I walk into Java Joe’s, one of New York’s 24/7 cafés, at 11:15 pm, dead on my feet but determined to get this over with.
I don’t know what Nate could possibly want, but here I am.
I spot him in the corner, tapping his foot and staring into his mug. He looks irritated, and the sight of him makes my jaw clench. His text this morning wasn’t any better.
Two weeks, and you don’t even wonder where I am? Glad to know our relationship really meant that little to you.
What the hell? He was the one who packed up and left. No note. No call. Just an empty apartment. Now he’s sitting here, acting like I’m the bad guy?
I didn’t respond to him earlier. What could I say? We’ve been done since before Paris, maybe even longer if I’m honest with myself.
Apparently, Nate didn’t get the memo. He texted me all day, demanding we talk—and of course, it had to be in person.
As usual, my schedule didn’t matter. It never did.
So here I am, dragging my exhausted body over to his table, just wanting to get this over with so I can go home.
“Finally,” he says as I sit down, not even waiting for me to settle. “I’ve been here for half an hour.”
I take a deep breath through my nose. In, out.
“I told you I was delivering The Book tonight, Nate. I said I didn’t know exactly when I’d make it.”
He starts to say something, but I cut him off.
“I’m here now. What do you want?”
His nostrils flare as he leans forward, crossing his arms on the table like he’s preparing for battle. I stare back, my expression calm but firm. If he wants a fight, fine, but he’s not going to intimidate me.
“Andy, I’ve given you space. You said you wanted a break, and you got one. Now we’ve got to figure our shit out.”
I laugh before I can stop myself. “Figure our shit out? Nate, you moved out. You didn’t leave a note, but that sure felt like a message.”
He rolls his eyes, like I’m being ridiculous.
“We needed to see what life was like without each other,” he says, his tone patronizing. “Obviously, it’s not great. But now we can start over.”
“Start over?” I echo. “How? Why? We’ve been stuck in the same argument for almost a year. My job isn’t going to magically change. Neither am I.”
“You don’t have to work there,” he says, his voice rising. “You could—”
“Nate.” I lean forward, cutting him off. “Let’s not pretend my job is the problem. You never had an issue with me being busy when we moved here. What’s different now?”
He glares, leaning back in his chair. “What’s different is her. Miranda. She doesn’t respect you. She takes advantage of you. And you just let her.”
I blink. For a moment, I can’t even process what I’m hearing.
“You think Miranda is the problem?” I say, my voice carefully even.
“She steals every minute of your day! She calls you at all hours, sends you running for coffee—”
“That’s the job, Nate. And she respects me. She works just as hard—harder—than anyone else. You don’t get it because you’ve never had to get it.”
“You’re brainwashed,” he says, his tone dripping with disdain. “She’s got you so twisted around her finger you can’t even see how bad it is. If you’d just quit—”
“She’s letting me write.”
The words are out before I can think better of it, and I watch the impact land. His eyes widen in disbelief, then narrow in anger.
“There’s no way she—”
“I turned in my first piece tonight,” I interrupt. “It’s going in the next issue. She’s giving me a chance, Nate, and I’m not throwing that away.”
He stares at me, slack-jawed.
“Nate, we’re done. We’ve been done for a long time, and it’s time you accept that.”
I stand, picking up my jacket.
“Andy, wait—”
Before I can take a step, his hand clamps down on my arm.
“Nate, what the hell?”
His grip tightens. “You’re not thinking straight. She’s got you brainwashed or something, like Stockholm syndrome, but if you could just get some distance—”
“Nathaniel Cooper, let go of my arm.” My voice is loud enough to draw attention, and heads turn in our direction. A few patrons at nearby tables pull out their phones, cameras pointed at us.
For a second, I think he’s not going to let go. His eyes are hard, and his jaw tightens. But then he looks around, sees the phones, and releases me.
I don’t wait. I grab my jacket and practically run out of the café, not stopping until I’m down the block.
It’s not until I’m inside my apartment, leaning against the door with the lock securely in place, that I finally breathe.
That was... a lot.
If I had any lingering doubts about my relationship with Nate, they’re gone now.
We’re done. So, so done.
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