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“We broke up,” she says, her voice a bit muffled on the other end, and Cullen’s whole world tilts on its axis.
He stops walking and presses the phone closer to his ear; someone jostles into his back.
“Terribly sorry!” he says to the clearly agitated commuter as they hurry past. Cullen moves out of the sidewalk traffic and onto the patchy grass.
“That wasn’t meant for you,” he says into the mouthpiece. “I mean, of course, I’m also sorry for you. To hear that.” He registers his quickening heartbeat and reminds himself to focus. “When did this happen?”
Even amidst the din of the busy street, her sigh comes through loud and clear. “Last night, after dinner. I just couldn’t go on any longer - you know how long we’ve been trying to work things out. I tried, didn’t I?”
Cullen nods, then feels like an idiot. “Of course you did. You both did, seems like.”
She snorts. “He tried for, like, a day at a time before retreating into himself again. I just - I just couldn’t go through the cycle anymore. Enough is enough. And it’s not like we’re married. I need to be alone, clear my head. And then maybe I can find someone that actually shows me they love me.”
I would show you, every bloody day. He almost has to bite his tongue to stop the words from slipping out. A jogger wearing blinding neon clothing with their headphones turned up to max volume passes by.
“That’s understandable,” he says instead. “How are you holding up? Are you going into work today?”
“Hell no,” she declares. “Sick day, baby. I wouldn’t be able to focus - I’d be useless. But I’m all right, I think. At least I will be.”
A smile comes to his lips as he adjusts the shoulder strap of his bag. “Let me guess. Video games, Netflix and GrubHub?”
“Fuck, Cullen! You know me too well. It’s spooky.” The last word sounds thick, like she’s eating something.
“Is that a croissant I hear?” He also knows it’s from the french bakery around the corner from her apartment.
“Ugh - stop that! You’re freaking me out!” She laughs while she chews on her favorite pastry.
“You’re not that hard to figure out,” he says, watching a handsome labrador retriever on a leash do his business a little too close for comfort. He moves a few paces away, watching the ground for anything left behind by inconsiderate dog owners. “You do the same thing every time you call in sick, and you eat croissants when you’re celebrating something or when you’re very sad.”
“Yeah, well, anyway, Sherlock,” she continues, “he took it pretty well. Didn’t even seem that surprised. We had a cordial talk, I told him how I felt, he did a lot of nodding, said some stuff and that was that. Poof, relationship over.”
There’s a pause; he imagines she’s sipping her almond-milk latte from the same bakery. “I didn’t expect hysterics or anything, but Maker, couldn’t he at least have protested a little bit?” Her mouth sounds full again. “Guess it proves I made the right call.”
Cullen isn’t the least bit surprised. He liked Sam well enough, but the guy’s a bit of a dullard and doesn’t seem interested in putting much effort into anything, let alone his relationship with her. He’d often wondered what she had seen in the guy to begin with besides his annoying good looks, but he’d just assumed Sam was very different behind closed doors.
Ah, who’s he kidding? He hated the bastard, from the moment he saw them together - no, before that, when she had told him she’d developed feelings for Sam. This was the best news he’d heard in precisely two years and two months.
“I mean, we were together for two years and two months. Least he could do was look disappointed.”
“Well, he’s an idiot. Sounds like this is for the best. You can do better - much better.”Like me, for example. He realizes he’s digging his fingernails into his rubberized phone case.
He checks the time on his phone, purely out of habit - he’s going to be late for work.Shit. Even so, he waits for her answer.
“Aw, don’t call him that.” She sounds truly sad for the first time since breaking the news. “He’s really not a bad guy. I still love him. He had a lot of great qualities, he really did. I guess I’m just not in love with him anymore, you know?”
Play it cool, Rutherford. Way too soon to be insulting him, it could backfire. “Sorry. Ah, listen, I-“
“Can I ask you something? To get a man’s perspective?”
He glances at the time again. He could start walking to the subway, but it’s only a couple of minutes away - he’ll lose reception before they’re finished talking. There’s no way he’s saying no. “Ask away.”
“What makes a man withhold his feelings? Even when there’s a woman right there in his face, telling him she loves him, telling him she needs his affection, needs him to show any emotion, needs him to act like he gives a shit? Why is that so fucking hard? And he’s not the only one, according to my girlfriends.”
Cullen stares at a faded sticker on a nearby city trash can that reads “You Are Beautiful”, and words that had previously been his most private thoughts begin to tumble out of his mouth, out of his control.
“Well, he probably wanted to, but he just didn’t know how to express himself. I mean, it’s not easy to tell someone that you love the way they talk out of the side of their mouth sometimes, or how they laugh at everyone’s jokes, even if they’re not funny. Or how they talk to other drivers in traffic with the windows rolled up, as if they can be heard, or the way their face scrunches up when they’re confused. Or that you love how they worry about inconveniencing restaurant staff if they go in right before they close, or how they can relate almost any real-life situation to a movie or TV quote, or how their voice goes up about five octaves every time they see a dog.”
His neck and ears are on fire but he can’t stop, it’s as if someone else is speaking through him. “It’s not easy to tell someone that their smile is the only reason you get out of bed some days, that the sound of their voice is your oxygen, or that the very idea of life without them terrifies you beyond comprehension. So… ah…yes, it can be… quite difficult.”
His mouth has gone bone dry. This is the closest he’s ever come to telling her his true feelings, feelings he’s hidden out of respect for her relationship with Sam and out of fear of losing her friendship. He can barely hear her breathing on the other end, and for a minute the sounds of the city fade out, as if someone just turned down the volume.
Finally, after an absolute eternity she speaks, breathless. “Wow. Um, well that was… insightful.“
She gasps suddenly, startling him almost clear off the ground. The city roars back to life around him.
“Holy shit, Cullen, it’s after nine! You’re never late! I’m so, so sorry, I’ve kept you on the phone with my stupid crap and I didn’t even realize the time.”
“It’s fine, don’t worry. I doubt they’ll even notice.” It’s a half-truth; Josie will surely be waiting impatiently for him so they can get started on their project. Even though he doesn’t report to her he finds that he still hates to let her down.
“Go - go! We’ll talk later. And Cullen?”
He merges back into the crowd on the sidewalk and strides toward the station, his heart returning to a somewhat normal rhythm, his neck cooling. “Yes?”
Her voice lowers, softens. “Thank you. For being there, for being my friend. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
The word ‘friend’ rattles around in his head, just like it always does. “Any time. Call me if you need anything. I’ll check on you later.”
“Ok, bye.”
“Goodbye.”
He pulls the phone away from his face, her image on the screen smiling back at him, fleeting, before the call ends and she disappears.