Don't Look Down

thirty-eight: don't hold on

It's incredible how quickly a life can be packed into boxes. Years of belongings and memories took me nine days to compartmentalize and hide behind walls of cardboard. If only the same can be done to lingering emotions, perhaps I wouldn't have accepted Diana's offer to join her new publishing firm in Los Angeles so easily.

It's not that the job offer isn't a good one. Actually, it's the dream acquisition editor job I've been anticipating. With worth, valued opinions, a solid paycheck, and a company rental home to keep me living comfortably.

Clive and his brother deserve a little credit in making this happen. If they hadn't been such jerks while running their own company, Diana would've never sold her shares and found the inspiration to start her own company with the sole mission of outcompeting them in their own industry.

We've spoken nearly every day since the initial phone call, and while Diana's brothers are harsh and demeaning, she exudes warmth and passion. Our conversations have indicated she's in this to publish good material and to create lasting relationships–with not only her employees but her authors as well. She admires my talent, wants to harness it effectively, and since that's what I've been aiming for in my career, I'm eager to build this company with someone who respects the industry and people involved the same way I do.

We're going to be a great fit.

But that means I'm forced to say goodbye to New York City. It's been a good run, complete with great friends, important life experiences, and cherished memories. After everything I've been through here, I thought it was going to be difficult saying goodbye. And in a way, it has been.

Rita and I cried as we packed up boxes and shared a bottle of Moscato last night. We'll be face-timing once a week to keep up with each other's lives, which will work just fine for us.

Marsha, on the other hand, is going to be much harder to leave. She's been an emotional wreck each time she's stopped by to offer her assistance with my packing, and while she's remained a continuous beam of positive support, I know she's taking the news hard. Distant phone calls will help us as we tread our future together, but it's not the same as face to face. I'm going to miss her spastic hugs and bubbly face. Mostly I'm just going to miss her being around. We'll make it work, though. True friendships defy all odds, and I'm certain that's what we have.

As I glance around my apartment, at the bare walls empty of my belongings, I can't help but think of Seth. We spent so many hours in this place discovering ourselves, uncovering each other's secrets. Just like us, nothing is hidden anymore.

It's how I know I won't miss this apartment. I'm ready to be free.

Clean breaks may be a myth, but physically relocating makes it feel like less of a delusional dream. Nothing screams 'fresh start' like a change in scenery and bare walls. I just need to make it through these last few minutes. Then—just like my belongings—I can leave whatever I don't want to keep behind me, while still keeping what matters.

Since only a few boxes remain, ready to be carried downstairs by movers, I spare a minute to send my second, and last, manuscript as a freelance editor to the author. Freelancing on the side is a breach of contract and once I sign the one waiting for me on the west coast, I'll have to close my account. At least it was fun while it lasted. The job I quit at the café around the corner, not so much.

I've just tugged my laptop in my purse when Marsha comes out of my bathroom. She's been a mess all day, constantly fighting off stray tears. She's full on sobbing now. It's hard to fight off my own emotions when she's reflecting them back at me, so within seconds I'm a bit of a mess myself.

As the first tears descend my cheeks, she crosses the room, throwing her arms around my neck, soaking my shirt in her own tears. We cling to each other, knowing everything changes after these next few minutes together. All we can do is appreciate the time we have left.

After the emotional downpour, she pulls back to look at me. Her eyes are liquid emerald and her cheeks are blotchy, but there's a smile quivering on her lips. "You know I'm happy for you, right?"

I laugh, it cracks at the edges. "Yeah, the tears are really selling it for you."

"No, I am. You have your dream job and I'm so fucking happy for you." She swipes at her nose with the back of her forearm like a toddler and frowns. "I'm just going to miss you like crazy."

"Not as much as I'm going to miss you."

She pulls me in again, clutching her fingertips so deep into my skin that it hurts. I don't care. Mine are doing the same thing. This is my best friend. She's been by my side through so much, always there when I need her, supporting me, laughing at me, cheering for me, and scolding me when necessary. Losing her feels like I'm losing a limb. We're only expressing that the best way we know how.

When movers walk into the apartment and grab the last batch of boxes, we both pull back, releasing embarrassed laughter. We take the moment to get our emotions under control, wiping the remnants of our breakdowns from our faces.

"I don't know what I'm going to do without my partner in crime," Marsha says, leaning her hip against the kitchen island.

I feel the same way, but one of us needs to stay optimistic. "I'm sure plenty of single men in this city are willing to take my spot."

She rolls her eyes. "After this Calvin ordeal, I'm taking a man break. And besides, you're better than any man."

"A man can give you an orgasm. I can't."

"That's true." She cocks her head to the side, sucking in her cheeks. "Maybe a man is better than you."

"Let's not get carried away."

She giggles. I'm cataloging the light, airy sound in my memory to replay whenever I'm feeling homesick when a mover informs me everything is loaded and ready to go.

I nod and say, "Thank you." Then he exits the apartment.

Turning back to Marsha, I voice what we both need to hear. "We can handle this."

"You're my best friend. Distance will never change that." She grabs her purse from the island, swinging it over her shoulder. "I want to celebrate each step of your successful career, so call me every day."

"I will. Because I want to celebrate yours, too."

"Alright." She takes a breath and walks to the door. "We need to leave before I start crying again. Are you ready?"

I take one last glance around the space, feeling the weight of this moment. My life here is coming to its conclusion. I'm saying goodbye—to the people I've grown to adore, to the city that gave me strength, and to the guy who stumbled through my doorway and made me fall in love for the first time.

"Yes."