I didn’t think it was possible to feel emptier than I did after Robbie died. I was wrong. I was so wrong, it’s not even funny.
I pick up my phone for the millionth time today, but it remains quiet. No new messages, no missed phone calls. Tristan has been radio silent since the minute I got out of his car, and I’ve hated every second of it. I miss him so much it hurts to breathe.
My love for Robbie was innocent and pure. It was a young love which grew into a beautiful partnership and happy marriage. It was the kind of love where you feel content and satisfied because you have no idea what you’re missing—and there’s nothing wrong with that because life is good. But once you know what you’re missing, you can never go back.
If I thought losing Robbie broke my heart, it’s nothing compared to losing Tristan.
Tristan imprinted himself on my soul. He loved me with a passion that burned through all my defenses like a wildfire in a forest. I didn’t stand a chance. He burned down all my preconceived notions about what love was, and I didn’t even realize it until I lost him.
No, not lost—pushed away.
I keep replaying our final conversation and hearing his broken voice. It’s okay, Jo. I get it. Why did he think I was ending it? I was never actually able to voice my fears, my shame, or my guilt. So, why did he so easily accept my decision to end things?
Not for the first time, my stomach clenches painfully. What’s going through his head right now? Is he beating himself up for something that’s not even his fault? This is my hang-up; it has nothing to do with him, not really.
I pick up my phone to text him because I can’t stand the idea of him hurting. It causes a physical ache I feel even in my bones. But before I get a chance to even think about what I could possibly say to make this better, my mom calls me.
“Hey,” I answer.
“Hey sweetheart. How are you? We haven’t heard from you in a few days.”
“I…” I close my eyes and take a breath, fighting away the tears that have been just beneath the surface for days. The tiniest thing sets them off, no matter how much I try to control them. “It’s been a rough week. Tristan and I broke up.”
“What?” My mom sounds genuinely stunned, and I can’t really blame her. When I told her Tristan and I were together she remarked on how happy I sounded.
I definitely don’t sound happy now.
“What happened?” she asks.
I sigh heavily, not really wanting to relive it, but also knowing she’ll get it out of me eventually, so I might as well rip off the Band-Aid. “Do you remember Lily and Rick Sampson?”
“Your old neighbors? Sure. They were a nice couple. Maybe a bit too concerned with appearances, but they were nice enough.”
“Why do you say that?” I’d never once noticed that they were focused on appearances. I knew they liked nice things, and Rick had been overly ambitious and always talking about how he was moving up in his company, but that just seemed like small talk you’d make with your neighbor.
“What? That they were ambitious? Just things they said, the way they talked about their material possessions or how Rick’s job allowed them to buy this or that. When they’d come over for your get-togethers, they were always talking about one thing or another that was supposed to make them look more prestigious than I suspect they actually were. They cared a lot about what other people thought of them, almost like they thought everyone was judging them.”
Ironic that it was their judgment that sent me spiraling. “I ran into them,” I say absentmindedly, still distracted by my mom’s words running around in my head. “They saw me with Tristan.”
“So?”
“So…they made some comments. Well, Rick did, but he had to know I’d hear him.”
“Comments about what?”
“About how quickly I moved on.”
“Okayyyy…and?”
“What do you mean and? I knew it was too soon.” The panic I’ve been feeling starts to rise in my chest.
“Too soon for what, Jo?” my mom asks with a mix of caution and reproach like only a mother can.
“Too soon to love him as much as I do!” Those tears surface again, and my heart is racing too fast for me to catch them before they start to fall. That’s the first time I’ve ever admitted it out loud.
“Jolie Elizabeth, please tell me you didn’t break up with Tristan because of someone else’s opinion.”
“They were right! It was too soon to be dating. Robbie only died a year ago—”
“Nearly a year a half, Jolie,” she interrupts.
“What?”
“He died nearly a year and a half ago, and like we’ve told you before, there’s no set timeline on grief and when someone can move on. You fall in love when you fall in love. For some people, it never happens again, and for a lucky few, it happens sooner rather than later. You are one of those lucky few, Jolie. Everyone can see how much you love Tristan. How happy he’s made you after the shit year you had after Robbie died. Why would you let someone else’s judgment sway what’s in your heart? I thought I raised you better than that.”
