by Emily Smith
“Right now, I just want to leave.”
Galen appeared to compose herself, a hint of her familiar pride returning. She opened the door for Rowan, and without another word, Rowan was gone.
* * *
When Galen was twelve, she fell off her bike and broke her wrist—a comminuted, distal-radius fracture that required surgical fixation and a cast for eight weeks. Even so many years later, she so clearly remembered the pain immediately after her hands hit the pavement. At twenty-four, during her first year of medical school, she passed a kidney stone the size of a small pea. Her insides were literally being torn apart. Galen was no stranger to pain. But she never understood what a broken heart actually felt like.
This was pain. This was excruciating, unbearable pain that left her so uncomfortable she couldn’t sit still. And it was utterly debilitating. For years, she’d gone from girl to girl, thinking she had the harder job of the two. She’d wait for the initial shine of new lust to wear off, and when it did, she would dismiss the person, the hint of guilt following her only for another day or two. And then she’d be fine. She wouldn’t sit up at night torturing herself with what she could have done differently. She wouldn’t see a photo or hear a song and suddenly feel compelled to break down in tears. After she let them go, her life would, more or less, resume its course without another thought. But Galen had never been on the other end of this particular equation before.
It had been twenty-four hours since she’d last heard from Rowan—since Rowan had looked her straight in the eye and told Galen it was time for her to move on. Her words still stung like Rowan had spoken them moments ago. She would try to shut them out, but they just kept replaying in her head. And each time they did, they gutted her even further. She hadn’t expected to hear from Rowan, although she found herself constantly having to squelch the recurrent hope that said she might.
It had been twenty-four hours since Rowan left her apartment—since Galen spoke the words “I guess this is it” and shut the door behind her. She’d managed to hold herself together in front of Rowan, aside from the occasional tear she resigned herself to. But she had to let her go. This was what Rowan wanted. She’d made her choice. Galen only hoped she would come to regret it. With the living-room door shut, she looked around the apartment. It had never been so small or so dark. She felt suffocated, like the air was being plucked from her lungs—until she realized she couldn’t breathe through her choking sobs. Galen wasn’t at all familiar, or comfortable, with crying. On the rare occasion she did, it was about her family or something equally as substantial. But never once had it been over a girl. Yet here she was, standing alone in her living room, the tears so hot and heavy they threatened to drown her. Her abdominal wall contracted so heavily she thought she might vomit, and for a brief moment, the loss was so overwhelming, she couldn’t imagine how she would survive it.
So this was heartbreak. This was what all those girls she’d broken up with had been complaining about. Galen couldn’t blame them. It was fucking miserable. She’d take forty broken wrists and eighteen kidney stones over this kind of pain any day. Because she didn’t know of any narcotic or treatment for this kind of pain. Nothing would take it away—nothing except time. Galen panicked. She needed a solution for everything. Everything could be fixed, right? Time wasn’t good enough. She wasn’t prepared to endure this kind of discomfort.
Once her breathing had slowed, she let herself glance around her apartment. It was amazing how much of Rowan was left here. They’d been together only the last six weeks, but in that time, they’d spent essentially every night together. This wasn’t unusual behavior for queer people. But it was unusual behavior for Galen. She’d always needed a significant amount of space. But Rowan had stayed the night that first amazing, perfect, untouchable time, and she’d never left. Galen never wanted her to leave. Rowan had so quickly become a fixture here, on her couch, in her bed, in her kitchen. And what normally would have completely terrified Galen just felt right for the first time in her life.
And now, Rowan was gone. They had strung up the Christmas lights three days before. They had decorated the enormous tree Galen had lugged up two flights of stairs. And after they finished, they’d spent the afternoon watching old movies and cuddling. For the first time since she was a kid, she had been looking forward to Christmas—Christmas with Rowan by her side. After Rowan left, she stared at the dark tree in the corner, wondering how things could go so wrong, so quickly. Rowan had pulled the rug directly out from under her and shattered her happiness into dust. She was back to the beginning—a life without love, without feeling.
After so many years in surgery, Galen had essentially sleep-trained herself. Not once could she remember suffering from insomnia. But that night, she tossed and turned. Her bed felt far too big. Over the last several weeks, she’d gotten into the habit of sleeping all the way to the left, even when Rowan was on call overnight and couldn’t stay over. Last night, after Rowan left, she’d made an effort to lie in the middle, even stacking the pillows under her head that Rowan had used only a few nights before. Everything felt too big yet too small all at once. Everything felt wrong. She was alone. Alone was something Galen had coped with many times. But she was never lonely. Not until last night, that is.
She lay awake thinking about a recent study about MRIs done on the brains of people who were in love and on people who’d just had their hearts stomped on. The MRIs of the people in love revealed a dopamine pathway that was, essentially, a constant reward center for the brain. And the MRIs of the broken-hearted? Those showed a complete blockade of that pathway. A dead end to happiness. What Galen found most disturbing was the revelation that the brain of the recently dumped was no different from the brain of someone withdrawing from cocaine. She finally felt herself drifting off to sleep, picturing that little dopamine pathway in her brain being cut short, preventing any chance at happiness from passing. Exhaustion that comes only from the kind of unbearable pain that wears you down to your bones was taking over, overriding some of the immense sadness. I’ll feel better when I wake up, Galen told herself.
She was awake every two hours. The room was too hot, in spite of the fan next to her bed blowing full speed onto her face. The multiple pillows she’d stacked were lumpy and uncomfortable, but she was afraid to reposition them in case Rowan’s pillow still smelt like her hair. Even at two am she didn’t think she could take that. Her skin was damp, and her head throbbed. Her heart perpetually beat just a little too hard and too fast. She felt awful in every sense of the word. It was like her body was rejecting the loss as much as she was. Galen set her alarm for five thirty, but she was awake at five, her heart still pounding, feeling no better than she had the night before. As she opened her eyes, she turned to her right, for just a moment expecting to see Rowan’s sleeping face she’d have to kiss in order to wake her up. When Galen found herself alone in the bed, the reality of the morning hit.
People talk about feeling like they’re in a bad dream. Galen always thought that was a terrible cliché. She’d never had anyone close to her die, but she imagined that might be the only thing that could potentially compare to the terror of a nightmare. But that morning, when she woke up, she walked out to the kitchen to make her coffee, poured in the creamer, fed Suzie, and went back to bed to watch CNN like she did every day before work—like she and Rowan had begun to do every day before work.
But this time, she was stuck in that nightmare. Rowan was gone. And Galen had to fight the urge to shake her head furiously back and forth to wake herself up, like she’d done as a child when she found herself in a horrible dream. This method had always worked when she was younger. But it wouldn’t do any good this time. She was already awake. This reality felt as bad as any bad dream she’d ever had. But she couldn’t do anything to make it go away.
Somehow, Galen managed to will herself to get into the shower and brush her hair. She even had moments of strength between the pain, where she thought she might just be okay after all
. She was resilient. She was tenacious. She was a Burgess. And Burgesses didn’t let a little thing like feelings trip them up. On her way into the hospital, the radio played Christmas carols on an endless loop. But Galen had to turn it off, opting to sit in rare silence rather than bask in the joys of the season she was far from feeling. This was usually her favorite time of the year. Now she was thinking she wanted nothing to do with the happiness everyone else was experiencing.
She spent the rest of the day in the hospital, trying to keep herself as busy as possible, not allowing herself more than a second to think about the loss slowly eating away at her soul. Sometimes it worked. She even heard herself laugh once or twice. Other times, she found herself staring into nowhere, chewing on the end of her pen, thinking about the way Rowan used to feel in her arms, or her smile, or her hair. Panic would set in, because she knew what came next—the pain. The pain that sucked the life out of her. The pain that made her feel like she might never be fully whole again. Every breath felt like an accomplishment. And every minute that passed without Galen disintegrating into a ball of nothing held promise for her. But the hurt was still more than she knew how to tolerate. Maybe this was karma for all the years she’d hurt others with abandon. Galen wasn’t sure she believed in karma. But she did find it incredibly cruel that once she had finally learned to love someone, she had to learn how to lose that person all at the same time.
