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Angela Giarratana is a comedian.
This means that she understands timing; understands that no matter how good a good thing may be, the only thing worse than it ending-- is it dragging on too long. This is why she broke up with you. Not that she viewed your relationship on the same level as an overly drawn-on joke, by any means, but because she thought she understood timing.
Being an actor was always a realistic pipe dream of hers, which seems oxymoronic to say, but her entire career felt paradoxical in that way. The first audition she ever went to in her adult life was a success. Yet every one that followed wasn't. Maybe a commercial here or there, but not enough. You were there throughout it all, celebrating every win, no matter how small, and finding a way for every loss to not feel like losing.
It's not that it was ineffective-- it's just that she felt like she was running into a wall at full speed over and over, and that the result never changed.
Within those last few months, you could feel that something was different about her, starting so unbelievably small, building until you hardly recognized your girlfriend. It was the way she held your hand, so loosely, letting go after only a moment, when there was a time you thought you must have Velcro there, keeping you together. Her texts, which were always a bit slow, had only come short of halting completely. You two were going to get an apartment together when her lease was up. She used to talk of it constantly, complain about her neighbors, and dream of how you'd decorate the spaces. Her lease was up in a month when she'd finally brought it up again. It wasn't in the way you'd hoped.
She wasn't going to renew her lease, which wasn't surprising in the slightest; it was the fact that she was moving to New York.
"You don't understand!" She'd argued, as if you hadn't been by her side through it all, "I can't land any jobs out here-- and it's a real opportunity. A good one. Why can't you just be happy for me?"
You didn't know how to say it was because she chose a shitty community theater opportunity over your relationship, over you.
It was because she understood timing that she knew she had to leave LA, that if there were no jobs, she was the overly drawn-out joke, attending an endless stream of auditions for the same people over and over.
After that fight, you both went home, angry, ignoring the pact you made to never leave a dispute unresolved.
You woke up to find that she'd texted you sometime in the middle of the night. Said she was going to take the job, that she'd contacted whoever her ‘in’ was already; confirmed. You knew what that meant, and you knew why she had pulled away.
Long distance would never have worked for the both of you, your relationship wasn't wired that way, and your job kept you tied down in LA. She had received that offer months ago, and she was just testing if she could survive without you. At least that's how it felt, to find it all out. She was only seeing if her hands would feel so cold without yours to keep them warm when out at night. Trying to see if she could last without sending you the pictures of random puppies in audition rooms or allusions to inside jokes. She was trying to see if she could keep going without the promise of a future together floating around in her head.
It wasn't that shocking when she showed up at your apartment door, a box of your things in hand. Her eyes were red and puffy, like she'd been crying, and you knew then it wasn't easy for her, but it sure as hell had to be easier than it was for you. At least she had time to prepare; she was aware of the end approaching. You weren't-- blindsided by this job offer that she'd never spoken of.
The city reminded you of her. Every shop, every corner, bar, restaurant, all of it. But, in a way, it was as if she had been slowly preparing you for this. There's a version of you who'd have texted her on accident a dozen times, or squeezed the empty space between your fingers, wondering why it felt so wrong.
Her business was no longer your business, and you liked it that way. There were a few mutual friends who felt weird being stuck in the middle of it all, but you knew that would pass, that Angela would be across the country in a month or so, and they wouldn't have to toss a coin before deciding who to comfort with a night out at the bar first.
Chanse was the only one who never made it weird. He's been put through it enough by the rest of his friends, you're sure. He was the one who told you about Smosh, this new job he'd landed a while back. Some YouTube something or other, comedy and skits, all things you didn't like the taste of right now. They'd leave you thinking of your now ex-girlfriend and her short films that she put everything into.
Just shy of two weeks before she was set to leave, Chanse went out with you, drinking. Your other friends were out with her, some sort of binge-drinking event disguised as a going-away party. They'd had a couple of those. Once Chanse had enough in his system, he started talking a little too freely about Angela's life, what she's been doing. Moreso, just about the stupid 'party' going on. You were just focused on trying not to look as awkward as you felt. Every time he said her name, it was like taking a punch to the gut, which isn't even mentioning the time he accidentally let an 'Ang' slip without thinking. It hurt. She wasn't your Ang anymore.
"I don't even know why they're throwing her another one of those 'parties,'" Chanse had said, words slurring together, a little, "She got a gig where I work."
"What?"
You had asked it too quickly, too eagerly.
Chanse spotted it immediately, giving you a warning look, making sure you knew he wasn't going to be an information carrier between the two of you, caught somewhere in the middle.
"Yeah, at Smosh," He let it on carefully, thinking over his words a little more, "It was for just one video, but they invited her back again next week."
"Is that like a permanent thing?"
"No, not really," He scoffs at your blatant interest in her, "But that's how I started-- a couple of videos each week, and then all of a sudden, I'm given an introductory meeting with HR and added officially as a name on the call sheet."
You knew better than to pry. But you'd wanted to know if he thought that would happen to her, if she looked like she'd enjoyed it enough to stay.