If I could rip my heart out of my body, I would. Shame courses through me sharper than before. But this time it’s not other people’s opinion of me that makes me ashamed. It’s my own.
“Jo,” Mom starts, her voice more composed than it was only moments ago. “If you really weren’t happy with him, that’s one thing, but that clearly isn’t the case. You admitted you love him, so what was this really? Why did you sabotage it?”
Guilty tears pour down my cheeks—guilt over breaking up with Tristan, guilt over moving on too quickly, but that’s not even the worst of it. “I’m afraid I love him more than Robbie,” I whisper, finally voicing the fear that has been niggling at the back of my mind.
Everything I feel for Tristan is so powerful and overwhelming. It never felt like that with Robbie, and I can’t bear thinking about what that means for the marriage I cherished. But I’m also terrified of losing Tristan—ironic since I’ve lost him anyway by my own choosing, but it felt easier to lose him now than to lose him later when I was so deeply in love with him that I wouldn’t survive the loss.
“Jolie, honey. Don’t ever doubt your love for Robbie. No one else is, and if someone ever does, tell them to go fuck themselves.” I choke out a short laugh; my mom rarely swears. “You loved Robbie and he loved you as much as either of you knew how. Love doesn’t have to look the exact same for everyone. You can love Tristan fully and it look different. That doesn’t diminish the love you had for Robbie. It’s okay to love them both.”
And that’s when I start to ugly cry. She stays on the phone with me as she drives over to my house, and the second I open my door, she wraps me in a warm hug and I fall apart all over again. But when I finally pull myself together, things look clearer. A lot clearer.
The next day, I drive over to Becka’s house for our regularly scheduled girls’ night, nerves fluttering in my belly. I haven’t spoken to her or Tamsin much since I broke things off with Tristan, but I have no doubt she knows what happened.
When she opens the door, she pulls me in for a hug. Her smile is dimmer than usual and doesn’t meet her eyes.
She rubs my arm. “How are you doing?”
After my long talk with my mom and the plan that’s slowly developing in my head, I decide to be honest. “I’m miserable.”
She pinches her lips together, her eyes giving away the sadness she feels about the situation. “You’re not the only one,” she says as she gestures me into the house.
Her words make my heart ache, and I can’t stop myself from asking, “Have you seen him?”
“Only for band practice.” She nibbles her lip like she’s not sure she should say more, and I grip her arm tightly, my eyes likely conveying all the worry I feel.
“Becka, please. What do you know?”
“Honestly, not much. Just that he’s not been himself at all. Trent’s worried about him—they all are. They’re over at his place tonight checking in on him.”
Well, at least he’s not alone. But I hate hearing that he’s not doing well. I don’t know what I expected, but it hurts knowing I did this to him, to us.
Tamsin arrives before I can pepper Becka with any more questions, and she gives me a big hug but doesn’t comment on the situation. I’m both relieved they aren’t going to make me discuss my mistake, but also desperate to talk about him, to tell someone my plan and see if it’s crazy.
Halfway through our movie, Trent comes home, his shoulders sagging and his hair disheveled like he’s been running his fingers through it. He looks exhausted and sadder than I’ve seen him in a long time. Becka goes to him instantly, and they move around the corner out of sight. I excuse myself to use the bathroom, but Tamsin smiles at me and I know I’m not fooling her.
I follow the sound of their voices and stop outside of their guest room which they must’ve ducked into because it’s the closest room.
“I’ve never seen him like this, Becks. He’s been in love with her for as long as I can remember, and even when she wasn’t his, he was never this…broken. I don’t know what to do.” She murmurs soothing words to her husband, while I drop my head to the wall behind me, my legs shaky and my heart pounding so hard, I can hear it in my ears. A tear escapes down my cheek, and I know I’m running out of time. I need to fix this. I can’t stand hearing that Tristan’s broken when all I want in the world is to make him whole.