The Breakup Trip

My twenty-sixth birthday started with a cancellation.
Anya, Im so sorry. The department had an emergency executive meeting come up. We have to cancel the Italian dinner tonight. I promise Ill make it up to you once this crunch is over, okay?
Okay. Just try not to overdo it. You need to take care of yourself, too. I looked at my reflectionall dressed up with nowhere to goand managed to keep my voice light.
Good girl.
The line went dead.
Just as I set my phone down, a text popped up from my friend, Sasha.
Anya, are you and Dean at The Bellagio too? What a coincidence!
Attached below the text was a photo.
It was Dean Harrison, my boyfriend, gently brushing a stray lock of hair away from a young womans ear. The look in his eyes was so tender it felt like a physical blow.
I knew the girl. Willow Tate. The perpetually little sister who had grown up next door to Dean, the one he always insisted was too fragile and needed his protection.
I watched the twin flames of the little 2 and 6 on the cake flicker in the dark, then silently blew them out. I couldnt even summon the energy for a wish.
A man like that? I was better off without him.
1
My name is Anya Reed, and Im just an ordinary corporate analyst.
Dean Harrison, my now-ex-boyfriend, is a rising star in the Chicago business world. Young, ambitious, and on a trajectory to the very top. We were, by all accounts, two people from different worlds, and anyone on the outside would tell you I was punching far above my weight to be with him.
I stripped off the cocktail dress and high heels, wiped away the meticulous makeup, and changed into my oldest sweats. I retrieved the tiny, lonely birthday cake from the fridge and inserted the 26 candles.
In the sudden dark, the candlelight danced, reflecting the stark solitude on my face.
I closed my eyes, about to make a wish I didn't mean, when the screen of my phone flared to life.
It was Sashas text again: Anya, are you and Dean at The Bellagio too? What a coincidence!
The photo was still there. The background was the exact Italian restaurant Id spent two months trying to get a reservation at. The focus was Dean, his hand near the neck of the girl, his gaze soft enough to melt marble.
The girl was Willow Tate. His lifelong little sister. His pure, golden girl from the past.
Sasha must have instantly realized her mistake because the text message was swiftly deleted, followed by a frantic, OMG, I looked at the wrong table! That guy is totally not Dean! So sorry! So sorry!
I just stared at the ghostly image lingering on the screen, a nauseating wave churning in my stomach.
His emergency executive meeting, it turned out, was him celebrating my birthday with his idealized first love, in my booked restaurant.
I blew out the candles. The sickly sweetness of the store-bought frosting, combined with the bitter bile rising in my throat, made me want to gag.
Exactly at midnight, Deans call came through.
Happy birthday, Anya. His voice was slightly slurred, a mix of fatigue and a low-grade buzz.
I didnt answer right away.
He must have picked up on my silence, because he softened his tone. Whats wrong? Are you still mad at me?
No, I said, the word coming out husky and foreign. Is the meeting over?
Yeah, just wrapped up. My head is killing me.
He was lying so casually, without a flicker of remorse. I dropped your gift off at your companys front desk. Youll see it when you go in tomorrow. Did you like it?
Dean, you dont have to work this hard.
A beat of silence followed, then his voice hardened with annoyance. Anya, what is that supposed to mean? I spent the entire day working, I havent even had a minute to breathe, and I called you right at midnight to wish you happy birthday. Is that really the attitude youre going to give me?
See? This was his move, always. The moment I showed even a sliver of disappointment or dissatisfaction, he would immediately seize the moral high ground, framing my feelings as childish or ungrateful.
It means nothing, I said, taking a deep, shaky breath to push down the rising lump in my throat. I got the gift. Thank you. Im exhausted. Im going to sleep now.
I didnt wait for his reply. I hung up and immediately switched the phone off.
I tossed the phone onto the sofa and buried myself under the comforter. I didnt sleep a wink.
I went into work the next morning with dark circles that looked like bruises.
The receptionist, as expected, handed me a beautifully wrapped, petite box.
Inside was a delicate diamond necklace I had mentioned wanting months ago.
Yesterday, I would have been touched by his thoughtfulness. Today, it felt like an insult.
He could use a necklace to make up for standing me up. What would he use to compensate for his complete and utter deceit?
I dropped the necklace into the bottom drawer of my desk, opened my laptop, and pulled up the chat box for Mr. Powell, the Head of HR. I typed: Mr. Powell, is that regional rotation opportunity to the Charleston branch still available?
Charleston, South Carolina. A sunny coastal city two thousand miles away from Chicago.
Three years ago, I had turned down a corporate transfer to stay in Chicago with Dean, who had just returned from overseas.
Now, all I wanted was to escape this city, and the man who was suffocating me here.
