Picking Up The Relationship Trash

gut. The morning light filtered through the blinds, casting stripes acros

night, unable to face the inevitable flood of texts from Olivia.

a notification popped up from Inst

It was a selfie of him and Olivia, taken on our balcony. The sun was rising behind t

tayed th

hts are harder than others. So grateful for the friends

be

f the picture, and her all to himself. The comments were already flooding in from their m

yal friend Olivia by his side. There was no mention of me, the supposed

t was a text from Olivia. It

m? Can you come home so we can

as about a single fight, a moment of jealousy. She had no

elt a cold sense of clarity. There was nothing to talk abo

ically removed them, untagged myself from years of photos, and then deactivated my

r. It was a weekly tradition. I knew they would ask about Oli

om said as soon as she saw me, pulling

like that,"

the question I was dreadin

ia? Is she fe

p breath. "W

wn, her face etched with concern. "What? What happe

fusion in her voice. "Always so thoughtful. She dropped

nd, the girl everyone loved. No one saw the cracks. No

ges?" my dad said, a nostalgic look on his face. "You had that f

. It was my

iversity with her," he continued, not as an accusation,

f how much I had reshaped my life, my ambitions, to fit into hers. Fo

" I said

and I knew I had to tell them the rest of it.

irst time. "In Chicago. It' s with Adler & Associates. They w

in the country. It was an opportunity I never would have even

my dad said, a flicker of pride in hi

?" my mom asked, her

k. I'm taking it. I'm movin

ut to cry. "So this is real. Y

"It's for

f understanding. She had seen the strain on my face for months, even if s

s is what you need t

phone buzzed

eading to The Taproom. Need

wanted to stay hidden on my parents' couch forever. But another part, a stronger part, kn

ted back. "I'