So after months of radio silence, Thomas just reappeared in my life as if nothing had happened, pitching arts-and-crafts night like we were besties. I should’ve told him to go fuck himself.
Instead, I said,of course, Thomas, I’d love to buy a themed banner, eighteen balloons, and thirteen cupcake toppers with crocodiles, llamas, and whatever other big-eyed creatures I’ve already forgotten the names of.Obviously. Like a pathetic little golden retriever with separation anxiety that I am.
Then a week ago, he dropped the bomb: he and Carol had broken up. It hadn’t worked out, and the breakup was apparently messy. I didn’t ask for details.
And honestly, I was just confused. Why tell me that? What was I supposed to do with that information? Send flowers? Bake a cake? Throw him a “Sorry Your Relationship Imploded” party?
That same day, I promised myself I wasn’t going to fall into the same pattern again—convincing myself somethingmight actually happen. Because it won’t. Even if Logan keeps making comments about how Thomas texts me like he’s five seconds away from climbing on top of me. Even if a part of me still hopes he actually might.
So yeah. Seeing Thomas today, after everything, is going to be fucked up as hell.
***
The windshield wipers are fighting a losing battle against the snow, grinding out a rhythm that feels vaguely accusatory. I lean forward, squinting through the one half-decent patch they’ve managed to clear. My hands are freezing, my knuckles white on the steering wheel. February in Naperville is always awful, but this snowstorm feels personal—like the universe found out I’m seeing Thomas before the party and decided to stage an intervention.
I jab the defrost button again, like maybe it just didn’t hear me the first seven times. The heater wheezes out a blast of lukewarm air that smells faintly of the peppermint freshener I hung up last month. It’s not helping. Nothing is helping.
“Come on,” I mutter, nudging the car forward at what feels like walking pace. “We’ve got this. Just a few more miles.”
My car responds with an ominous shudder, which I choose to ignore.
The traffic report on the radio confirms what I already know:“Conditions are deteriorating rapidly across DuPage County. Several accidents reported on I-88. If you don’t need to be on the roads tonight, folks, stay home.”
Too late for that, weather guy. I’ve got a birthday dinner to get to. One where I’ll see Thomas for the first time in a year.
Thomas, who said I was important to him—then vanished.
Thomas, who got a girlfriend and dropped me like I was a phase.
Thomas, who texted me three weeks ago like nothing had happened.
Thomas, who I’m still pathetically, embarrassingly in love with.
I rehearsed what I’d say to him approximately forty-seven times in the shower this morning. Each version worse than the last.
“Hey stranger, long time no see!”(Too chipper.)
“Thomas.”(Too cold.)
“How’s life been treating you?”(Too generic.)
“So how’s life after the breakup?”(Too petty.)
“You look good.”(He doesn’t deserve this.)
I finally settled on a casual nod and a “Hey” that I practiced in the mirror until I looked appropriately disinterested. Like seeing him is just a minor blip in my otherwise fascinating life. Like I haven’t spent the whole year walking around with a Thomas-shaped hole in my chest.
The problem is, over the past three weeks of texting, I’ve been a little too nice to him.
He reappeared out of nowhere, and I just jumped back in—chatting like nothing happened, like he hadn’t spent a year pretending I didn’t exist. I didn't ask any questions. Didn't acknowledge the fact that he hurt me. Just went right back to being all warm and friendly, same as always.
And of course, he was fine with that. He was fine skipping over the part where we went twelve months without seeing each other and only managed thirty minutes’ worth of texts the entire time.
Now, with the actual reunion minutes away, I regret it. Because by pretending everything was fine from the start, it's like I gave up the right to be upset. So if I try to act hurt now—or worse, confront him—it’ll seem out of nowhere. Like I suddenly decided to care about something I’d already let go.
But pretending nothing happened to his face feels like I’m betraying myself all over again.
And the worst part is, I have no idea how I’ll act when I see him. I genuinely don’t know.
