Emily had moved in later and paid me her portion.
Renewal was approaching.
I informed the landlord I would not renew.
I began interviewing replacement tenants.
I arranged temporary corporate housing in Amsterdam.
Started immigration paperwork.
Scheduled movers.
Sold furniture Emily had never liked anyway.
Emily noticed I was quieter.
“You okay?”
“Busy.”
“With what?”
“Work.”
Not a lie.
Not the whole truth.
She kept seeing Jake.
The more I detached, the less she seemed to notice.
That hurt in a different way.
I had imagined my emotional withdrawal would create some dramatic recognition.
Instead, Emily appeared relieved that I had stopped questioning her.
At night, I would lie beside her thinking:
I leave in seven weeks.
Six.
Five.
She had no idea.
I considered telling her every day.
Then she would say something that made me wait.
Jake thinks we should go to Montreal next month.
Jake says I should freelance.
Jake says you're overthinking your career.
Jake says.
Jake says.
Jake says.
Eventually, the relationship ended before I told her.
Emily did it.
One Thursday she came home after midnight.
She had been drinking.
Not extremely drunk.
Enough that her filter had loosened.
I was sitting in the living room reviewing relocation documents.
I closed the laptop.
“We need to talk.”
She dropped her bag.
“That sounds ominous.”
She sat opposite me.
Then sighed.
“This isn't working.”
I almost smiled at the absurd timing.
“What isn't?”
“Us.”
“Okay.”
She looked surprised by how calmly I said it.
“I feel suffocated.”
“By what?”
“You.”
“Specifically?”
“The Jake thing.”
“Your jealousy.”
“Your need to know where I am.”
I frowned.
“I don't ask where you are.”
“You ask how my night was.”
“That is generally considered conversation.”
“See?”
“That.”
“That judgmental tone.”
I stared.
Emily continued.
“I need space.”
“To do what?”
“To figure out what I want.”
“With Jake?”
She rolled her eyes.
“God.”
“Alex.”
“This is exactly what I mean.”
“Jake gets me.”
“He’s spontaneous.”
“He doesn't analyze everything.”
“He actually lives.”
I felt something settle inside me.
Not pain.
Confirmation.
“You think I don't live.”
“You live safely.”
“Predictably.”
She waved vaguely around the apartment.
“Plans.”
“Schedules.”
“Savings.”
“Work.”
“You turned down Amsterdam three times because change terrifies you.”
That was the moment I nearly laughed.
I had sacrificed Amsterdam because she refused to go.
Now that sacrifice had become evidence of my cowardice.
I said:
“I turned it down because of you.”
Emily dismissed it with a hand.
“I didn't force you.”
Technically true.
Sometimes the cruelest sentences are technically true.
“You chose that.”