I admire people who can think of the perfect comeback right at the perfect time. I, on the other hand, mumble my way through awkward situations and think of the perfect comeback three hours after it would have been appropriate. In my head, I am like a character in the story of my own life. I always have the right response at the right time and every conversation plays out with me verbally eviscerating my opponent. I can rewrite every scene so that it plays out perfectly. If only real life played itself out like it does in my head,.
I think that's why Alice and I get along so well. I'm sure people are surprised to find out we're best friends, since we're the very definition of an odd couple. Alice is like a four-year-old on Halloween night: short, spastic, and practically vibrating, like she's on a permanent sugar high. I'm more like a toddler: constantly falling and barely able to express myself in understandable English. Alice, however, never hesitates to say exactly what's on her mind at any given time. Sometimes, this trait can get her into major trouble. Like when she met Jasper's mother for the first time and complimented her on raising such a gentleman. Her exact words were "a man who is so in tune to his partner's needs." Needless to say, she and Jasper's mother's relationship got off to an awkward start. Alice ends up with her foot in her mouth all the time, but this doesn't stop her from expressing her every thought to the world. I would give almost anything to be able to say what I'm thinking right when I'm thinking it. Unfortunately, I usually end up blushing and stammering my way through life and playing things out in my head.
Why am I telling you this? Because you need to know that I'm not totally out of touch with reality. I knew something was up with Edward long before he dropped the bomb. But as I do with so many other things, I chose to ignore the warning signs. I convinced myself that everything would be fine if I just ignored the red flags. Like I said earlier, the situation played itself out perfectly in my head. But not so much in real life.
Edward and I were like any other couple. We had our good times and we had disagreements. The fact that I live out 90% of my life in my head drove him nuts, which sometimes left me baffled. In my view of things, he went into our relationship knowing that I'm more than slightly insane. I take everyone's words incredibly literally and I am ridiculously neurotic. I overanalyze everything, sometimes to the point of making myself sick to my stomach. I know this about myself. I've been trying unsuccessfully to overcome it my entire life. But he said that he found this facet of my personality endearing. From when we first started dating, he could tell when I was overanalyzing something just by the wrinkle between my eyes and he was always able to talk me out of my fears. When he wasn't complaining about me being impossible to read. Clearly, our relationship was a work in progress.
While I am always quick to find fault with myself first (I know, I'm working on it) even I had to admit that my loving, supportive boyfriend was far from perfect. Whereas I tend to keep all of my worries bottled up inside, he shares his every concern with the world. And he has many concerns. He worries about the cleanliness of tables at restaurants, to the point where he won't sit at one unless he has personally witnessed an employee wiping said table down with antibacterial spray. A washcloth just won't do, because this might harbor bacteria. He worries that Emmett's football career might injure his brain. Or his chances of someday making Edward an uncle. Frankly, it was a little disturbing how much he worried about his brother's future chances of reproduction. He worried about the environment to everyone he met that didn't drive a hybrid vehicle. He worried about the location of mine and Alice's apartment (not in the right neighborhood). He worried about me using my laptop anywhere but seated in my ergonomic desk chair (not enough lumbar support). He worried about my deplorable eating habits (fast food five times a week causes irregularity). He worried about my safety getting around campus when he was unable to personally escort me (for once, probably a valid concern when you take into account my inability to walk over flat surfaces without tripping). You might say that occasionally his many worries became just a bit more than I could handle and I needed some time away from him to spend with people who weren't constantly obsessed with every potential disaster that might befall him. Yes, I'll admit it, my boyfriend was slightly neurotic, in his own lovable, obsessive way.
