If You Hate Me: Chapter 27

I’m still standing in the middle of the kitchen, trying to figure out what the hell happened, when Hammer walks through the door.

Her nose scrunches up, and she thumbs over her shoulder. “I saw Tristan in the hall, and he looked like he was about to commit a heinous crime. Possibly murder.”

I nod and try to swallow past the lump in my throat.

“Are you okay?” She drops her purse. “Rix, what’s going on?”

“I don’t know what just happened.” My chin wobbles. “I think Tristan broke up with me.”

“What? Why? Did you get into a fight?” Hammer looks as confused as I feel.

I shake my head. “We don’t fight. I mean, we haven’t gotten into an actual fight.” Not since the cake incident. Anything other than that has just been mild bickering, which quickly turns into sex. “He doesn’t like arguing because there was so much of it in his house when he was growing up.”

“You’ve never had a disagreement?”

“He shuts down.”

“Is that what happened? Did he shut down and leave?”

“No.” I shake my head. “Maybe? I don’t know. I’m so confused.” My eyes prick with tears.

“Okay, don’t panic. Sit down and tell me what happened. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe he’s having a day.” Hammer grabs a box of tissues and guides me to the couch. “Start from the beginning.”

I explain what happened—that he was upset when he got here and said his brother had stuff going on, that I distracted him with sex, and we made dinner, but he was quiet and off in his own world. “Even the sex was…not typical. Like, it happened, and I came more than once, but he seemed…detached.”

“Detached how?”

I roll my eyes to the ceiling. “Like usually there’s dirty talk, and he’ll do…things.”

“Like fuck you with a cucumber, spit in your mouth, and try to fit his entire hand in your vagina?” she asks.

“Yes. No. He likes to feel my pulse. Fuck.” I close my eyes and shake my head. I’m about to start bawling because this might have been the last time. “He kept kissing my neck and burying his face in my hair. It wasn’t the way it usually is with us. We’re typically like an explosion. Oh…” I press my fingers to my lips. “Oh, God. It was like he was saying goodbye.” Stupid tears leak out of my eyes. “Maybe he came over here knowing he was going to break up with me.”

“But how did he break up with you?”

“He said he couldn’t do this anymore.” I rub my temple. “That he might get traded because his contract is up at the end of the season, and that we weren’t a good fit. That he couldn’t give me what I needed. That it didn’t matter if we ended things now or in a few months because we weren’t serious about each other.”

“I don’t understand why he’s worried about that now when the season has just started.” Hammer looks like she’s trying to decipher hieroglyphics.

I dash the tears away. “I guess he doesn’t feel the same way about me as I do about him.” I wrap my arms around my middle. “I feel sick. I can’t believe he broke up with me.”

“Tristan is stupid in love with you, Rix.” Hammer hands me a fresh tissue. “Maybe you should call him.”

“And do what? Ask him point blank if he’s breaking up with me?”

“Yeah.” Hammer gives my hand a sympathetic squeeze. “If he’s breaking up with you, he at least needs to own that shit and not do it in some weird way that makes you question what happened. Which is completely on brand for Tristan, by the way.”

“Okay. You’re right. I’ll call him.” I grab my phone and pull up his contact. I feel like I’m going to hurl as I hit Call. It rings four times before he answers.

“What’s up?” It’s clear he’s in his car. Horns blare in the background.

“Did you break up with me? Is that what happened?”

He sighs, and I’m pretty sure my heart falls out of my chest and hits the floor with a splat. “Yeah. Like I said, we weren’t serious. I can’t be what you need. I’m not the best choice for you long term.” He’s silent for a moment before he asks, “Do you need clarification on anything else?”

I’m going to vomit. “No, I think you’ve made it pretty clear.”

“Okay. You probably shouldn’t call me anymore.”

And now it feels like my heart has been punted into traffic and run over by a transport truck. “Fuck you, Tristan.” I end the call before he can say anything else to pulverize my heart.

Hammer’s expression tells me she heard everything he said. “Why is he being such a horrible prick?”

“I don’t know.” A low sob bubbles up.

