12_ A Familiar Aftermath

In the weeks after I broke up with Dex, the world continued as normal. Tears were only shed when I was fully inebriated— sometimes with strangers but, more often than not, alone. I was not picky. I tried to be more careful with who I offset my emotions to. There was no need to burden anyone with my self-inflicted tragedy.

The separation was either performatively mourned or openly celebrated with interactions varying from ‘I’m so sorry,’ to ‘good riddance’. Based on their comments, I could tell how close these people were to me, or how candid our relationships were. Many of those who were closest to me seemed to enjoy expressing themselves in the most colourful ways and I found myself wincing at how freely people threw out criticism now that they felt justified in doing so. I watched chests swell and mouths curl with satisfaction as ‘I told you so,’ left their lips; there were times when I could not tell if they were consoling me or being self-gratifying over an outcome they’d been expecting and wanting.

I was sitting by the canal with Aisha, grumbling about the heat and the amount of faeces I’d had to avoid on my walk down. I squinted at the waters, internally cursing at how blinding and overwhelming the world was. The breeze smelt sour, of al fresco lunches and sweating bodies making the most of the sunshine. Everyone was doing something—jogging, walking, eating, canoeing in or sitting by the waters. Their conversations and laughter were too loud. Even the cloudless skies felt offensive, why did it have to be so beautiful on a day I felt so miserable?

Your self-pity is unsightly.

I know.

“It’s been like two weeks, how are you still not over it?” Aisha’s tone was matter-of-fact as she nibbled on her thumb before stretching out her long fingers in front of her. I had been intensely focusing on a pile of dog faeces that must have been left for a long while. Despite being baked dry till the surface was ashy, flies still hovered around it— positively ecstatic over this revolting prize. When I glanced over at Aisha’s hands, I realised that her nails were painted almost the exact same shade as the unfortunate lump I had been examining. How strange this colour— perhaps named ‘Simply Taupe’ or ‘Coffee Nude’ would never be named ‘Sun-baked Doo Doo’ or something equally as egregious. It is strange how external packaging really matters in life, but I held my tongue on that observation.

“I don’t know— maybe I actually liked him?” In trying to not sound too snappy, my comment came out more like a whine.

How much did you actually like him?

I pushed that thought away, liking Dex justified all the crying and whinging. If I couldn’t even admit I liked him, what was all of this pain for?

“Didn’t seem like it when you were together,” she remained nonchalant, “because if you did, you wouldn’t be constantly breaking up.” I watched an owner try to yank their dog away from the ashen pile. “How is Sonny by the way? Are you guys still talking?”

“Mmm,” I said without looking away from the dog. The owner seemed to be struggling, repeatedly hissing ‘Dexter’ at it while pulling at its leash. But Dexter was adamant, gravitating towards the turd; maybe all Dexters had a special interest in crap. “Yeah, we are still talking.”

“Everyday?”

“Everyday.”

There was a pause after this admission. Aisha continued picking at her nails while I contemplated if I should light another cigarette. I decided against it; I hated smoking in the sun when I wasn’t drinking— what was supposed to be soothing always tasted worse without something cold to chase it away. I decided then and there I would probably have a drink after work.

“Why don’t you just date Sonny?”

“Huh?” The question caught me a little off guard, I’d forgotten how much Aisha knew. “It seems a bit soon, no? I am still trying to recover.”

I watched Dexter the dog and his owner walk away, Dexter still straining on his leash. The owner’s arms were bare, with a sheen of sweat over the muscled contours. My own flimsy arms quivered inside the sleeves of my baggy cardigan that was too thick for the weather. I thought about the time that Aisha had suggested I get a pet and shuddered. If I couldn’t manage a relationship where both parties could communicate, how was I going to manage a being that did not understand me at all? I didn’t have the strength to control a pet, just like I didn’t have the capacity to keep Dex around.

“Maybe you can recover with Sonny.” Aisha followed my gaze to Dexter who seemed to have found a friend. Both dogs were noisily telling everyone that they had met, while both owners offered each other apologetic smiles and nods for the barking before they walked on. “You like him— don’t you?” she asked pointedly.

“I guess? But I could just…stay single for a little while and just… see where things go,” I countered weakly before checking the time on my phone, “it’s ten to, I should get back to the office.”

“Oh yeah, fair enough— I need to get back also.” Aisha worked at a different practice. “How’s the project going in Manchester by the way?”

“Going,” I replied listlessly and after a few more metres, we said our goodbyes and went our separate ways. I was grateful that the conversation topic had been diverted from Sonny and not to be revisited. There were some things that I wasn’t ready to divulge.

--

I found myself repeatedly looking outside, my face scrunching as my vision adjusted between the brightly lit streets and the carefully calculated lux levels of an ideal workplace. I picked at the stray white fibres that clung to my clothes and pulled my office shawl a little tighter over my shoulders. The air conditioning unit hummed in the background as if snoring. The acetate sheet that someone had ingeniously taped in front of the vent to redirect the cold air whistled as it wobbled every time the unit breathed heavily. Every ounce of warmth I had grumbled about earlier had left me and my hands were purple from the cold. The thermostat was guarded by Callum, who always seemed permanently flushed. He was lost in his own world, scrolling on his phone while taking a sip from a can of White Monster. Callum’s ritual was to start the day with a can of White Monster when he arrived at the office, and another after lunch. Whenever I heard the gas release from the tab being pulled up, I would sneak a peek at Callum. I was somehow always surprised that it was White Monster and not a can of lager—as if in the small world of Miyu, the only drink that came in cans was beer.

If he had a beer at work—the day would be far more interesting.

I could hear the heavy techno beats through his earbuds, and I wondered if his heartbeat was in time with the rhythm. Callum paused his music as I adjusted the thermostat behind him.

