booth.

  “So, you’re leaving.”

  “Next week. This was just the only day that worked for everyone.” He put his hands on his knees, fidgeting. I’d never known him to be a fidgeter. I was the restless one between us, the one who didn’t know where hands were supposed to go, didn’t know if at any point I looked like a weirdo who thought too much about where to put her hands. A couple of kids ran past the game, causing the curtains to flutter a little. Outside the booth, there was incessant dinging and shouting and simulated explosions. But inside the noise seemed to fall away. “I’m sorry about all the messages. It’s just that—”

  “It’s okay,” I said, cutting him off. “I’m sorry I didn’t respond. It’s been a crazy few weeks.”

  “Anything to do with those new friends?”

  “Partially,” I said. Then I took a breath, readying for what I’d come here to say. Pete had helped me figure out exactly what I needed to get off my chest, and I thought the words were on the tip of my tongue, but I suddenly didn’t know anymore if I should even bother. He was leaving, my life would continue without him. I looked at the screen, which was in demo mode, outdated but still pretty decent graphics of velociraptors getting shot. I should leave, I thought, let Leo have his fun day with his friends.

  Then Leo scooted closer to me, reaching for my hand. I was surprised, but managed to look him in the eyes instead of running out terrified. “Let’s try again,” he said. “I’ll do better. I don’t want to lose you.” Then he moved his hand to my cheek, and leaned in to kiss me.

  God, it was so hard not to accept the kiss. His voice sounded so sincere and tender, and I had no doubts that the regret I could hear was authentic. I’d have his company, even if it was only a couple of times a semester, or in text form. Someone who’d ask after my day, make me feel attractive, funny, loved. I’d have love back in my life. My words were back. Now all I needed was this.

  But somehow, I managed to shut up that part of my brain. I pulled back and put my hand on Leo’s chest. And as great as his chest felt, the thrill of touching someone, the memories of slipping my hand beneath his shirt and feeling his skin for the first time, all the times I’d laid my head on his chest while we watched TV, I pulled my hand away.

  “I came here to say bye, Leo. That’s it.” I saw his lip quiver for a moment, and then he turned his head away. “You hurt me when you broke up with me. I wanted us to have a chance. I thought we did. But the truth is that it was probably the best decision. We had what we had. It’s over now. We’re obviously both struggling with that, but that doesn’t mean we should try to erase our hurt. We just have to move past it.”

  Leo turned his head even farther away, and that annoying part of my brain was momentarily moved and flattered that he could be crying. “Yeah, whatever,” he said, his voice almost breaking.

  On the screen, the demo started again, all the same dinosaurs getting shot in the same spots. A stegosaurus swung its tail, and the computer simulation failed to shoot at it, so Leo’s side of the screen flashed red and he lost a life.

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “Whatever.” I reached over and gave his hand a last squeeze. Despite his tears and terse dismissal, his fingers quickly weaved themselves into mine. He wasn’t just regretting the breakup out of loneliness, I knew. He loved me. Still, this felt good. Our love had run its course. We weren’t Iris and Cal, weren’t a storybook love. What we had was real, but it was also over.

  “Take care, Leo,” I said. Then I slipped my hand loose, and left the booth.

  28

  AIRED LAUNDRY

  It was mid-August. The heat had only gotten worse as the summer stretched on, but on this particular day another morning rainstorm had cooled the air down, so I decided to go to Madison Square Park and do some people watching and maybe a little bit of eavesdropping. I had to go to work at the theater in an hour, so I wanted to enjoy the nice day as much as I could.

  I got myself an iced coffee from a street cart and found a spot on a bench with a good view of foot traffic. I kept my notebook within reach, but still tucked away in my bag. It was one of those days where I felt okay with losing my Misnomer gig. Some days weren’t as easy going, especially as I was still getting emails from NYU trying to prepare me for the fall semester, which I wouldn’t be attending.

  My parents had not been thrilled to hear that I’d lost my scholarship, but after a few days of tension, anger, and apparently brainstorming, my mom had come up with the simple solution to defer for a semester or two until I found another job that would allow me to keep the scholarship. If that didn’t happen, I’d look for other grants or take out a loan. “You are young, with your whole life ahead of you,” my mom had said. “Starting college six months or a year after other people will not change anything. And it’ll keep you at home longer, which I’m perfectly happy with.” My dad was a little slower to come around, but he still deferred to my mom’s judgment on almost everything, and if he was still pissed, he hadn’t shown it on my last visit to New Jersey.

  I looked around the park, trying to scope out any potentially interesting interactions. Most people were on their own or talking quietly to each other though, and I was kind of happy just watching instead of actively listening. There was a cute boy on the bench across from me too, and he was laughing every now and then at whatever he was listening to through his earphones. He had a great smile, and really clean shoes, which I know is a weird thing to look at but I somehow always notice it first. I wasn’t about to go talk to him or do anything outrageous like that, but I was okay sticking around and just watching him laugh and eat his way through a bag of chips until he got up and left or I had to go to work.

  My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out to see that Pete was trying to video chat me. I answered, holding the phone up to my face but switching the camera function so that it was showing Pete the cute boy instead of me.

  “Lu?”

  “I’m here. Just showing you this cute guy sitting across from me at the park. Look at how much he’s laughing. He’s so pure.”

  “Are you at Madison Square Park scoping out cute boys on benches again? I thought you were morally opposed to reboots. This feels like one.”

  “I’m not scoping anything out, I was just sitting here having a coffee.” I switched the camera again so Pete could see me. He was on his dorm bed, his pillow propped up against the wall. I could see the corner of a 1984 poster above his head. “How’s your institution of higher learning treating you? Is your roommate still sleeping twenty-six hours a day?”

  “He got up and had a meal the other day, so he’s officially not hibernating,” Pete said. Then he filled me in on how his orientation and first week of classe
s had gone. He complained about the paltry number of bookstores in his college town in Rhode Island, and then we bickered for ten minutes because I said him leaving meant I could now legitimately call dibs on Alice.

  Right as I was about to hang up, I looked over the edge of my phone to get another glance at the cute boy on the bench, when I saw something else entirely. “Oh my God,” I said.

  “What? Is someone doing something surprising even by New York standards? I miss the unexpected sights of the city. Nothing here is surprising. Lu? What’s happening? Your jaw is doing that clichéd dropping thing that we agreed never happens in real life.”

  I glanced down at the screen to give Pete a look, then returned my gaze to the couple entering the park. I hadn’t been sure at first, but now they were close enough that I had no doubts. It was Iris and Cal, holding hands.

  “Pete, I think I’m gonna have to call you back.”

  Right as I said that, Iris looked up and made eye contact with me. She paused and tugged at Cal’s arm, and then they started walking toward me. That was a good enough sign. They weren’t fleeing from me or storming at me with rage in their eyes.

  “Yup, definitely hanging up now. I’ll tell you more later,” I said, and put my phone away, wondering if I could also fit my entire body into my purse. Cute boy laughed again, and I silently begged him to rescue me from the interaction I was about to have. My prayers worked well enough that he looked up at me and smiled, but not enough to get him off the bench.

  “Hey,” Iris said.

  Cal squinted through his glasses, avoiding eye contact. I couldn’t help but stare at their clasped hands. If they noticed they didn’t say anything. “Hey,” I said finally. “You’re still here.”