-Earth, Wind & Fire, 1996
I STARTED TO feel sick on a regular basis—nauseous, brain-fogged, and exhausted beyond belief. I was barely able to function beyond the general tasks of life. Jake was worried about me, but I blamed school and work, and everything in between. I blamed needing to get out of my mom’s, needing to move away. I blamed everything but us and the lie I’d been feeding myself—that I wasn’t in love with E. That I was going to let go—I was going to move on with my life and never look back, and no one could tell me otherwise.
I seriously contemplated packing up and moving to California with Kat. No plan in mind, I would just figure things out when I get there. But Kat was busy with her new career—she’d made it in Hollywood, just like I knew she would, the rising star she was. She landed the lead role in a compelling new drama on HBO, and I was over the moon for her. Everything was going right in her life. She didn’t need my mess disrupting her.
But Jake—my wholesome, loving Jake—had a beautiful idea. And I was sure it would be the life raft I needed, just like he was.
“Let’s transfer out,” he said one Sunday afternoon at brunch.
“What?”
“Let’s transfer to a new college. Out of state somewhere. Anywhere. It might cost us an extra semester or two, but who cares? At least we get to move away.”
I was taken aback. Of all the times I’d thought to leave, I’d never imagined Jake coming with me. Not because I didn’t want him to; I just wasn’t sure he’d ever want that kind of change. Though he had goals and dreams of adventure, Jake was steady. Rooted. The kind of person who color-coded his calendar and knew how to fold a fitted sheet. I, on the other hand, was chaos with legs.
“Anywhere?” I echoed, trying to read the conviction in his eyes.
He shrugged. “Why not? You need a fresh start. I could use an adventure.”
For a moment, I wasn’t sure what to say. I sat there, stunned, silent, and still. He reached across the table, placing his hand on mine. “You’re clearly looking for something, Sydney. And I want to be wherever you are when you find it.”
I blinked hard. The orange juice went sour in my throat, and something warm twisted in my chest. Because in that moment, I realized Jake didn’t just love me—he believed in me, even when I didn’t.
And maybe that belief, that beautiful hope of his, would be enough to get me out. Maybe it would even be enough tobring me back to myself—a person I felt I had forgotten, or maybe never really found.
Jake and I began applying to out-of-state colleges a few days later. I was nervous he’d ask me to move in again, so I was sure to be clear that I wanted the dorm life experience. As always, laid-back Jake was more than supportive, claiming it made perfect sense and reminding me I could stay at his place anytime I wanted. It was a perfect example of why I loved him.
We applied to UCLA, the University of Texas, and FAU. All were good options in my book, because they all took me far, far away from East Ridge, and everything I wanted to forget there.
After almost a month, we had both received letters from the University of Texas. I was a ticking time bomb of excitement and nerves, patiently waiting at his apartment so we could open them together. When he finally arrived home from work, I was like a twitchy toddler, bouncing on my toes, unable to conceal my anxiousness. We traded envelopes the minute he walked through the door.
“You ready?” he said, his eyes locked on mine, and I nodded, my bottom lip caught tight between my teeth.
“One,” he said, and I held my breath. “Two… three.”
We ripped each other’s envelopes open, eyes scanning through the words. And then we found it.
“You got in!” I screamed.
“Babe,yougot in!” he yelled back, and I jumped into his arms as he spun me around.
It was the most joy I had felt in a long time, and I was so engulfed in it, I didn’t want to let go.
Over the next few weeks, we made our first tuition payments and finalized our class selections. We started looking for an apartment for Jake online and completed the questionnaire I needed for the dorms. We started shopping for the things we’d need to get by—like a toaster oven, and microwavable mac and cheese. We purchased school paraphernalia and scheduled flights for orientation day. We were on our way to a new life, and it was the purest excitement I had ever known.
The only problem was, as excited as I was for a new beginning, I felt desperately tied to an old one I still hadn’t let go of. I spent each week excited by the day, and tossing and turning at night, feeling unsettled and unresolved. At some point, I decided what I needed was closure. I wasn’t sure of what, but I convinced myself that if I could see E just once, one last time, I’d be able to move on. I sounded like an addict deciding to quit their drug of choice, wanting one last hit before saying goodbye, but at that point, that’s where I was in life. Desperate and longing and hoping to quit. Because I wanted to move on. I wanted to be happy. And I wanted it with Jake. But I couldn’t do it without a goodbye.
I had a new number for years, one I never gave E or Enzo or anyone else from my past life, but I still had theirs. On the weekend Jake flew to Texas to finalize his apartment, I took a dip into old waters I hadn’t swum in for a year. I typed in the digits I knew by heart, the only number I had memorized besides my own, and I wrote out my message:
A greeting from The Commodores: Hello.
It was a bold song choice, though it sounded innocent and clean. And that’s exactly why I chose it—so I could once again hide under the façade I created on the outside while my heart exulted on the inside.
The lyrics played in my mind as I waited for his response.
Hello, is it me you’re looking for? I can see it in your eyes… I can see it in your smile… You’re all I’ve ever wanted, and my arms are open wide… Cause you know just what to say, and you know just what to do… And I want to tell you so much, I love you.
A few short minutes later, his message buzzed my phone:
