Looking back, I cringe that I simply lacked the confidence to be myself. Have I even evolved since then? Or maybe “my-self” is a wishy-washy people pleaser who lacks personality, and this is the correct trajectory for my life. Because I’m now a thirty-five-year-old woman who has made her own choices, which have led me to my current circumstances—unemployed, dumped, and, ultimately, bad at life.
Returning home from lunch, I head straight for my laptop with the intention of job hunting. While sitting on my sofa, I check the usual job website suspects, but there’s nothing new since I checked on Friday. The rest of the afternoon stretches out in front of me.
The obvious thing to do would be to cancel my wedding contracts (even if only to send the message to my mother that it’s off), which was my original plan, but I was naively hoping to hear from Neil and further hoping he would help. But since he hasn’t responded to my email from Saturday, that hope is quickly dwindling; and I’m amazed at his ability to be both a coward and an asshole.
I look around my living room and there’s no trace of him other than some random books intermingled with mine that didn’t make it into the garbage bags. I then walk into the bedroom and survey his side of the closet. Jordan did a great job of wiping him out, and there’s not a single item of his hanging in there. Since the condo has two bathrooms, I claimed the master and he used the other. I walk into “his” bathroom and nothing remains since I had dumped out everything that night with Jordan. I grab a bath towel that’s hanging on the rod and smell it to see if it still holds his scent, but it just smells like a towel. There’s a long blond hair on it that I pluck off, but once I’m holding it, I notice that it’s lighter and brighter than my own—instead, the strand is the same bright blond as Stacey’s. My fingers instantly release the hair onto the floor and my whole body starts shaking.
Stacey had been in this bathroom. Stacey had used this towel. Does this mean that Stacey had been in our bed? I run to the bedroom as if I can catch them in the act and, once there, I frantically start examining every inch of the bed. I find nothing, but I continue to peel off the sheets, sickly hoping to find more evidence to incriminate Neil. When I don’t find anything, I slump down on the floor and start crying for what feels like the millionth time. Does it matter? He already said he loved Stacey. I already knew he cheated on me. He was a cad and he had left me. Did the details of his cheating really matter when we’re so clearly over?
An overwhelming wave of nausea hits, and I make it to the bathroom just before literally losing my lunch. Resting on the cool tile, I’ve entered a new stage of grief. Suddenly I’ve gone from numb survival mode to realizing everything I’ve lost that I’ll never get back. Everything I worked hard for—my job, my relationship, my friends—poof! All gone. For the first time in my life, I’m lost. There are no rules to follow. I have no deadlines. I’m completely unencumbered. No more wedding planning, no more career, no more social life. I’ve always been a rule follower; rules led the way and I never had to think. Now, I have to think. I have to think about who I am without these things. The sad truth is, I don’t know. Who is Allison James? And what does she want in life? These questions hurt my brain and all I want to do is go to sleep.
I wake up around six in the evening, still lying on the floor. After tearing apart the bed, I couldn’t bear to sleep in it thinking about Stacey being in it. Since it’s dinnertime for normal people on a normal schedule, the obvious move is to find some food. Despite my empty stomach, I’m not very hungry, but I order soup and spring rolls from my default Thai place. While waiting for my dinner, I check email and there’s one from Jordan asking how I am and if I want to grab a drink. With food on the way and my eyes puffy from crying, I email her back my thanks and ask for a rain check.
As I force myself to eat my soup, not tasting it, I watch some Dallas Housewives show on Bravo, which makes me even more depressed (probably because most of these “housewives” look a lot like Stacey), and I click over to HGTV and a Love It or List It marathon. I can’t imagine the rest of my days being like this, and in this moment of weakness I call Neil. Getting his voicemail (surprise, surprise), I decide not to leave a message. Then, once again, I feel worse about not leaving a message because I don’t want him to think I just called to hear his voice. But I can’t call back and leave one now, even if it’s just, “We need to talk about canceling the wedding,” because then he’ll know that I’m simply covering up my earlier hang up. Besides, I’ve already emailed him saying that, and he hasn’t responded.
Even so, I email him, again.
Hi Neil – I just called but got your voicemail. I wanted to let you know that I plan to cancel all the wedding vendors tomorrow morning. Let me know if this is okay. Thanks, Allie.
After I hit send, I curse myself. Of course it’s okay. Why am I asking his permission? And why am I thanking him? What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with me is that I’m still playing by the rules that everyone else has broken—Neil for cheating on me; Stacey for having an affair with my fiancé; Kate for not telling me something was up; my mother for calling Neil to apologize for me—and I’m miserable. It seems time to get a new playbook.
I FELL ASLEEP in front of the television around eight, weirdly proud that I managed to stay up so “late.” When I wake up twelve hours later, I automatically check my email.
Neil had emailed me late last night.
Allie – Sounds good. Thank you.
Neil
The end.
I get up from the sofa and walk to my bedroom, where I pull off my ring, place it back into its blue box, and shut it away in my dresser drawer. Chapter closed. No matter how much I loved my ring, it was the last sign of Neil in my sight, and I need it gone.
Lost, ring-less, and with a fresh batch of tears threatening to appear, I quickly change into my running clothes before I have time to think. It’s a Tuesday, my running day, and so I lace up my shoes and head toward Lincoln Park. On my way to the park, my fury at Neil rises each time my foot hits the pavement. During the first mile, I can’t stop thinking how dare he just email that it’s okay for me to cancel the wedding vendors? No offer to help. No let’s talk or let me explain or any closure whatsoever. Just, “Thanks.” How can he be so callous to make me cancel my own wedding? Who is this person I thought I knew and loved? Who I thought loved me? How could I ever have cared about him? I run three extra miles that morning, my anger propelling me forward, along with my dread at returning home to make phone calls. But I prefer this Angry Allison to Heartbroken Allison. Neil was dead weight and I’m better off without him.
After my run, I hit up The Cauldron on my way home. Though I should really dial back on shelling out money on my latte habit, I may be just as addicted to Eric’s kind smile as I am to my morning caffeine.
“Good morning, Allison,” he says cheerfully as I approach the counter. “What can I get for you?”
“Good morning!” I smile back, his cheerful countenance infectious. “A large almond milk latte, please.”
“Just finish a workout?” he asks, as I hand over my credit card. My running clothes don’t allow for much pocket room, nor sweat resistance for cash.