“I grabbed what I could while he was at the gym,” she says by way of greeting. “I’ll have to go back for the rest of my stuff later, when he’s not there.”
“Get in here.” I pull her into a hug, and she sags against me for a long moment before straightening up and wiping her face with the back of her hand.
“Sorry. I’m a mess.”
“You’re allowed to be a mess.” I take the wine and usher her inside. “That’s what tonight is for.”
My apartment looks even smaller with two people in it, but we make it work. Winnie drops her duffel by the couch while I grab glasses and a corkscrew. By the time I’m pouring, she’s already kicked off her shoes and curled up in the corner of my couch, knees pulled to her chest.
“Okay.” I hand her a very full glass. “Tell me everything.”
She takes a long sip. Then another.
“I ended it,” she says finally. “Yesterday. After he told me I was being ‘too emotional’ about the fact that he made plans on my birthday.”
“What do you mean, made plans?”
“My birthday’s in two weeks. I mentioned maybe doing dinner, something nice for once, and he said he couldn’t because his fantasy football league is doing their draft that night.” She laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “When I got upset, he said I was overreacting. That I could just celebrate on a different day. Like my birthday is flexible.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“And the thing is—” She takes a long sip of wine. “Maybe it would have been fine if he’d sat me down and said, ‘Hey, my friends planned this thing on your birthday. Obviously, my priority is celebrating you, so I can skip it. But if you’re okay with it, we could do your birthday another night. Whatever you want.’ That’s a conversation. That’s considering my feelings.”
“But that’s not what he did.”
“No. He just informed me he had plans and that I needed to deal with it. And when I didn’t deal with it the way he wanted, suddenly I’m the problem.” She shakes her head. “That’s when I realized—I’ve been overreacting to everything for two years, according to him. My feelings are always too big, my needs are always too much, and I’m always the one who has to apologize for wanting basic human consideration.”
“Win...”
“So I told him I was done. And he said—” She pauses, jaw tightening. “He said ‘fine, but you’re the one who has to find somewhere else to live, because I’m not leaving my apartment.’”
“His apartment? You’ve been paying half the rent!”
“I know. But his name’s on the lease, and apparently that’s all that matters.” She drains half her glass. “So now I’m homeless, single, and drinking wine on my best friend’s couch. Really living the dream, here.”
I scoot closer and wrap an arm around her shoulders. “You’re not homeless. You’re staying here as long as you need.”
“Tori, your apartment is literally one room.”
“A very cozy room.” I squeeze her. “Besides, I like having you here. It’ll be like college, except with better wine and fewer questionable life choices.”
She snort-laughs, which is exactly what I was going for. “I don’t know about fewer questionable life choices. I did just blow up my entire life.”
“You didn’t blow it up. You escaped.” I pull back and look at her seriously. “Win, I’ve been watching you shrink yourself for two years. Every time we hang out, you’re a little quieter, a little more careful about what you say. Like you’re always bracing for him to criticize you.”
Her eyes fill with tears. “Was it that obvious?”
“Only to people who love you.”
She sets down her wine and drops her head into her hands. “I kept telling myself it would get better. That he was just stressed, or that I was being too sensitive, or that every relationship has rough patches.” She looks up at me. “But it wasn’t a rough patch. It was just... how he is. And I finally realized I can’t fix that.”
“You can’t. And you shouldn’t have to.”
“I know.” She wipes her eyes and takes a shaky breath. “The worst part is, I don’t even feel that sad. I feel... relieved? Is that terrible?”
“That’s not terrible. That’s your gut telling you that you made the right call.”
She’s quiet for a moment, processing. Then she reaches for her wine again, and I notice something I didn’t see before. Her shoulders are looser. Her jaw isn’t clenched. Even with mascara smeared under her eyes and her life in chaos, she looks lighter than she has in months.
