“I didn’t think you’d be interested,” he said with an unapologetic shrug.
“Then why plan it at all?” I asked. “And why inJune, when we already had Italy on the calendar?”
We hadn’t put serious money down—just some refundable reservations here and there—and it was beginning to dawn on me that maybe,maybe, I’d been too blinded by my own enthusiasm to realize he wasn’t quite as into the whole thing.
“Honestly, Sadie”—those two little words made the bottom drop out of my stomach—“I’ve been thinking for a while that we might just be too…”
I held my breath, as if that could stop the inevitable.
“Too incompatible,” he finally finished.
I blinked. “For a backpacking trip?” I said, the full weight of his words slow to sink in.
“Foreverything,” he said. “You and me…it’s been fun, babe, but long-term? I just don’t see it working out. We’re too different. We should stop trying to pretend this works.”
“You can’t be serious—are you serious right now?”
Had he never heard ofopposites attract? That was what made us perfect for each other! So perfect I thought he mightpropose, not rip the relationship out from under me altogether. I was the bubbly overplanner, he was chill and go with the flow, and that was why we worked. We had our little differences, sure, but in a “You complete me!” sort of way. We balanced each other out.
That was when I realized Caden hadn’t embraced—or even brushed off—our little differences like I had: he’d stockpiled them like matches, all these tiny little splinters between us, and then he used them to light us on fire.
I was so stunned, at the time, that my only thought was: maybe it was possible for me to salvage us before we completely burned down to ashes.
“I could still go backpacking with you, though, right? It’s not too late to sign up?”
But then he laughed.Laughed.
“I mean, feel free to sign up,” he said. “People eat that shit up on the internet! Girls who are out of their element and in over their heads?Pleasedo a travel vlog, Sadie—I’d love to see that.” He grinned. “You’d makegreatentertainment.”
The way he said it didnotsound like a compliment.
It was at that precise moment I knew: even if I did manage to prove I was more compatible with Caden than he thought, I wasn’t sure I even wanted him anymore—
But that didn’t mean I was opposed to giving him a front-row seat to my metamorphosis. I could sign up for the trip, fight through the misery, andthrive. Sure, it might be more than a little awkward being on a backpacking trip with my ex, but that was part of what appealed to me about the idea! I could watch his regret start to sink in, that he chose to let me go…and it would feel so, so sweet for him to admit he totally underestimated me, and was wrong to do so.
I left the restaurant feeling determined but disoriented, dizzy from the emotional whiplash I’d just experienced. And despite my best efforts to forget, the wordstoo high-maintenancehave been tattooed on my brain ever since that night. I can’t unsee them. Can’t unfeelthem. I’ve always been proud of knowing exactly who I am: of knowing exactly what I want, and the meticulous planning it takes to make sure I have, or get, those things.
Caden—chill, laid-back Caden—is the first person I’ve met who not only didn’t praise me for being the most prepared person in his life, but made it sound like a bad thing. Like I was deficient somehow, like I was overly fragile and might fall apart the instant something didn’t go my way, the instant circumstances were outside of my own control.
Which I was certain wasn’t true at all.
When I told my best friend, Abby, what had happened, she took my side immediately—but hesitated slightly before starting in on the reassurances.
“What?” I’d said at the first lull. “What is it?”
She didn’t reply until I pushed.
Abby looked me straight in the eye. “Okay. So. You’re my best friend, Sadie, and I love you just the way you are. But—as your best friend, I can’t lie to you. Caden isn’twrong.”
I was quiet for a long moment.
“To be clear, I don’t think he was right for breaking up with you over it, or for not inviting you on the trip, or for planning it when you were supposed to go to Italy,” Abby went on. “But—c’mon, Sade. I think even you would admit you’re one of the least flexible people on the planet. You like things to go your way.”
“Whodoesn’tlike things to go their way?” I’d argued, but it was futile.
My ex-boyfriend and my best friend both believed I had a significant flaw in the way I approached life—like I could only be happy and fun to be around under certain circumstances.
Certaincarefully curatedcircumstances.