Obviously, Edward and I had the occasional issue that we had to work through, but for the most part we were incredibly happy together. He wanted to be a doctor, the perfect occupation for someone so concerned with germs. I wasn't sure what I wanted to do with my future. I majored in Literature, because I have loved reading and writing all my life. When I was a kid, books were there for me through our many moves. The familiar characters took the place of the friends I was too awkward and shy to make. I thought someday I might want to write. Or edit other people's writing. Or teach college students who also loved literature. Edward has had his life planned out since he was eight. Pre-med at the University of Washington, because they have a great Science program. Then med school at Harvard, just like his father. Internship and residency at the most prestigious hospital that will accept him. Then private practice so that he has time to spend with his wife and children. A boy and a girl. He was especially adamant that he would not be the parent of two boys. Something about how older brothers are a menace and not wanting his children to be pantsed at their high school graduation. He never would come right out and say it, but I'm guessing Emmett is responsible for this particular worry.
Anyway, Edward had his future mapped out, but I was content just thinking about my future career having something to do with books and spending the rest of my life with him. For once in my life, I had something in common with my crazy, loveable mother, who had always been content to fly by the seat of her pants. I was happy to put the planning of our future in Edward's capable hands, because I always knew that his very detailed plans included a spot for me. The trouble really began when Edward encouraged me to apply for a year-long fellowship studying Shakespearean Literature at Oxford University in England. I had heard about the fellowship from my favorite lit professor in October of our senior year. I shared the news with Edward never even planning on applying. To me, the program was another lovely fantasy to play out in my head, but not something I could ever see myself going through with. Edward encouraged me to apply, so I did. The application requirements were incredibly steep and the competition would be fierce. I never dreamed that I would be chosen over so many people who I believed were incredibly more qualified than me. But I was honored to be chosen. When I got the news in January that I had been accepted into the program, I was incredibly flattered. I had no intention of accepting, but it was a pleasant memory I could tuck away in the back of my mind to pull out in the future if I ever began to feel discouraged about my talents. I made all of this incredibly clear to Edward. Or so I thought.
I began to notice subtle changes in his behavior throughout the next couple of weeks, but I convinced myself that I was imagining things. I rationalized things in my head, just like always, and soldiered right through. Edward was going to med school at Harvard and I was going with him. I would find some sort of job in publishing or editing, or maybe I would go to grad school to become a professor. When Edward was done with school, we would move for his internship and residency. Then maybe he would be offered a position back in Seattle. For once in my life, I began to plan for the long-term. I could even picture our home, with our little boy and girl. (I had to agree with Edward; I just couldn't picture raising an Emmett. Seriously, their mother is a saint!) But then I was reminded of why I never get my hopes up when Edward pulled the rug out from under my feet in one ugly, crushing scene.
The first few days after that, I couldn't even get out of bed. I finally got up when Alice threatened to call my father. Even though I was angry with Edward, I didn't want him to be shot. My father is a police officer with a low tolerance for boys who break his little girl's heart. He wouldn't hesitate to "take care of the situation." I'm pretty sure Alice was disappointed when I gave in to her threats and got out of bed. I really think she wanted to see Edward running from my father's gun. I spent the next several weeks in a fog of denial and depression. I could barely bring myself to shower or eat. This time it was Rosalie who took care of the problem. She took one look at my unwashed, undernourished self, informed me that I looked like shit and if I didn't get my ass in the shower, she was getting in with me. Emmett seemed disappointed when I didn't take her up on her offer. Rosalie told me I had to eat because only drama students can get away with the emaciated waif look. She did make allowances for me being a Literature major, saying that my unshaved look would help me fit right in with the other hippy-dippy feminists. I went through the motions of my life, mostly to keep my friends from worrying or calling my parents.
