I waited, feeling like I was in the midst of a standoff where the stakes were incredibly high.
Her phone buzzed, and she glanced down at it and sighed. “My Uber is here.”
I nodded and watched, nervous to see just what she was going to do. Carrie walked to me, leaned in, kissed my lips softly, and picked up her bag. “I absolutely hate this.”
“This job will be good for you.” I took a deep breath and found what I’d forgotten to say. “I’m really proud of you.”
“Thank you, Skyler.”
They were the last words we said. I stood strong until she was out the door, but my heart had been slashed. She called that night and then again the next day. She had tons to report about the apartment they had her set up in, the private office and dressing room at the station, all for her. I didn’t say a whole lot back, but Carrie didn’t seem to notice. I couldn’t help but notice that we didn’t feel like us anymore, and I wasn’t sure what to do about that.
As for me, everything in my life following that moment dimmed considerably. I went about my week, camera-ready in a brand new wardrobe, smiling at the lens in my brand-new job—but underneath, still just the girl that everyone could either take or leave. The familiar feeling landed even harder because the blow was coupled with how much I missed Carrie. She had become my something to look forward to. Even now, I got off work on a high because parts of me still seemed to think I’d get to spend the evening with her, talking or not talking. Kissing or grinning or eating or laughing. I’d have to break the news to myself all over again, and it was the worst kind of pain. It didn’t end there. They’d given me her vacated desk in the newsroom, which made me miss our private glances, the whispered words of affection in a hallway, or the quick back-and-forth before one of us headed off on an assignment. The loss consumed me, yet I couldn’t seem to do something as simple as pick up the phone and call her, see how her day was going.
She finally left me a message at the end of the second week to make plans for our weekend together. “The only catch is that I can’t make it until Saturday morning because I’m on the ten o’clock on Friday. But we’d still have all day Saturday and the night together, right? Okay, talk soon. I love you.” Everything in me wanted to try it her way. But then I remembered where that would put me. Forever chasing after the person I wanted to love me.
I sent a simple text: You’ve got your hands full and I have an event anyway. Let’s do it another time.
I didn’t have an event, unless you counted sitting on my couch, feeling sorry for myself.
I received a voice mail back within half an hour. “Skyler, are you sure? I was looking forward to seeing your face, but if you’re booked, I get it. Maybe the week after. I love you. Did I mention that?”
Maybe. Soon. Next time.
No thank you.
She was gone.
So was my light.
After that, my sense of doubt began to fester. My self-esteem when it came to Carrie was nonexistent. As a result, a coping mechanism, I picked up fewer of her calls. I placed even fewer of my own. It wasn’t easy. My heart ached beyond measure, but for the first time, I had to choose myself and find a way to breathe again.
* * *
Teenagers had a way of taking over a room, and that was exactly what I needed that weekend. Let other people do the peopling, while I played the role of supporting character.
“So, I told Bobby that you’re my cousin and they said that their whole family watches you on the news and even saw the video of you getting punched.”
I nodded and handed Grace the flash cards we’d been using for her chemistry test preparation. It was Saturday, my day off, and I was damn sure going to fill it to distraction. Even if that meant chemistry homework, my sworn nemesis. “Yeah, the punching seems to stand out for a lot of people.”
She quirked her head. “Isn’t life weird in that way? Something awful that happened to you winds up being one of the most helpful things ever.”
She had a point. “And something you thought was the best thing that ever happened to you winds up being the most painful.”
“Well, that’s a dark take.” She sat back. “You’re talking about Carrie, huh? Now I’m depressed. Things aren’t going well, huh?”
They weren’t going at all. After offering less and less of myself, Carrie was on to me, and she wasn’t at all happy about it. In fact, I’d never heard her so upset, angry, and hurt.
The messages were piling up in my voice mail. “Skyler, stop it. What is going on with us? When we do talk, you’re overly polite and say a total of eight words. This week, you’re not even picking up. I know you’re alive because I see you on air. Call me. Even if it’s to have it out. Let’s do it. But it does require your participation.” The I love you had been dropped from the ends of messages. I couldn’t say I blamed her.
I’d cued up a return call about ten times, but never pressed send.
The voice mail that came two days later said it all. “Well, I’m sorry you’re unable to pick up your phone for the eighteenth time this week. I think I will finally take this as my signal that you have little interest in speaking to me. You have my number. Use it if you’re so inclined. If you want to talk about things like adults do. If not, well, that’s fine, too. I won’t be calling again.”
She’d had it.
I’d left her frustrated, worn out, and starved for attention. She’d left me hurt, doubting, and a shell of myself. Talk about doing a number on each other. It didn’t mean that I didn’t love Carrie anymore, but after everything, I could no longer see myself as the equal in the relationship I once was. Her equal. Because I never would have left her.
Maybe all of this was on me. My own personal baggage sabotaging one of the greatest things to ever happen to me. Yet I didn’t see a way to fix it. So I picked up the burdensome bags, like bricks on my back, and walked on.
We were through. She knew it. I knew it.
I looked up at Grace’s knitted brows and shook my head, chastising myself for going there in front of the innocent child who knew nothing yet of heartbreak and misery. “Yeah. I’m sorry about that. I’m a ball of joy, aren’t I? It sucks when things don’t work out. Want to talk about carbon again before you go?” I snatched the flash cards and held them up in offering.
“You’re dealing with what sounds like a loss,” Grace said, taking over. “It’s going to take time for that little heart of yours to find its way.” She retrieved the flash cards and began to pack up.
“Stop being the wise one in the room. Sixteen going on forty. It’s freaking me out.”
“Hey, I’m here for you at any age,” she said sincerely. “Know that.”