She opens her arms, and I fall into them, letting her hold me while I cry my heart out.

The next morning at work, everyone who sees me asks what’s wrong, and my boss pulls me aside and tells me it’s okay to take a few days off if I’m sick. It’s flu season, and two other employees have called in this week. I don’t need to be a hero.

I don’t tell her I don’t have the flu. Although this feels just as bad, if not worse. I am heartsick, though. I can’t stomach food. Sleep is evasive. My chest aches. I was in a relationship with Rob for more than a year, and I was sad that it ended, but it didn’t hurt a fraction as much as this does. Which tells me a lot about my feelings for Tristan. There were a few times recently when I considered telling him, but I didn’t know how he’d react, so I didn’t. That seems to have been the right choice.

I leave before lunch and do something stupid on the subway ride home: I check all the unread messages from Rob.

My fingers hover over the keys, I start and stop a few times, but I finally type the message and send it:

The humping dots appear and disappear three times before a message appears.

My phone vibrates just as I exit the train. I clear my throat before I speak, “Hi.”

“Hey. Hi. I’m glad you picked up. Are you okay?” Concern laces his tone.

“Right now I’m not the best, but I’ll be okay. Was I easy to leave?” I ask again. Because this is the second time in a year someone has broken up with me. I feel like the common denominator.

“No, Rix, you weren’t easy to leave,” he says softly.

“One day you were texting that you missed me and then a couple of weeks later you were dating someone new.”

He sighs. “That wasn’t fair of me. But loving you from the other side of the country wouldn’t have been fair to either of us. Breaking up with you was hard, Rix. Really fucking hard. It’s why I didn’t message for a couple of months. I just…couldn’t hear your voice and not hurt. Why are you asking me this?”

“The hockey player broke it off with me.”

“He’s a fucking idiot, and I would know since I was one too when it came to you. Did he say why?”

“He said he couldn’t be what I needed.”

“That sounds like a him problem, not a you problem. Look, Rix, you’re an incredible woman. Driven, smart, fun, funny. Maybe he realized the same thing I did, that it would only be a matter of time before someone better for you came along. But breaking up with you was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.”

“It was the right thing to do, though. Thank you for taking the time to call.”

“Thanks for answering.”

We say a slightly awkward goodbye and I feel like at least where Rob is concerned, I have some closure. I manage to keep it together until I get home. But the second I walk through the door, I break down again. That’s the state I’m in when I call Essie.

“That fucking asshole. He’s damn lucky I don’t live in Toronto, or I’d hunt his stupid ass down and kick him in the nuts,” she says after I explain.

I start bawling again. I’m not afraid of crying, although I prefer to do it in private. But the number of tears I’ve shed since last night is ridiculous. I should probably drink something with electrolytes to replenish all the salt I’ve lost.

“Can you take a few days off work?” Essie asks.

“My boss thinks I have the flu.” When I saw my face in the subway mirror, it made a lot of sense. My eyes are red rimmed, with dark circles under them, my nose is red, and I have a pocket full of tissues. So yeah, it was a logical leap.

“Come see me. Get out of Toronto for a few days. Let me take care of you,” Essie says softly. Her fingers click away on a keyboard. “I found a flight that leaves at three this afternoon and returns to Toronto on Sunday for three hundred bucks. I’m booking it. Start packing.”

“Wait, what? Don’t buy my ticket.”

“It’s an early Christmas gift. I can’t watch you fall apart from across the country. I need to see you, and I’m working an event on Friday. Otherwise I’d get on a plane.”

“I love you so much.” More tears fall.

“I love you, too. I’m sending you the information. You can cry for five more minutes. Then turn off the faucet and pack a bag.”

“Okay. I can do that.” I get my eyes to stop leaking after three minutes and prop my phone on my nightstand, talking to Essie while I pack a suitcase. Afterward, I lie on the couch for ten minutes with tea bags on my eyes to help the swelling go down. Essie has to meet with her team for this weekend’s event, and I need to get my ass to the airport, so I end the call.

