“Oh,” is all I say.
It’s only been four months since we started dating. We met in a gay bar in the West Village, hooked up, and liked each other so much we decided to keep seeing one another outside the bedroom.
It hasn’t been that long, I remind myself, but there’s no stopping the lump that rises in my throat.
How can this be happening again? Why do none of my relationships ever last longer than a few months?
“Did I do something wrong?” I wait for his answer, heart throbbing. Was I too clingy? Did I rush into things?
“No!” he hurries to assure me. “It’s just… you’re the first guy I ever dated, and I’m not ready to tie myself down yet. I was closeted for so long and now that I’m out, I want to have fun, you know?”
How can I blame him for that? This isn’t on me. “Yeah. Of course. I get it.”
It doesn’t stop my eyes from stinging.
“I’m sorry. You’re a really great guy. Sweet. Sexy. You’ll find someone.”
I nod and mumble my way through our goodbyes, then make my way to the subway. My body is on autopilot as I board the train. A fog of heartache obscures the world around me, but somehow I manage to get home. All I want is to curl up in bed and lick my wounds, get it all out of my system before I have to go to work tonight.
“From your expression, I take it things didn’t go well?” My grandfather Fergus waits for me at the kitchen table. There are two mugs of hot chocolate, one by his spot and another by mine. We have a tradition. Whenever I’m having a bad day, he makes us hot chocolate.
There’s nothing chocolate can’t fix, he always says.
I huff a bitter laugh. Where do I even start?
“Sit down. Tell me everything.”
Wordlessly, I join him at the table. I sip my drink, the warmth and sweetness a soothing distraction. It’s not that I don’t want to talk to Fergus; I just don’t know what to say. I never hide anything from him. As cheesy as it is, my granddad is my best friend. He raised me after my mom decided she couldn’t cope with being a parent at eighteen, took off, and never returned. I never met my father. I’ve got his dark hair and brown eyes, but that’s about it.
By the time I hit the bottom of my mug, I’ve found my voice.
“Tony and I broke up. I swear, there’s something wrong with me.”
“Oh? Why do you think that?”
I pull at a loose thread in the tablecloth. “I don’t think it. I know it. If I weren’t so messed up, people wouldn’t keep leaving.”
A frown tugs at Fergus’s mouth. “Did he blame you for the breakup?”
“No, but—”
“Then it wasn’t your fault,” he says, as if it’s as simple as that. “I’m sorry, my boy. I know you cared for him.”
I shake my head. “I didn’t, not really.” Guilt churns in my stomach. “I’m not sad that I’ll never see him again. I’m just disappointed he broke up with me.” Tony was a nice guy. I had fun with him. But every time we kissed, touched, made love—there was this sense ofwrongnessdeep in the pit of my stomach.
“I don’t get it!” I scrub my hand down my face, digging my nails into my cheek. “When he texted me this morning, I knew he was going to break up with me. And I wasrelieved. What the hell’s wrong with me?”
My grandfather is quiet for a moment, probably wondering why his grandson is so fucked up. He sets down his empty mug and gives me a searching look. His wise stare always reminds me of an owl, like he sees right through medown to my deepest secrets. “Your heart is telling you that Tony isn’t the one you’re meant to be with, Soren. You listened to it and let the relationship end. That’s a good thing. You’re young. There’s no need to rush into things.”
“I just don’t get it. None of my relationships have lasted longer than a few months. It doesn’t matter how much I like them. It never feels right.” Sighing, I slump in my chair. My eyes sting as I wonder if my life will always be like this. How many more times will I sit down with my granddad and spill my heartbreak to him?
“I’m done,” I croak. “I can’t do this anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
“Putting myself out there only to get shit in return! I’m done with dating, done with relationships. All of it.”
Before my granddad can reply, a look of pain crosses his face. He coughs so hard, he doubles over. “Gramps?” I run to his side and rub his back, my heart thudding as his coughing fit worsens. Before I can freak out, Fergus takes a few deep breaths. “Are you okay?”