Mr. Powells reply was instant: Absolutely! Anya, Im so glad you decided to go for it. Ill send you the application forms immediately!
Staring at the application process on the screen, a feeling of lightness, one I hadnt felt in years, washed over me.
After work, I did something unprecedented: I didnt go home to cook and wait for Dean. Instead, I met Sasha at a noisy, brightly lit music lounge.
The deafening music and strobe lights were a temporary anesthetic for my bruised and broken heart.
Sasha, peeling a spicy crab leg for me, was furious. Anya, you are just too damn patient! If this were me, Id be upending his entire life! Celebrating your birthday with another woman? Whats the difference between this and catching him red-handed?
I smiled bitterly, shaking my head.
Dean had a severe form of germophobia. He never ate anything that required shelling or getting your hands messy. I used to love spicy seafood, but to accommodate him, I hadnt touched it in three years.
As the fiery, savory flavor hit my tongue, I realized with a sharp pang just how much of myself I had discarded in the process of loving him.
End it, Sasha said flatly. He isnt worth it.
I was about to nod when my gaze inadvertently swept across a nearby booth, and I froze solid.
Dean was sitting there.
And beside him, of course, was Willow Tate.
There was a third man, who looked like a client. Willow said something, giggling effusively, her body practically draped onto Deans side.
And Deanthe man who claimed to hate crowds, loud noises, and had a meticulous obsession with cleanlinesswas listening patiently, not a hint of impatience in his expression.
What rotten luck.
Sasha spotted them too, and instantly looked ready to flip our table. I gripped her arm tight.
Dont.
Why not? Go over there! Let him see you! Let him know you arent some piece of furniture he can just ignore!
It wont matter, I murmured.
Just as I spoke, Deans eyes scanned the room and locked onto mine.
He paused, then his brow furrowed, and he rose, walking purposefully toward our table.
What are you doing here? His tone was laced with accusation.
Before I could speak, Sasha cut in, What? Is this venue exclusive to officials and forbidden to common folk? If you can be here, why cant Anya?
Deans face darkened. He ignored Sasha, focusing his stare entirely on me. Come home with me.
Im not finished eating. I gestured vaguely at the growing pile of shells and napkins on our table.
He glanced at the mess, his frown deepening, a familiar flicker of disgust in his eyes. Anya, you know how I feel about
I know, I interrupted, my voice steady. Thats why I stopped eating it. But now, I want to.
Our standoff drew Willows attention.
She glided over, all soft curves and performance, and looped her arm through Deans. Dean-Bear, whats going on? Is this the girlfriend?
She looked at me, a subtle, victorious gleam in her eyes.
Willow, stop it, Dean said, his voice laced with the usual note of reluctant fondness. He then turned to me. Im in the middle of a work discussion. Go home first. We can talk about whatever this is when I get back.
We can talk about this when I get back. Always the same line.
Looking at him, I felt an overwhelming weariness, a sense of deep pointlessness.
I stood up. No need. You two carry on. Im finished and Im leaving. Have a good rest of your night.
I grabbed my purse, didnt give him a second glance, and walked out.
Sasha, stunned for a moment, rushed to follow me.
The cold Chicago air hit my face, and for the first time all night, I felt like I could breathe.
Anya, you were ice-cold just now! That was incredible! Sasha exclaimed, excited.
But I couldn't smile.
I knew this was only the start. The tug-of-war wouldnt end until I was truly gone.
I returned to my apartment.
It was late, and I was on the verge of sleep, when I heard the distinct sound of the lock turning.
Dean walked into the bedroom, bringing with him the sharp scent of stale alcohol and a strange womans perfume.
I lay perfectly still, feigning sleep.
He stood by the bed for a long moment, then leaned down and pressed a cold, brief kiss to my forehead.
Dont be mad, Anya.
He whispered the words, the tone one might use to soothe an annoying but favored pet.
I didn't move, keeping my breathing unnaturally slow.
I woke up the next morning to an empty room.
On the nightstand, there was a velvet box. The exact necklace I had admired at the boutique yesterday.
I opened it, and the glare of the diamond felt like an insult to my eyes.
He always did this: using an expensive gift to replace a genuine apology, believing that monetary value could smooth over any emotional offense.
I closed the box and tossed it into the drawer that was already full of his various compensations.
Then, I signed the regional rotation application form and handed it to Mr. Powell.
The die was cast. I just had to wait for the paperwork to clear.
In the ensuing days, Dean seemed to believe the gift had successfully placated me, and our routine settled back into its weary, familiar rhythm.
That Friday afternoon, I was packing up my desk when Dean called.
Are you free tonight? I want to take you somewhere.
I cant, I made plans with Sasha, I declined instinctively.