None of that mattered to you anymore, whether she stayed or left. You guys were separate now, all traces gone from each other's lives. Well, maybe not all, there was still a sweater of yours suspiciously missing from that box she returned, that you couldn't find in your closet, and of course, there was that stupid hoodie she'd lent you on the first date that you were always stealing from her. You didn't know why you hadn't given it back with everything else; you even found all of the goddamn Tupperware she'd left at your place, but kept that one thing.
After that last night at the bar, Chanse hadn't been really avoiding you, per se; he had just been very busy. Inexplicably busy, without excuse, but you didn't press. If he had a reason to keep away, that wasn't anything you needed to hold him to.
Today's the day Angela needs to decide whether or not to renew her lease. The date's been seared into your memory. July 31. She'd joked about celebrating the 4th of July much bigger, that it wasn't just the independence of the country, it was the independence of having a new home, together. Of course, by the time it had actually rolled around, she'd gone quiet, and a silent agreement hung in the air to just go out with your friends, some lackluster party that she drank too much at, somehow always finding a way to be surrounded by anyone but you.
Your lease still had a month to it, but she always joked that it meant you'd have a free trial of living with her, enough time to find her insufferable and back out at the last minute. You had reassured her constantly, you knew enough of her quirks from over the years, and had survived a dorm room back in the UCLA days, so it would be okay. You never would've thought that she'd be the one to back out, but again, you're sure she must've thought the same thing back then.
There's a knock at the door that takes you out of your wallowing. It's only 2 pm, but you've got some random beer someone left in your fridge at some point in your hands. It's early, but 'it's happy hour somewhere,' you had thought to yourself when you grabbed it, before solemnly coming to the realization that it was 5 pm somewhere. In New York.
Either way, you leave the can behind on a coaster, and absent-mindedly wonder if you'll end up resorting to pouring straight vodka down your throat later. Anything to distract you from the last however many years that feel so wasted now.
The knocking repeats before you make it to the door, a sort of frenzied sound, which only assures you it's either a cracked-out neighbor or an impatient landlord, neither of which sounds very appealing at the moment.
You shout out an annoyed, "One second!" and fix up your hair a little, checking that there's no visible signs of your moping stuck on your face.
When you swing the door open, it's none other than Angela there, with this sort of signature look on her face. It's the same one she made when she told you how she dropped your mug on accident when you were gone, or when she realized a joke she said might've been a little too harsh. Her eyes are wide, some mixture of fear and regret stirring in them, and her lips fall into a frown you doubt she's aware of.
"(Y/N)" She says quickly, like she's aware of how your first thought was to close the door, pretending you never saw her, "I'm sorry."
Your arms fold over your chest, trying to close her out in every way possible, if you can't close the door.
"Why are you here?"
There's an unspoken layer to it, that you aren't asking why she's at your door, right now, but why she isn't in New York, or at least at LAX, awaiting a flight.
Her answer doesn't clue you in as to whether she understood that.
"I needed to talk to you."
"I'm not sure there's anything to say between us anymore." A part of you feels bad to be so harsh, but the other part feels a tight squeeze in your chest at just the sight of her, and it hurts.
She brings a fist up in front of her mouth, not able to make eye contact.
"I got a job offer," She says it quietly, uncertain, "Where Chanse works... and I'm thinking about taking it."
"What about New York?" You ask, before shaking your head, reaching for the door, "I don't see what any of this has to do with me."
"Look, I'm sorry, (Y/N)," She pleads, "I should've handled things differently. I shouldn't have just broken up with you like that, but--"
"I don't want to hear this right now." You shut your eyes, letting out a frustrated exhale, "I think you need to leave."
"No, (Y/N), please--" You cut her off, pulling the door to a close, but panicked, she shouts out, "I won't go to New York."
It causes you to pause, involuntarily, like you can't help but listen to whatever it is that follows.
"If you tell me to stay-- then I will. I'll stay."
No matter how assured her words may seem, they're delivered with big, scared eyes, a shake to her voice.
"What?" You aren't sure why you ask, when you hear her perfectly fine, understand her perfectly well.
She elaborates, repeating the same sentiment, "I'll take the job offer here, I'll back out of New York. I just need a reason to stay here."
She blinks a few times, waiting, like she might just throw up on your welcome mat if you don't say anything.
"No," Her face drops at the word, shoulders slumped down, "No, you don't get to just come back here and ask for a reason to stay. You didn't need one four months ago when you got that offer; you just started what-- soft-launching our breakup? No, Angela, this is bullshit. You don't get to ask me this like you didn't make the choice already."
"What?" Her face contorts into confusion instead, and it only builds on this rage growing in your chest, because you've been perfectly clear up until this point.
"Oh, you just thought I wouldn't notice? The way you could barely even talk to me over the last few months-- it wasn't very subtle. You should've broken up with me the moment you got that offer, because you treated me like a lamb off to fucking slaughter, Ang," The nickname slips out, unexpected, and it makes your face feel hot, with embarrassment, or anger, you aren't quite sure.