Shockingly, Alice hadn't pressed me for details about our break-up. Although her typical modus operendi is to steamroll right over any objections raised, she really is a very intuitive and empathetic friend, and I think she sensed that I was too fragile emotionally to have it out with her. She followed me around campus like a watchdog so she could protect me in case of an accidental run-in with him and she made sure our friends left his name out of conversations. I hadn't found the energy yet to turn down the fellowship. Alice and Rosalie both encouraged me to pick myself up and moving forward. Truthfully, they didn't understand the whole situation, as I hadn't shared with anyone but Edward my true feelings about the fellowship and no one else knew how ready I had been to turn it down. I know my friends would eventually have been supportive, but they had all been so surprised and pleased for me for having such an exciting opportunity. Alice especially would have raised strong objections if she knew I was even considering turning it down and that was a battle I hadn't wanted to fight until plans were finalized. Now the choice had been taken out of my hands. After a few days of serious thought, I actually began to seriously consider taking it. After all, without Edward in my life, what else did I have to look forward to? I began to make plans for a future on my own.
At this point, I wasn't anywhere near thriving, but I was beginning to rejoin the world of the living. I was hanging in there, mostly due to the fact that Emmett secretly kept me apprised of Edward's situation. Alice would have killed him if she knew he was secretly feeding my addiction, but he knew that I could only hang on to my own sanity if I knew Edward was just as miserable as I was. Alice pretended like Edward didn't exist and she made sure that anyone who dared to mention his name in my presence was cut off before they could utter the second syllable of his name. She started off as drill-sergeant supportive, but over the past few days she had become suspiciously cheerful. She became more insanely upbeat as each day passed, filling every moment with inane chatter and off-beat suggestions (I flatly refuse to play Trivial Pursuit Madonna Edition!) and I became increasingly suspicious. Finally, I was able to wear her down and she admitted that something was up. She showed me a picture of Edward's new girlfriend, a big-boobed, dyed-blonde sorority bimbo that was as opposite of me as a person can get. This put steel in my spine like nothing else could have.
I picked my self up off the floor (figuratively), shaved my legs for the first time in a month (literally), allowed Alice to dress me for the first time in our friendship (she nearly died and it's never happening again), and walked into the party at Edward and Jasper's apartment with my friends at my side and my head held high. He was sitting next to her on one of the ratty couches, looking like he was constipated. I thought maybe it had finally occurred to him just how many germs the future hooker was harboring.
In my head, our story had always been just as epic as my beloved Austen novels. We would tell our grandchildren the story of how we met and the sparks flew instantly. In my mind, in that dark time, my story began when he entered the picture and ended when he took himself out of the pages. I couldn't imagine my part replaced by this girl, but reality was now staring me in the face. I pulled at my clothes nervously and tried to look busy. Anything to avoid looking like a lovesick stalker. This wasn't turning out to be the page-turner I had built it up to be in my mind.
Suddenly, I realized the truth. I hadn't come her to prove to him that I was moving on just like he was. I had come hoping that he would take one look at me and realize the error of his ways. I had been holding onto hope because I hadn't seen him since that day. I had thought that when we finally came face to face, he would suddenly realize how lost he was without me and everything would work out with a storybook ending. But the truth is, I'm not living in my head. I never have been. And real life rarely ends the way my beloved stories do. He had always been my hero, the Darcy to my Elizabeth. I had never truly seen his flaws, like I was seeing them now. His concern had always been endearing and I had always enjoyed feeling protected and cared for. But now I saw the other side of him, the side that constantly needed to be in control. The side that threw away everything when it didn't live up to his exacting expectations. The storybook image shattered before me. For the first time, I wasn't living inside my head, waiting to find the courage that everyone else took for granted. I was living in the moment, seeing the man I had loved for the person he really was, flaws and all.
He looked everywhere but at me and I couldn't look away from him. The room was full of people, but I was alone here with him. For weeks he had held so much power over me. The knowledge that he was getting on with his life while I could barely breathe without pain had made me a prisoner. But I suddenly felt incredibly free. His hold over me was gone, almost as if it had never existed in the first place. Maybe I could forgive him if he actually seemed like he cared. If he was willing to fight for us. But he wasn't a storybook hero. There would be no happy ending for us. Maybe this story was destined to end as a tragedy, but I no longer cared. I turned around and left with my head held high. I was ready to write my own ending.