Chapter Eighteen
Rowan asked Makayla to cover for her for the next couple of days. She told her she had something personal going on that she would fill her in on later, and she told herself she just wanted to spend some extra time with Brian. The truth lay somewhere in between. Rowan couldn’t imagine facing Galen yet. The look on her face when she’d told her they were done still haunted Rowan’s sleep, and she hadn’t stopped thinking about her for more than a minute.
But life would go on. It had to. Rowan had done the only plausible thing she could, and that decision soothed any pain she might have felt. For two days, Brian had been lurking around the apartment like a lost dog, and Rowan was growing irritable and claustrophobic.
“What are you going to do about a job, Brian?” she asked him while they sat eating pizza on her small sofa.
“I have a couple of leads with some startups in Cambridge.” Brian had been on his computer since the morning after his arrival. Rowan thought he might have been job-hunting, but every time she caught a glimpse of his screen, he was playing some kind of game that involved shooting zombie-like creatures and yelling through his headset. It was like being back in Texas again, Rowan thought—as if someone had taken her life, picked it up, and moved it somewhere colder and darker. There was still no fire between them. There was still no part of Rowan that wanted to touch him. Life was almost instantly lackluster and unfulfilling. She supposed it had always been like this. But now, she knew better.
Later that night, when Makayla’s shift was ending and Brian had been in Rowan’s hair just about long enough, she texted Makayla to meet her for dinner.
Makayla was waiting for her in the entryway of one of the sushi places in Fenway. “Jesus, Texas, you look like a train wreck.” She probably did look like a mess. She hadn’t showered in at least a day. Her hair was unruly and thrown into a haphazard bun. Her clothes were wrinkled. She’d barely bothered to put on makeup.
“Yeah, I know.”
“Tell me what the hell happened.” The hostess led them to a table and they sat down.
“First, drinks,” Rowan answered.
They made small talk about work until the waitress brought two glasses of prosecco. Rowan was praying Galen’s name wouldn’t come up yet.
“How was the whipple?” Rowan asked.
“Incredible. I mean, I didn’t get to actually do anything, but I watched the entire operation. What a mess. Old Man Burgess even let me hold a retractor. Wait. How did you know I was scrubbing on a whipple today?” Makayla nodded. “Ah, right. Galen. Speaking of Galen…”
Rowan’s heart pounded. “Makayla…”
“What did you do to her, Texas?”
“What?”
“The poor thing’s been walking around like a beaten puppy all day. You know, like one of those Sarah McLachlan commercials? Really sad.”
Rowan had a hard time imagining Galen as a helpless, dejected animal. “I didn’t do anything to her.”
“You two get into a fight or something? Come on, a little lesbian drama?” Makayla lightly punched her shoulder, but Rowan didn’t crack a smile.
“We broke up.”
Makayla’s face fell, and she sat quietly for several seconds, which was probably an eternity to her. “Why?”
“Brian came back. Thanksgiving night. I went home, and he was sitting on my steps.”
“So…you just took him back? And ditched Galen?” Makayla squinted, clearly befuddled.
“He loves me, Kayla. He’s a good guy.” Rowan thought about how many times she’d repeated those same words to herself, or to others, over the last several days. They were becoming both redundant and ridiculous.
“And Galen?”
“She’ll be just fine without me.”
“Is that so?” Makayla’s expression of confusion turned to one of judgment.
“Of course she will.”
“I’m sure she will be. Eventually. But I saw a broken human at that hospital today, and she sure isn’t fine without you right now.”
