Memory Lane Pain

My phone was radio silent on the Bray front all day Monday and Tuesday, which was probably just my karma for going and slutting it up ten seconds after our date. The first few days of the week were consumed with back-to-back meetings, and I spent every spare moment researching Blast for my interview on Thursday. It was almost nine o’clock on Tuesday night by the time I trudged up the stairs to my apartment, collapsing in an exhausted heap on the couch. 

I kicked my heels off and flopped onto my back, skimming my seamless app for something that was at least mildly healthy. The calendar kept alerting me to the fact that bikini season was coming up, so it was time to kick the obscenely unhealthy habits I had become accustomed to over the winter.. Farewell burritos the size of a newborn, hello salads and unsatisfying wraps. I had just hit “Confirm Order” when my phone buzzed with a text from Bray.

Hey stranger. Hope you’re having a good week. I know it’s short notice, but if you’re free tomorrow I’d love to take you out. 

I contemplated saying I was busy, even though the only thing on my calendar was a date with the salon down the block for a pedicure. But I decided to not play by Cosmopolitan’s rules and accept his invitation.

I could move some things around, what’d you have in mind?

I responded. 

Just dress comfortably :) Pick you up at 9. 

Comfortably? I was intrigued, but replied that yes, I would be ready at 9. I squealed excitedly and bounced over examine my closet. Since the weather was finally catching up to the calendar, I decided to unearth some of my warmer clothes from their hibernation spot under my bed. I yanked out two massive tubs of clothing and started to rifle through. About two minutes in, my hand hit something hard stuffed underneath a two-year-old Urban Outfitters skirt. I reached down and pulled out a shoebox. Not just any shoebox, but the one I had stuffed with all of my Nick memorabilia when we broke up. I settled cross-legged into the soft gray fabric of my Ikea rug and gingerly lifted the lid. It had been months since I had angrily stomped around my apartment, grabbing anything Nick-associated and tossing it either into the trash, a box to give back to him, or this box. A few days after the break up, when I had seen a photo of him and another girl on Facebook, I nearly threw the box in the trash. But a more sane voice in my head convinced me to hide it under my bed where I wouldn’t have to see it on a daily basis.

The top of the box was filled with cards from birthdays, anniversaries, christmases and miscellaneous “i’m sorry” cards after fights, all with his unmistakable handwriting. Unfolding each one was like bringing Nick right here into the room - they were a time capsule of our relationship. Mentions of inside jokes, nicknames, funny stories. The banter of our own secret language that you can only form when you’re so unbelievably comfortable with someone. There were photos of us tailgating at football games, at his fraternity formals, ticket stubs from baseball games at the Philadelphia Phillies. There were dried flowers, boarding passes from visiting each other at our respective cities when both abroad in Spain and a pair of 3D glasses from the Rockefeller Christmas Show two winters ago. And then there was the photo. A close up of us taken by my old roommate, looking drunk and happy, our faces so close that my eyelashes rest on the top of his nose in that instant before our smiles turned into a kiss. It had always been my favorite photo of us. My hand reached for my phone before I could reason with myself that texting him was not a good idea. I snapped a picture of the photo and texted it to him.

Spring cleaning - I forgot about this one. 

I hit send before I could change my mind. His reply came almost immediately.

I still have that framed in my living room. 

No you don’t i said back. Cheesy Danielle had given him the photo in a frame on his 23rd birthday. 

Wanna bet? It’s sitting right on that black bookshelf. 

I knew where this was going, and I didn’t even try to deter it from getting there. I could picture the photo in my hazy memory of his apartment. Wedged between a stack of DVDs and the side of the shelf propping them up. My phone vibrated again in my hand.

Your copy looks pretty faded, maybe you should come over and give mine a peek to get the full effect. 

I chewed on the side of my cheek, contemplating his offer. Obviously, I wouldn’t be going there to look at a photograph. My mind said a firm no, but there were other parts of me that really wanted to go over for very unlady-like reasons. I placed my head into my hands and groaned. How in just one week did I go from having zero men, to having two? Looking up at the heaps of summer clothing in front of me reminded me of the reason I even was looking at this box in the first place - my date with Bray tomorrow. 

I’ll just have to take your word for it. 

I placed the lid back on the box and moved it to the top shelf of my closet. If there was anything I was starting to learn, it was that the best thing to do with Nick was just to walk away. Plus, I had a date to dress comfortably for, and a job interview to knock out of the park.