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“Hey, girl!” I say. “We’ve been at the dog park for half an hour. Time to go home.”
Biscuit glances at me, thoroughly unimpressed, and goes back to chewing her stick.
Even the dog doesn’t love me.
Okay, I have to stop being so melodramatic. Valerie just needs some space, so I’m giving her space. She says she’ll come back to me, and I’m trying to believe her.
But this feels as bad as a break-up, and I should know. I’ve had a lot of break-ups. Thirteen, to be exact.
I can’t help thinking about the what-ifs. Usually, I’m not much of a worrier, and I can push these thoughts to the side.
Today is different, though.
What if she changes her mind? What if that was goodbye forever?
I didn’t tell her about my fears. I didn’t think she needed to deal with those.
The fact is, however, that the two “breaks” I’ve had in relationships ultimately led to the end. I just need to do my best to have faith that it won’t happen again.
Biscuit finally trots over and deposits her stick at my feet. I put on her leash and we head back to my parents’ house, where we snuggle on the couch, a pitiful pair. Me and the dog, watching the hockey game together.
A few minutes later, my dad comes in.
“Peter! You didn’t tell us you were coming over today.”
“I didn’t come here to see you. I came to see Biscuit.”
“Gee, thanks. Way to make your old man feel wanted.”
Things are simpler with Biscuit. She doesn’t ask for explanations. She just happily accepts snuggles and ignores me at the dog park.
“Where’s Mom?” I ask.
“Oh, she’s at an art class.”
When Dad provides no further details, I assume that means my mother is posing nude for life sketching.
I try not to think about it.
“Did you and Valerie break up?” Dad asks. “Is that why you’re down in the dumps?”
“We didn’t break up. We’re taking a break.”
He snorts. “When does that ever work out?”
I don’t say anything.
I miss Valerie so much. I’m not used to going a whole day without texting her. I’m not used to going a few days without meeting her at Ginger Scoops.
This isn’t the end, right?
* * *
I go back to my apartment that Saturday evening, after having dinner with my parents. I turn on my TV and pull up Netflix, but I can’t manufacture an interest in anything, so I turn off the TV and throw the remote to the other side of the couch.
Goddammit.
I try to get up, but I can’t muster the enthusiasm.
Finally, I convince myself to go to the fridge for a beer. I told Valerie that I like IPAs, and she went to a brewery in Etobicoke that had just released a new batch of what is supposed to be an excellent IPA, which you can only get at the brewery. I grab one from the top shelf and manage to injure myself while opening the bottle.
Goddammit.
I take the beer back to the couch and put on a movie I’ve seen a zillion times before, something I don’t have to pay much attention to, because my brain is still focused on Valerie.
I remember all the things we did together.
The kissing. The dancing. The sex.
The Japanese cheesecake, Korean-Polish fusion, Thai rolled ice cream, flourless chocolate cake, pupusas... Fuck, will I even be able to go out for food in Toronto without her haunting me?
I remember coming home from work and finding her in the bath, drinking wine. Another time, she scurried to the door and gave me a kiss.
I remember her telling me about her ex and her job.
I know it’s hard for Valerie to talk about those things. I know it’s been hard for her to open up to me, to go to bed with me.
Yet she’s faced her fears. She’s stronger than she believes.
I admire the hell out of her.
And one day soon, she’ll find her way back to her career, and I know she will kick ass.
I hope she’ll let me be by her side.
I slap my bottle of beer on the table and turn off the TV. I can’t stand to sit here any longer. My inclination is to go to Ginger Scoops, but I need to give her the space she asked for. I need to be patient.
Instead, I go to the Thai rolled ice cream place and order the same thing that Valerie and I shared. Chocolate-strawberry. Except this time, I eat it all by myself, and I don’t bother taking any Instagram pictures.
Afterward, I head to the bar where we went dancing and have another beer. Then I go to Graffiti Alley, where I walk past two couples making out and a bunch of teenagers smoking pot.
I’ve never acted like this after a break-up. Never moped about the city, reliving our dates.
I wasn’t wrong; I really never have felt this way before.
I can’t regret my previous relationships, and they were what I wanted at the time. But now, I’m committed to building a future with Valerie. I will do whatever it takes.
I’d buy a durian, smash it open with an ax, and eat the whole goddamn thing if that would convince her of my commitment. I’d even eat a pint of durian ice cream every week for the rest of my life if it meant I get to be with her.
Of course, that wouldn’t be preferable, but I’d do it. Not that Valerie would expect me to suffer like that for her.
I have to trust her the way I want her to trust me, and when she comes back to me—I tell myself it’s “when,” not “if”—I’ll do something to show how devoted I am, to prove how special she is to me. Something that doesn’t involve durian. Something more, well, traditional.
I hurry home and start doing some research.