The sound of the movie I was watching in the living room fades into a dull ringing in my ears.
“So proud of my man! That’s my Heisman winner!”
The photo is blinding; Archer, younger, grinning that million-dollar smile, holding the bronze trophy aloft at the ceremony. Cassie is plastered against his side in a shimmering gold dress, looking every bit the proud, supportive girlfriend. There were photos with his family, photos with other athletes, photos of them kissing while he clutched the most prestigious award in college football.
There’s the jealousy, this is where it’s stemming from. She got all these core memories with him, all these landmark successes, and she threw it away. She threw it away for Doug, causing Archer unimaginable heartbreak. He’s a better person than I am, that’s for sure. It was easy to feel pity for her when her fatherdied, but scrolling through her perfectly curated feed of travel photos, fashion shows, and Michelin star restaurants just awoke the green-eyed monster in me. I can’t take it anymore!
I throw my phone across the room, landing it in the chair by the Christmas tree.
Archer wouldn’t be coming home tonight, it’s the night before an away game which means his mandatory stay at a hotel, I mentally recall his evening schedule since I refuse to get up and grab my phone and the offending Instagram feed.
I look at the digital clock on the oven; he’s probably almost finished with his team meetings. He usually calls me as soon as he is settled in his room. I should probably get my phone, but I can’t bring myself to get off the couch to get the vile thing.
I’m overreacting. I need to calm down. Archer sent me a screen shot of their conversation for fuck’s sake. It was polite, friendly, practically innocent. So why am I feeling this way? I jump off the couch, pacing and shaking my hands trying to dispel some of the anxiety. Fish weaves his way through my legs, trying to calm me down. I take deep breaths willing myself to dispel the images burned into my eyes. Archer’s beaming smile holding the Heisman, Cassie plastered against him. Archer looking up at her on one knee in utter devotion.
I’m spiraling. I know I am. I’m drowning in the past, the ghost of their relationship pulling me deeper and deeper. I have no idea how to stop this freefall.
I press the heels of my hands into my eyes. Another image flashes in my mind. The image of Archerlooking utterly defeated at the press conference after that initial loss to the Chimeras’ the first game of the season, the first game after he called off the wedding.
My phone rings, temporarily halting my freefall. I rush to the opposite side of the living room and pick up my phone from the plush chair.
I manage to answer on the second ring, my voice tight. “Hey.”
“Hey,” he responds, sounding a little loud; I could hear the background chatter of the hotel lobby bleeding through the line.
I grip the phone tightly. “How’s everything going over there?”
“Oh, the normal stuff. Pre-game press conferences, practice, fans finding their way in asking for autographs and an incredibly long team meeting. I’m exhausted and we’re almost finished with the last segment then I’m heading to bed.”
“Okay,” I whisper. Willing up my courage to admit to what is bothering me, “Archer, wait.”
The background noise suddenly muffled as he clearly walked away from the crowd. “What is it? Are you okay? You sound weird.”
“I was looking at Cassie’s Instagram,” I admit, cutting straight to the chase.
A silence stretchesacross the line.
“I know you told me the story,” I continue, my voice gaining volume albeit shaky, I’m pacing the length of the living room. “The basic outline when we first met up. But I saw the pictures, Archer. The ‘soulmate’ caption. The ring. You made it sound like a mutual thing, but it was brutal, wasn’t it?”
His exhale was loud and shaky, not the reaction of a man hiding a secret, but a man confronted with old trauma. He takes a steadying breath before speaking, “Elle, it was brutal. That’s why I glossed over the details. I didn’t want you to see me like that. I was broken.”
“But you lied to me. You didn’t tell me Doug was commenting on her posts, you didn’t tell me he was flirting with her the night you proposed! It’s all right there on her Instagram!” I say, the tears finally starting to prick my eyes. “And now I’m here, feeling like I’m dating a man who’s still recovering from the woman who broke his heart, while she’s texting him fucking condescending compliments about me.”
“Elle, you’re the one I’m with. She means nothing to me, you know that.” He insists, sounding frantic. “We can talk about the messy parts when I get home. I promise. But right now, I need to go.”
“Okay,” I say, my voice quiet now, the anger receding into a dull ache.
“Thank you,” he breathes, sounding genuinely relieved. “I love you, Elle. We’ll talk about this more when I get home. I promise.”
I hear a muffled call for Archer; he must have walked far enough away they had to shout for him. “Elle,I need to go, I promise, we’ll talk about everything. I love you.”
“Goodnight,” I reply, hanging up without saying “I love you” back. The ache in my chest is now intense. The feeling like I’m being cracked in two. I haven’t cried like this over a man, ever.
I need to scream, I need to cry. I need… I need Sadie.
My hands shake and I pick up the phone again, barely seeing through the tears threatening to spill over, I mash the call button on my best friend’s number. It rings once, twice.
“Hello?” Sadie’s voice is bright, a little breathless, like she’s walking somewhere.
