I remember we were sat outside a café on 3rd avenue, near a park that we had just walked through, I had taken my book with my - the one I found in Bushwick and Timothée had that huge script that he kept lugging around in a duffle bag.
Then he looked up at me, as we read together in a blissful serenity of deep thought, "darling," he interrupted the silence, "I got a job." He smiled at me.
And of course, I smiled too - I got up and hugged him, nearly smashing our coffee off of the table, and squashed his face with kisses all over. But something must've stopped me. I must've known something even then. Because even then, I found myself sitting back down in my chair, waiting for him to speak.
"I'll be gone for a while angel." He tried to smile, an act of reassurance, or understanding. I can't imagine how my face must've contorted in reaction, but his smile lasted not even a second before becoming a grimace.
I tried desperately to stop my smile from faltering. "T, you only just came home." I watched his reaction. "I know, I know this is part of your job - I get it, I just wish you hadn't pulled this disappearance before you leave again."
He took my hand in his. "Sweetheart, this will be huge - huge for us. Please, don't make me feel bad about this."
I rolled my eyes. "I'm not ever going to be the person who tells you not to take a job T, come on, don't put me in that position - I have supported you in every way I can, and I thought you thought more of me than that." I said pulling my hand out of his grasp.
"I'm not saying that Cara, I'm just saying - it's not like I want to leave you, ever - but I want to be able to be excited about these opportunities."
I stood up, the air suddenly feeling much colder than I anticipated. "What? And I'm not letting you be excited Really? Are you fucking kidding me right now Timothée?"
"Cara, can you just sit down," He whispered, looking around us, nodding over to a group of men with camera's.
I scoffed. "I am beyond proud of you, and I love you but it's not fair to ask me to be thrilled about you leaving me - for god know's how long. We'll talk about this some other time."
Grabbing my bag I finished, "For now, I'm staying at my place tonight, maybe then you'll have a chance to just think about all of this. I can't keep dealing with these "surprises", we're supposed to communicate, we're in a serious relationship, or at least that's what I thought - or maybe not, maybe I got that wrong too."
That night I stayed with Lucy, watching the internet once again blow up over any news about my relationship. I found a book on my doormat with a creased cream envelope tucked inside.
It was a first edition of Breakfast At Tiffany's by Truman Capote, wrapped in a Tiffany blue ribbon.
Sat in the bath, surrounded by the dim lighting of my candles and copious amounts of rose scented bubbles I took a long drink of my wine before opening the letter.
𝑀𝓎 𝒟𝑒𝒶𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓉,
𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓆𝓊𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝒽𝑜𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓉𝓁𝓎, 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓂𝑜𝓈𝓉 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓁𝓁𝑒𝓃𝑔𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓌𝑜𝓂𝒶𝓃 𝐼 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓂𝑒𝓉.
𝐼𝓉 𝒾𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝐼 𝒹𝑜 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝑒𝓃𝒿𝑜𝓎 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓎𝑜𝓊, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝐼 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒹 𝒾𝓉 𝒾𝓂𝓅𝑜𝓈𝓈𝒾𝒷𝓁𝑒 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝓉𝑜.
𝐹𝑜𝓇, 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓃 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓂𝒶𝓀𝑒 𝓂𝓎 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝒹 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓁 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝒾𝓉'𝓈 𝒷𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝓈𝓁𝒶𝓂𝓂𝑒𝒹 𝒶𝑔𝒶𝒾𝓃𝓈𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒶𝓁𝓁 - 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓇𝑒𝓂𝒾𝓃𝒹 𝓂𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝐼 𝓌𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝓉𝑜 𝒷𝑒, 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊. 𝐼 𝒶𝓂 𝓈𝑜𝓇𝓇𝓎 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝐼 𝒽𝓊𝓇𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓉𝑜𝒹𝒶𝓎, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐼 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝓃𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝒷𝑒 𝒶𝒷𝓁𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓃 𝓉𝓇𝓎 𝓉𝑜 𝑒𝓍𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝒽𝑜𝓌 𝓂𝓊𝒸𝒽 𝐼 𝒽𝒶𝓉𝑒 𝓂𝓎𝓈𝑒𝓁𝒻 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝐼 𝒹𝑜.