Cancel them. His tone was absolute. Im waiting downstairs at your building. Five-thirty. Ill see you then.
He hung up.
I sighed, defeated, and texted Sasha to cancel. I decided: tonight was the night I would lay all my cards on the table.
At five-thirty, I walked out. Deans black Mercedes-Benz S-Class was parked conspicuously at the curb.
I opened the door and slid into the passenger seat. He handed me a sealed envelope.
What is this?
See for yourself.
He started the engine, a secretive smile playing on his lips.
I opened the envelope. Inside were two first-class tickets to Italy, along with a thick, meticulously planned travel itinerary.
Italy? I stared, bewildered.
Youve always wanted to go, havent you? He glanced over, his eyes soft. Consider it my real birthday gift. Were going to have our own world for a week, and forget all this unhappiness.
His gaze was genuinely tender, his voice sincere. A month ago, I would have been overwhelmed with gratitude.
But now, all I felt was deep, bone-weary exhaustion.
Dean, we
Shhh, he cut me off. Dont say a word. Just let me handle this.
The car sped toward the airport.
He had orchestrated everything. Even our luggage was packed, already waiting in the trunk.
I was half-coerced into the VIP lounge, holding a steaming cup of coffee, my mind numb.
I watched the handsome, charismatic man beside me, who was now communicating fluently and confidently with the airport staff. He was dazzling, successful, and brilliant. But everything he gave me was laced with endless disappointment.
This trip to Italy, I told myself, would be our final farewell.
I mentally christened it the breakup trip.
2
After a grueling ten-hour flight, we landed.
The air in Italy was humid and romantic, but my heart felt like a dry, cracked desert.
Deans hotel was downtown, with a classic view of the ancient streets.
He seemed to be in high spirits, wrapping his arms around me from behind and resting his chin on my shoulder. Do you like it?
Mmm, I replied noncommittally.
My lack of enthusiasm seemed to annoy him, but he didnt press. He just said, You rest for a bit. I need to catch up on some emails. Ill take you out for a Michelin dinner tonight.
I nodded. The moment he turned away, I subtly pulled out of his embrace.
I was genuinely tired, and the plush bed was too inviting. I was asleep almost instantly.
I woke to the jarring sound of a phone ringing.
It was Deans cell.
I fumbled for it in my grogginess. The screen displayed two words: Willow Tate.
My stomach dropped like a stone. Seriously?
I tossed the phone onto the nightstand, refusing to answer.
But the persistent ringing went on and on, relentless.
Dean was in the shower and couldn't hear it.
Frustrated, I sat up. Finally, I swiped to answer.
Hello?
There was a noticeable pause on the other end, followed by Willows voice, trembling and tearful. Is that Anya? Where is Dean? Get him to call me! I Im in trouble!
Hes busy, I replied coldly.
Anya, please! Im begging you! Ive really messed up! Willow sounded genuinely panicked. I I followed Dean here to surprise him, but my passport and wallet were stolen! Im at the police station, and I cant understand a word theyre saying! Im so scared
I wanted to laugh. A surprise? It sounded more like a self-inflicted disaster.
Followed him here. Stolen passport. Did she think I was born yesterday? There were no such coincidences in the world.
Just then, the bathroom door opened. Dean walked out, wrapped in a towel, drying his hair.
Whose call is that?
I threw the phone at him. Your precious little sister, Willow. She came to Italy to give you a surprise. Shes now at the police station and needs her hero to come to the rescue.
Deans face instantly changed.
He grabbed the phone and began speaking rapidly in Italian, his brow tight with concern.
A few minutes later, he hung up and started scrambling to get dressed.
I have to go out, he said, struggling with his shirt buttons.
Go, I said, watching him with detached calm.
He looked guilty, and walked over, attempting to hug me. Anya, Willow is a young girl, and this is her first time out of the country. I cant leave her alone like this. Please be a good girl and wait for me here. I promise Ill be back as soon as I sort this out, okay?
Dean, I met his eyes, my voice slow and deliberate. If I were the one at the police station today, unable to speak the language and penniless, what would you do?
He hesitated, then said, Thats not the same. You have me, dont you?
Yes, I had him.
Yet he was choosing, right now, to abandon me in this foreign country for another woman.
Where is my passport and wallet? I asked.
On the way over, he had insisted on keeping all our important documents and cash in his briefcase for security.
He paused, a flicker of panic crossing his face. Theyre in my bag. Dont worry, the hotel is perfectly safe. Ill be back quickly.
With that, he grabbed his briefcase and rushed out of the room without a backward glance.
The door slammed shut with a thud, extinguishing the last, faint flicker of light in my heart.
Here I was, Anya Reed, in Italy, completely and unequivocally abandoned by my boyfriend.

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