“Aww— you cold?” Whenever Callum spoke to me, I always felt as if he was addressing a toddler. I believed he would be a fantastic primary school teacher, and probably excel at getting children excited for P.E. Callum was a gym enthusiast and often posted his physical achievements on social media. I always seemed to catch a glimpse of his posts when I was lying in bed, envious of other people’s commitment to their health and well-being as I hatefully remembered that the last time I did any sort of physical exercise was years ago. Maybe that was why I was cold all the time.

“I can’t believe you’re not.” My face scrunched involuntarily when I adjusted the thermostat from 17 degrees to 20. When I turned to face Callum, I observed that my actions had received mixed reviews, some offering grateful nods while others raised their heads in confusion to the exchange. You truly cannot please everyone.

“It’s boiling though. You know it’s 32 degrees today! I was sweating when I was out for lunch.” Callum leaned back languidly in his chair with his hands behind his head. His T-shirt clung to his body, damp from the sweat he just mentioned. There were slightly darker patches at the armpit areas. I tried not to let my gaze linger for too long; it is not particularly polite to stare at anyone’s armpit even if they put them on show. “I can’t believe you’re actually cold.”

I can’t believe I have to work in a refrigerator because you’re apparently too warm, but here we are.

Callum replaced his earbuds and returned his attention to his screen. When he leant forward I could see a column of sweat from where his shirt was pressed against his back. Maybe he was simply of a different constitution. Maybe if I actually lived a healthier lifestyle I wouldn’t be freezing and shivering all the time.

Or maybe it would help if you ate lunch.

I sat back down at my desk, and took a sip of my now very icy tea. A lot of things would help with a lot of different things but it was too bad that I never decided to do anything that helps with anything.

--

By the time I was finally comfortable enough to work, people were quietly leaving the office one by one. I opened and clenched my fists, my hands still cold, and sighed; it was simply one of those days where I just could not get comfortable enough to do anything.

I turned my phone over, deliberately looking at the time first when in reality I knew I could have just looked at the bottom-right-hand corner of my PC screen if I wanted it. This way, if I didn’t have any notifications, at least I’d found out the time. Self-comfort is important. It was fifty-seven past five and there were a number of emails that I decided I wouldn’t check, notifications from apps that I never bothered using and messages from Sonny.

Sonny: :BIGHAMU:

how r u feeling?

almost done?

Miyu: am fine- almost done

a bit cold in the office

how are you?

Sonny: sad

wrap up warm

almost done

about to head out to the pub with the others so can’t call today sorry

but will message

did dex msg you today?

call me if you need me

Miyu: no worries

no

Sonny had become more attentive the last couple weeks since I broke up with Dex. When I broke the news to him, he was extremely sympathetic over the whole situation. Instead of simply asking me how I felt, morning messages and check-ins now also included if Dex had messaged me. I didn’t understand why he would’ve wanted to know but I answered ‘no’ honestly every time. Him asking always made me think if I would’ve answered honestly if Dex did actually message me. Maybe. Maybe not. I never understood why it would have mattered to him since we had not spoken about his confession since the last time it was mentioned after the aquarium. I assumed that it was no longer up for discussion and I was not going to bring up something that might have been a fleeting fancy.

The warm air felt wet on my skin and clothes when I stepped out from the office, the sudden change in temperature making everything feel clammy. I could hear the chatter from the crowd at the pub down the road; half of the office was already there and it would be easy to just go. I would listen to everyone else and their problems, offer people good advice that I’d heard over the years and did not follow myself. That way, I could feel extremely accomplished without needing to address my own problems. Genius.

But the prospects of oversharing my romantic mishaps didn’t seem appealing. I had a terrible habit of oversharing when drunk and I would have preferred if no one knew what was going on with me intimately. I adjusted the now damp canvas strap of my tote on my shoulder, put my headphones on and took the long way home towards the station along the canal. My antics from previous summer and Christmas socials were still openly discussed and reminisced and I did not feel like adding more fuel to the fire.

By the time I’d gotten home, eaten dinner and settled down in my own room, the world was aflame in a dark ruby glow. The skies above were a soft lilac, the setting sun as orange as an egg yolk. I picked up my phone, pointing the camera at the molten skies in hopes of capturing this glorious moment, sighed and then put my phone back down. What was the point? I never look at any of the photos I take anyway, and the photos are never as beautiful as what I see with my eyes. I thought about how beautiful the world was, and lamented that I was too miserable to appreciate it.

I sipped my second helping of red wine from a ‘best girlfriend’ mug that my mother bought for me on discount from a Hallmark card shop. I wasn’t anyone’s best girlfriend—least of all my mother.

My phone vibrated against the hard surface of my desk. It was Sonny.

Sonny: Heyy

Miyuuy

I can’t walk

Steichen s

Straight

sorry

for bothering

Hope u have good evening

I held my breath as I watched the messages continue; my eyes glued to the ‘Sonny is typing’.

Sonny: I know I said I would give you time

But its weeks

You aree

the

fucking best

Girl ive ever met

I dntt think

You get ity

Wy cant you love me bck

And with that, I turned my phone face-down. What was I meant to say? I took another gulp of sour wine from my mug. The question hovered uncomfortably in the air. Sonny had been there through all of the ugliest months. Why shouldn’t I love him back?

Why do you have to love him back?

At quarter past eleven, the powdery lilac skies were now an inky navy. I caught sight of myself in the mirror, the darkness masking my stained lips and distasteful expression. If I feigned sleep, maybe I would never have to answer these terrible questions.

You don’t have to love him if you don’t want to.

But the problem is, I think I would like to. I am more afraid that I don’t.