Colt and I were fresh out of high school with literally not a penny to our name. When he proposed, I was surprised. I thought we’d be like most high school couples and spend the summer together before inevitably breaking up when autumn came. I never thought about marrying him until he got down on one knee behind his family’s home.
I didn’t think twice before saying yes. I felt like it was my chance to start a real life with a real family. Something that I never had before. Little did I know that, like most small-town love stories, that feeling of security was temporary.
My hands dance across the framed photo of our small ceremony at the courthouse. We had agreed that we didn’t want a big wedding. We just wanted to start our lives together, and that was all that mattered. I was so naïve back then.
The box also contained other mementos from our wedding, including my veil and the secondhand dress I found at the only thrift store in town. After Colt and I divorced, I wasn’t quite sure what to do with this stuff.
We were over, but getting rid of these items felt wrong. Our relationship was such a big chunk of my life. Getting rid of this stuff would feel like erasing a part of myself.
Maybe if Colt and I had some big dramatic break-up, it would’ve been easier to let go. Maybe it would’ve been easier to burn this box if we’d ended on bad terms.
But our break-up story was anything but dramatic. After months of couples counseling and trying to make it work, weboth decided it was time to move on. It was my first break-up, but I’d like to think I did it right.Wedid it right.
I still loved Colt in one way or another. He had given me one of the best things that ever happened to me, and I would always be grateful for that. I would never admit it to Wren or anyone else, but if it weren’t for Milo, I wouldn’t have stayed with him as long as I did.
I give the fabric of my old dress one last squeeze before shoving it back in the box. I decide to keep my past locked up for a little while longer and push the package to the side. Before I can tackle the other box, I hear a clinking sound followed by a big whoosh coming from the kitchen.
My mom reflexes kick in and I jump up as fast as I can. I immediately run toward the sound and pinpoint it under the sink. I whip open the dated yellowwood doors and am immediately met with a cold splash of foul-smelling water.
I slam the door shut and hunch over in defeat. It’s my first time living alone and I know shit is bound to go wrong. That’s why I’m surprised when my frustration turns into light tears trickling down my cheek.
My fists begin to ball up and my eyes scrunch together. I can feel my anger ready to tip over, but instead, I practice the breathing exercise my therapist taught me.
I take a big gulp of air and let it travel through my entire body before pulling it out again. It only takes a couple rounds of the deep breathing exercise to clear my head and keep my anger at bay for now.
I wipe the stray tears from my eyes and take out my phone. I’m tempted to call the first number on my favorites list, but I decide not to.
If I were to call Colt right now, it would be like admitting I couldn’t do this on my own. I knew he would be over here in a heartbeat like a knight in shining armor, but I needed to prove that I could fix something without him.
I clear my throat and press the call button on my landlord’s number. It rings a few times before he finally picks up.
“Hey! Everything alright?”
“Hey, Mr. Cooke! Yeah, it’s fine. I’m just having a small issue with the kitchen sink. It made a weird clinking noise and now the pipe is leaking.”
“I told you to call me George, Emma. But oh geez. I’m actually out of town with my wife, and I’m not sure when we’ll be back,” he says before pausing. “You know what. I’ll call someone else and have them come down and take a look at it.”
“Thank you so much! I’m sorry to bother you on a Sunday,” I apologize.
“It’s completely fine. Like I told you when you moved in, you can call me whenever.”
After a few more awkward apologies and thank yous, I end the call and toss my phone to the side.
As I hoist myself off the floor, the upstairs of the building begins to creak back to life. It couldn’t be.
I take a swig of water and let my eyes follow the sound of footsteps moving toward the other side of the apartment. The sound of a door opening and closing is followed by more heavy footsteps traveling down the stairs.
The sequence of sounds is halted by an uncomfortable silence. I almost let out a breath of relief until I hear three succinct knocks at my front door. I practically choke on the breath as it comes out shakier.
The shade covering the small window on the front door reveals the silhouette of the man I was doing a shit job of avoiding. Hesitantly, I turn the door handle and jingle the old frame loose.
“Hello, again.”
The countertop I lean against supports my entire weight while I watch Henry systematically wrap duct tape around my leaky pipe.
I was tempted to busy myself with some other mindless tasks while he worked, but just like last night, I couldn’t pull myself away from him.
No one has said much other than the pleasantries exchanged at the front door. There’s unspoken tension drifting above us after what almost happened last night. The skin of my cheeks heat at the flashback of what it would’ve felt like to close that gap.
