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She couldn’t dance for shit and I loved it. If Jen had been a good dancer, she would have had too much on her side. Her self-possession was already enough; the bad dancing counteracted it adorably. The curves of her body and her stylish, laid-back clothes suggested she would have as much control of her limbs and hips as she did her smarts and wit, but she had absolutely no rhythm. The moves that should have been languid were jolty, and when she should have been keeping in time with the beat, she looked like she was wading through molasses.
i absolutely love the writing omg
There are so many hidden miniature break-ups within a big break-up. There are so many ahead of me that I haven’t even thought of yet.
I wish I could explain to him that I don’t want to think about her any more, but thinking about her is not a choice; that—even though Jen is no longer in my physical life—the room inside my mind that has been occupied by her for the last four years still exists. I want to convert it into a home gym or a meditation room or get in a new tenant, but I can’t. Sometimes I wake up and the first thing I think of is Jen, and I imagine the tiny version of her in a doll’s house bedroom in my brain and I’m comforted by Imaginary Jen who wants to keep me company for a little bit longer.
She walks past me and our bodies are the closest they have been since we broke up. I feel like I’m in the presence of a celebrity. A couple of months ago, Jen was the woman whose pants I put in the washing machine with mine when I put a load on. Now, she is unfamiliar and untouchable; someone I have a one-way relationship with in photos and memories and in my imagination. I cannot believe she’s real, here and standing next to me.
She does my favourite Jen laugh. Jen’s got a lot of good laughs, a whole orchestra of them, and the one I held out for most was the big “HA!” she only imparts on very special occasions. So loud it always makes people look.
A dance we know the routine of instantly, even when we haven’t done the steps in a while. I have the obvious realization that this is all I’ve really been looking for the last four months—this was the solution. This was the only thing that would solve the problem of my broken heart and, of course, nothing else worked. The answer always was, and always will be, her.
I waited for the moment when I would realize this was something I wanted and it never arrived. Andy kept telling me that no one is ever ready to have a baby and that it will always feel terrifying. The more he said this, the more resentful I became. The risk felt so much higher for me and it wasn’t something he would ever truly acknowledge. This baby’s life would rely on my maternity leave, my savings, my body, my career. I would have to make all the sacrifice while Andy’s life could continue mostly as normal.
I asked what had made her change her mind and she spoke in vagaries about it “just being the right time” and wouldn’t elaborate any further and give me an answer. And I needed an answer. I needed an answer more than anything that night. I needed to know whether she’d had a realization that I hadn’t and, if so, I wanted to know how to get it.
The girls gave me a limitless amount of time to talk about Andy, and I was reminded of how lucky I am to have them. I talked then they talked—they offered their insights and advice and stories of comparison. The more we talked, the better I felt. In the same way our group of friends dealt with every crisis, I was going to talk my way back to sanity with them. Sleepy from all the wine and talking and lounging around, we went to bed early after dinner. I was sharing a room with Jane, which we hadn’t done in years, and as we giggled our way to sleep in the dark delirium of lights-out, I was
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It was too soon for me to move on to someone else, but my relationship muscles were warmed up and, as we continued to see each other with a regularity that could be nothing else but “dating,” it felt strangely easy. I was in the habit of thinking of someone else.
Was the way Andy loved me actually nothing to do with me, and instead just the Andy Experience a woman gets when he chooses her?
When I saw Andy at Jackson’s birthday, all I could be was myself. I had no energy for anything else. I didn’t have any information to find out, any secrets to keep from him, any residual resentment from those last months of our relationship. It just felt so good to see my friend.
