2 Questions Every Girl is Asking Herself

Chapter 38

Six months into our relationship, the unthinkable happened.

It was a cold and dark January, Ed parked the car in front of my house, and stared into space. I sat next to him quietly, and waited. I thought he was going to voice a complaint over something, but when he chose to speak at last, it was a line I'd never in my wildest imaginations, thought I'd hear.

"I think we should break up."

He said it calmly, and quietly, without looking at me.

I drew back a silent gasp, and held my breath, as though if I could hold this breath forever, then time would stop, and none of this would carry on happening. For a while, I felt nothing. I checked myself for signs of anger or pain or sorrow. Still nothing. I was in a vacuum. It was the same kind of vacuum I felt when I was in kindergarten, in the middle of a boys vs. girls rock-throwing war. A flying rock the size of a saucer hit my forehead. And everyone stopped. I looked around, wondering what the big deal was. Then blood trickled down my eyebrow and into my eye, blurring my vision into a sea of red. In the frightened eyes of the boy who'd hit me, I saw the magnitude of the wound. That was when I felt the first sting of pain.

"Why?" I asked. My tone sounded accusatory, my mind was drawing a blank. Why would ANYONE in his right mind want to break up with ME?

 "We're incompatible."

"What does that mean?"

"It means we're not going to work."

"Why are we not going to work?"

"Because we're incompatible."

"How are we incompatible?"

To me, Incompatible was one of those meaningless, politically correct words therapists and Dr. Phil like to use. Like Commitment, it was a word that didn't exist in my dictionary.

"How are we incompatible? What did I do wrong?" I pushed. I didn't like the way my voice sounded. Just a teensy bit desperate.  

"You didn't do anything wrong."

In my distress, he just patiently repeated, "We're not compatible." I had the feeling that he was tip-toeing around the truth. Like he was shielding me from it. He didn't want me to think it was my fault. That there's some fatal flaw I needed to fix. That I did anything wrong. He just wanted to end it as gently as possible, without hurting anybody or breaking anything.  

Confusion, disbelief, anger, shame, humiliation, sadness –  I wasn't sure which was which, everything was jumbled together in an invisible crate pressing down on my chest with dull force. I stared into space not knowing what to do. I wanted to hold it together so bad. I don't want to cry. I think it's really pathetic to cry when you're being dumped. Crying isn't going to make him love me. I don't want his pity. If I could hold back the tears then maybe there's still a chance. What did I do that was so wrong? I thought he loved me. I thought Ed would never hurt me.

Then I saw his eyes. His eyes looked gentle and his face kind, just like they did the first day I met him. His prescence was so achingly tender, the thought of never seeing him again, shot a piercing pain through my heart.

"I will miss you," I said at last.

My nose crinkled and my eyes warm. The dam had broken, we both burst into tears. I tried to ignore the part of me that wanted to beg him to love me again. We both cried for a really long time in the car. I cried so hard I was gasping for air. I felt like I cried my insides out.

He walked me to the door, like he always did, and gave me one last embrace. It wasn't a cursory hug out of politeness. It was the same hug he gave me after he'd just returned from a long trip in Hong Kong. His arms went around me and held me tightly. And he cried. It felt comforting and surreal at the same time. I could not believe this guy, who was holding me like this, was honestly saying goodbye.