On the way to the airport, I call Hammer to explain, then leave a message in our group chat to tell the girls I’m going to Vancouver, but I’m just a text away. I’m about to email my boss about working from home for the rest of the week, but she’s already sent me one saying she’ll see me on Monday and to get some much-needed rest. And then I’m off.

“I’m so glad I’m here.” I melt into Essie when she picks me up from the airport that evening.

“Me too. Tristan is an idiot.” She wraps her arm around my shoulder. “Come on, let’s go back to my place and drink wine and you can tell me what happened.”

Essie lives in a small one-bedroom apartment in downtown Vancouver. It’s fun and artsy and full of her effervescent personality. Soon we’re sitting on her hot pink couch, me hugging a zebra print pillow and nursing a glass of wine while I recount the events that brought me by plane to my best friend’s living room.

“I just don’t understand why he felt like he needed to end things now when you have the whole season in front of you,” Essie says.

“He said he couldn’t be what I needed.”

“What does that mean, though? What does he think he can’t give you?”

“His heart, I guess. He said he couldn’t be open with me the way he thought I needed him to.” I sigh. “Maybe he realized I have stronger feelings for him than he does for me. That might explain it?”

“I don’t know, Rix.” Essie taps her lips. “Maybe he didn’t tell you how he felt in words, but he sort of showed you, in his own weird way—like that cake, and the basket of veggies shaped like penises, and taking you to the maple farm. He cares about you, Rix. So whatever happened to cause the breakup, it wasn’t because he doesn’t have feelings for you.” She gives me a sad smile. “I think you’re used to being second best. Not because you are, but it’s a mindset you’ve adopted. When you were young, you never wanted to be in the way. Your brother stole the limelight, and you always stepped back into the shadows. But you were never less important. Ultimately, it’s up to you to reject that or accept it. Especially with someone like Tristan.”

My chin wobbles, and my eyes prick. I pluck a tissue from the box beside me. “He was so awful at the end. It was like a switch had been flipped, like he’d turned off all his emotions.”

Essie’s eyebrows pop. “Maybe he did. You said he was off and something had happened with his brother that he didn’t want to talk about. He’s super tight with both brothers, right?”

“Yeah. He talks to them all the time. He goes to Brody’s games, and he and Nate text every day and talk on the phone as much as you and I do.”

“Okay.” She crosses her legs. “He said something happened with Nate, the one who’s our age, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe whatever happened with Nate triggered Tristan and that’s why he shut down. But we can’t know for sure because we’re not in his head.”

“I just hate that I don’t know because he wouldn’t tell me.” I let my head fall back. “Why did I fall in love with my brother’s best friend? Why couldn’t I stick to casual sex and that’s it?”

“Because he gave you plenty of reasons to like him. And from what I’ve seen, he cares about you the same way you care about him. I just think you’ve had a lot more experience at relationships with substance than he has. Maybe his feelings for you scare him.”

“I’ll never know since he told me I shouldn’t call him anymore.” I hug a pillow to my chest. “I’m running in circles, going nowhere. How can I face him after this? All my friends in Toronto are connected to the freaking team now. I built this whole network of support, and now it’ll be super awkward.” I lift my head. “What time is it? They have a game tonight.” I left my phone in her bedroom because I didn’t want to obsessively check my messages or be disappointed by the lack of contact from Tristan.

“It’s eight.”

“Shit. The game’s already over.” I set my wine down and hop off the couch. Hammer and I were talking about this game. They played Colorado, and they’ve been on a winning streak. Toronto was hoping to be the ones who broke it.

I pull up the team social media feed. “Yes! They won!” My smile drops when I realize I can’t message Tristan to congratulate him. I message Flip instead.

Before I toss my phone aside, I do something stupid. I check my brother’s social media. And my poor battered and bruised heart takes another hit. Because the first image to pop up is one of Flip and Tristan, amidst a group of bunnies.

“Uh-oh. What happened now?” Essie asks.

I toss the phone on the cushion so she can see. “Looks like he’s already over us.”

Maybe it’s time to consider moving to Vancouver.