"I think we should break up, Halle."
Will's somber expression looks ridiculous against the backdrop of my kitchen. The frills and florals once picked by my nana, always too sentimental and nostalgic for me to replace. Lemon-yellow cabinets, a DIY project undertaken after she learned to mix dry martinis at home with Mrs. Astor from next door. Joy, the Ragdoll cat Nana bought to celebrate me moving in, snoozing on the breakfast bar surrounded by crochet fish. The smell of the second batch of croissants, because I always ruin the first.
It's all too domestic. Too unserious. Too normal to warrant his rigidness.
His eyes follow my every move as I remove the This Is Me Baking apron he bought for my birthday, like he's waiting for me to have some kind of dramatic outburst. The tightness in his jaw accentuates the sharp angles of his face, and he looks nothing like the laid-back guy I’ve dated for the past year, and even less like my friend of ten years. No, this Will looks very much like a man on the edge.
After hanging my apron on the hook beside the stove, I pull a stool toward me so we can sit opposite each other at the breakfast bar. When I rest my face on my palm, I’m not sure if I’m intentionally mirroring him or if this is the result of knowing each other so long.
He reaches across the counter and takes my hand in his, giving it a tight squeeze, an encouragement. “Say something, Hals. I still want to be your friend.”
I need to say something. What I lack in experience, I make up for in common sense, so I’m fairly confident that breakups are a two-way conversation. I squeeze his hand back so I at least appear to be engaging with him. “Okay.”
This isn’t how I imagined my first breakup would go. I never expected to feel . . . nothing? I thought I’d physically feel my heart crack in my chest. That the birds would stop singing and the skies would turn gray, and while there is the emptiness I once imagined, it’s somehow not the same. I’m not necessarily sure it’s normal to imagine your first heartbreak, but I thought mine would be the tiniest bit interesting at least. But sadly, in line with my love life as a whole, this is bland. Nothing shatters and the sky is the same blue it always is here in Los Angeles.
“You don’t need to hold back, Hals. You can be honest about how you feel.”
His encouragement to speak my mind almost makes this whole thing worse. Taking my hand from his, I press my palms into my thighs and weigh the best way to tackle this. “I’m not. You’re right; I don’t think we’re supposed to be more than friends.”
Will blinks twice, hard. “You agree? You’re not upset?”
I get the overwhelming sense that Will wants me to be upset, and I can’t say I blame him. I’d be happy to be upset because at least if I was, I could believe that I’m capable of falling in love.
Because I really, really wanted to fall in love with him.
I’m not a person who struggles with words, but right now you wouldn’t be able to tell that about me. I have no desire to hurt Will, which is why it’s so hard to find the right thing to say. I’m honestly beginning to regret not faking an emotional outburst.