The Switch

by Beth O'Leary

Whereas dating, dating is full of hope. In fact, dating is really one long, painful exercise in discovering how disappointing other humans are.

When he left her she seemed to see it not as a betrayal so much as an act of extreme rudeness.

That’s the messy thing about family tragedy, I guess. Your best support network goes under in an instant.

It hurts to look at Carla’s smiling face, but I’m getting a little better at this—if you sit with the hurt it’s a tiny bit easier, like relaxing your muscles instead of shivering when it’s cold.

I stand still, and I let myself miss her. I let it come. And I don’t break. It hurts like nothing else, a keening raw hurt, but I’m here—no Ethan with his arms around me, no laptop in front of me—and I’m not running, not working, not shouting. And whatever I was afraid of—falling apart, losing control … It doesn’t happen. The pain of missing her is scorching, but I’ll live through it.

Family can be so complicated, but if you just pick your own way of doing it you can end up with something pretty perfect all the same.

As the train speeds its way up north I wonder if this is how it feels to be a homing pigeon, tugged onward, as though someone’s pulling on the threads that hold you to the place where you belong.

“When you’re here, I’m here too,” I say, turning my face up to his. “Which is amazing, because most of the time, I’m always somewhere else. Looking back or looking ahead, worrying or planning or…”