Rowan reluctantly and selfishly found solace in knowing Galen was hurting. Because as the initial shock of Brian’s arrival and her somewhat impulsive decision to end things with Galen wore off, reality had begun to sink in, and with it came the feelings. Rowan missed her. She missed sleeping in her bed every night. She missed being held by her. She missed the way she laughed, the way she smelled. She missed the routines they’d started to build in such a short amount of time.
“I did the right thing,” Rowan said. “I’m better off with Brian.”
“Love isn’t doing the right thing. That’s the stupidest bullshit I’ve ever heard. Love is finding someone you’re excited about. It’s finding someone you want to do everything with, or sit and do nothing with. It’s not complacency and idling your way through life because it’s ‘the right thing.’ And it’s not about picking the person who you think will die without you.” Makayla raised an eyebrow in protest and took a sip of her drink.
“There are more important things than love.”
“Like what?”
“Like loyalty. And time. Brian and I have spent so much of our lives together. Isn’t that worth something?”
“Yes. It’s worth something. But what you and Galen found? That’s worth everything.”
“I made my decision, Kayla.”
“You’re making a huge mistake.” Why was someone as wild as Makayla always the voice of reason?
“I did what I had to do. And I’m happy.” Rowan couldn’t even look at her when she said the words.
“You’re happy? Stop lying to me, Texas. Lie to Galen, lie to Brian, but stop lying to yourself, and stop lying to me. You aren’t happy. You’re guilty. You picked Brian out of guilt, and guilt alone.”
“I did not!”
“Is that right? Then tell me, are you in love with him?” Makayla seemed to know exactly the right questions to ask to crack open the defenses Rowan had built around herself.
“I…I love Brian, yes.”
“That’s not what I asked. Are you in love with him?”
“I told you, I love him.” Rowan suddenly felt trapped and wanted to run from the restaurant. But she had nowhere to go. Makayla was the only place she felt safe anymore.
“That’s not the same thing.”
Rowan sighed, defeated. “I know it’s not.”
“And are you in love with Galen?”
“Yes.” She answered under her breath. Makayla saw right through her, anyway.
“I’m sorry this is happening to you.” Makayla took Rowan’s hand. “I really am. But y
ou need to make this right. I’d be a bad friend if I didn’t tell you that you are letting go of something you may never find again. Trust me. I’ve been looking for that something for a long time. It’s not easy to come by. For my sake, and the sake of every other girl out there who hasn’t found it yet, choose to be happy. Choose yourself.”
Makayla’s words were soothing and poetic, and Rowan knew just how good they sounded. But she couldn’t let them change her mind. She couldn’t let Brian down. “I’ve already made up my mind, Kayla.”
“Listen to me, Texas. If you want to be with Brian, I support you. I just don’t think it’s what you really want. And I don’t want to see you regret this someday.”
* * *
“You’ve got to pull it together, G. You’re depressing me.” Teddy sat on Galen’s desk like always and fiddled with a Rubix’s Cube.
“Oh, I’m depressing you? I’m sorry this is so hard. My breakup must be really difficult for you.”
“You know what I mean.” Teddy kicked her chair. “I’m not used to seeing you like this. Nothing gets you down, you know?”
“Yeah, well, shit’s changed. So shut up and just be supportive.” Galen was in no mood for Teddy’s pep talks. She just wanted to wallow in the self-pity that felt so much easier to consume than the hurt.
“You need a good surgery. That’ll pick you up. Maybe a good splenic rupture or a bowel perf will come in today.”
“Teddy, are you wishing harm on other people so I can operate?” Galen had to laugh a little. He really was just trying to help.
“No! I’m just saying if it were to happen, it would probably make you feel better.”
“I appreciate that.”
“Look. I know it’s soon to be bringing this up, but I hate to see you like this. My sister has this friend, Sunny. She got out of a crappy relationship not long ago, but she’s really cool. And really cute too. Here, let me show you.” Teddy excitedly pulled out his phone and began scrolling. “There she is.”