"That's not--" She barely holds herself together, and if you weren't so upset, you'd tell her to take a breath, to relax, take her time, but you just watch, "I didn't know if I was going to take the offer, but I thought about it. A lot. And this guilt was just consuming me every time I saw you, because it shouldn't have even been a question in my mind, but it was."
"You wanted me to be happy for you when you told me! Like I was supposed to throw a party and celebrate you breaking up with me or something!"
"Acting has always been my dream, and I-- I don't know, I thought we could talk it out or something," Her hands fly as she rants, "I thought you'd be happy that I was finding a way to make acting work, that we could find a way to make us work, too, but you--"
"I what, Angela?" You can feel your tone is getting too harsh, too angry, but in the heat of the moment, you can't care enough to keep it down. "I didn't appreciate my girlfriend giving me a month's notice before moving across the country? Sorry, I guess I should've talked it out-- just like you did once you were given the offer!"
"I still love you, (Y/N)." She says it like she's so sure, so certain, it's the first thing she says where she doesn't sound like she's about to shit her pants, "And I know I fucked up, bad. But I want to make it better. If you give me a second chance, then I'll stay. Please."
You think that she doesn't need your permission to stay, that she can take the job, renew her lease, unpack the boxes you're sure she has all over her apartment. She can do all of that without you, if that's what it's about. But it isn't, you realize. She isn't looking for a reason to stay; the job is already enough. Getting to stay here with all of her friends, close to her family, it's enough. It's not just some excuse to back out of the move. What she really wants right now… is you.
"I don't understand." Your voice gets caught in your throat, "It just seemed so easy for you. You just showed up and returned all your stuff like that, like nothing. And you've been out with all our friends like every night. You've been working too, with Chanse, and it feels like I'm the only one stuck here."
She blinks, surprised, like she's processing what you said.
"None of this has been easy for me," Her hands are waving as she speaks as if this is all so crazy to her, "I didn't sleep a wink that night, I just kept thinking through what I should do, and I convinced myself that you were tired of me, of watching me fail over and over, that you weren't happy for me because you couldn't believe that I could do it. In the moment, it felt like I was only doing what you’d want me to."
You swallow thickly and listen to her rant.
"And I haven't been partying by any means-- I've been so miserable that no one can stand seeing me sober. They keep throwing me these stupid going away parties just to give me the excuse to get wasted without feeling bad about it," She laughs, sourly, "But once I'd get drunk enough, I'd still end up all teary about missing you, and someone would get me an Uber home, but I'd just find that I had food waiting by the door every time. Enough for the both of us."
You almost laugh. Almost. The thought of her continuing her most expensive (and delicious) drunk habit, ordering delivery while still at the bar. Sometimes she'd tell you, sometimes she wouldn't, but it still felt like a surprise every time you'd both stumble back to her apartment just to find enough sushi to feed an army. Or there were the times she'd end up following you back to your apartment for the night instead, and once she'd get home in the morning, there would be a picture of deserted IHOP bags by her door, forgotten.
"And, god, you don't want to see that video I was in," Her hands flex, and she shuts her eyes briefly, "I was losing my mind without you, (Y/N). I'm still losing my mind. I can't sleep, I can't function. And then I was offered this job here, and it just felt like a sign that I was never supposed to leave. At least, not like that. I don't want to go. I want to stay."
"Then stay," Your voice wavers, sounding as unsure as you feel, "I don't want you to go, either."
"Really?"
You nod, and you can't tell if you're making the right choice. Your head is telling you how stupid it is to take her back when she practically tossed you to the curb a month ago, but your heart? Your heart feels like it's drawn to her by some magnetic force, and it takes effort to keep yourself from crossing the threshold to where she stands, outside.
"Are you going to renew your lease?" It's the only thing you can think to ask, the only thing that might keep you from closing the space between you and her.
"About that..." She lets out an awkward laugh, looking off at something that isn't you, "One of the times I was out drinking, I got a little too passionate about the move and called my landlord."
"Oh."
"Yeah, I might've told him that I was moving out, and that I was done living in his 'shitty ass shoebox hole in the wall bullshit apartment.'"
"Yikes."
"He won't draw me another contract," She shifts her weight back and forth, like she suddenly feels so awkward just standing at your door.
"I mean," Your rational side is screaming to shut up, "The plan was always for you to stay here, right? While we figured out a better apartment for us."
"You don't..." Her voice trails off, "Are you sure?"
"Yeah," And for some reason, you mean it, "I've missed you."
"I've missed you, too."
There's a tension that's dissolved, and now it feels like the strangest thing in the world that you didn't invite her inside already.
"Come on," You offer, extending your hand to her, "You should try some of this shitty beer that was in the fridge."
She stares at your hand, smiling, enough that it reaches her eyes, and she takes it. Angela Giarratana is a comedian. This is why she knows that when she wants to keep something going, the best thing she can do is 'yes, and.'
"Beer at 2 pm!" She looks around the apartment like it's her first time inside, "Should I grab the whiskey my dad gave me last year while we're at it?"
Her hand holds yours tightly, like she'll never let go, and maybe things aren't perfect, but they're okay, for now.