I’m sitting on a back patio in one of my favourite areas of Toronto. It’s 4:30 on a Friday afternoon, I just had a facial (a free work perk), and my first glass of Lambrusco is almost empty. I’m wearing the Emily Mais pre fall uniform - a white off-the-shoulder top, and a pair of insanely wide legged jeans that I picked up from the Zara in Rome. My skin glows, I have a new lipgloss on, I’m an unknown patron at this specific bar, and I feel at ease.
Ironically, the bar where I’m at is where Jesse and I had our first official date 8 years ago. We sat in the corner and talked for hours and also made out for hours, and when he went to the bathroom, the man next to me started to hit on me (as predicted by Jesse), and I had to stop Jesse from punching the guy in the face.
“We’ll just go!” I smiled and grabbed his hand. I wish I was lying, but I am not.
But wait, do I wish I was lying? No. I actually do not.
I feel like I start many newsletters like this. “As predicted by intuition” - and here I am, yet again. Writing the same words I usually write: “As predicted by my intuition…”
-
Monday was my day off, so I head to the same area in the city to sell a gold heirloom. I feel like my ancestors would be proud that I am creating my own financial independence. I am honouring something that I don’t think they had, but wish they did. Freedom.
It’s a beautiful fall day. I’m wearing my favourite grey Malboro crew, leggings, green NB’s, and my Louis crossbody. There’s something comforting about September in Toronto. You can feel fall here, there’s always that promise of change.
After selling this gold necklace (ironically, the same one Jesse held over my head after things ended in 2018. To summarize - we had ended, we had a run-in, I spent the night at his place, I left said gold necklace on his bedside table, he told me daily that he would “drop it off” but *never did*, I had to show up to his place drunk, 3 weeks later, demanding for it back. I yelled. We hooked up against the white wall of his foyer, to which the denim of my jeans rubbed off on his wall and left a dark blue butt print that will hopefully be there for the rest of eternity. He calls this “Blue Jean Night”.)
I walk back home and text my friend.
“Going to Farmboy around 5 to get a few things for pasta. Feel free to join. No pressure.”
I feel like making one of my favourites tonight - pasta with rapini and crushed sausage.
“Perfect. I’ll meet you there after work.”
On the walk over, I think about the term “abundance”. If we don’t feel materially wealthy, maybe we feel spiritually wealthy. There’s abundance in friendships, in people who see you, understand you, and truly have your back. There’s abundance in your own passions, and in the way you take care of yourself. There’s abundance in what you love - your favourite lipgloss and body oil, your favourite perfume, your favourite purse, even your favourite pasta.
How lucky am I? I think to myself on the way over to the grocery store. I get to meet my friend, buy fresh ingredients, and cook one of my favourite meals. I’ll light my new candles. I’ll meditate. I’ll wash my hair with my favourite shampoo that smells like the ocean.
“Running late.” She texts me.
“No worries. I’ll be at the butcher.” I reply back.
I pick up a bushel of rapini and a lemon from the produce aisle and place it in my basket. I can always use a lemon for something.
I then get to the butcher counter. I’m the only one in line. I fold my arms across my chest and look at the different types of sausage and settle on Bratwvurst. I wonder if I should have gotten an Italian one - but it all tastes the same when it’s cooked in with olive oil and tomatoes.
All of the sudden, I hear a voice directly behind me. No. I think to myself. It can’t -
I turn around. And there is Jesse, standing there holding a basket with pre - marinated chicken and wearing a navy blue sweater and a navy baseball cap.
He looks as equally as shocked as I am.
And as predicted by my intuition …
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
We both stare at each other for a few seconds, and then I decide to go in for the hug. He squeezes me extra tight. It’s at this moment that I know I do not want to cause a scene, because I’ve already had a beautiful day and I do not want to ruin my energy.
“Did you know it was me?” I ask.
“No. You’re in disguise. Those are huge sunglasses.” He notions towards my oversized Chloe’s that I have now placed on my head.
Our eye contact teeters between being happy and sad. There’s an unusual restraint within me, but it feels like it comes more natural to me than it does to him. As if he knows that there needs to be some acknowledgement of pain this time. I’m setting boundaries with my emotional distance and my cool, casual demeanour. And he’s trying his hardest to respect them.
“How’s your summer?” He asks.
I won’t tell him about my crash out. I won’t tell him about my weekly therapy sessions and acupuncture sessions because I’ve realized how much unhealed trauma I’ve been carrying around from the male species.
“I have a new job.” I reply. My eyes light up when I talk about work. I can’t help it. It found me at the perfect time. I love it.
His eyes now match mine. They’ve lit up, too. “How much money are you saving on skincare products now?”
“I feel like I hacked the system.”
“What’s for dinner?” He peers into my basket.
“I’m making pasta with rapini and sausage. Just need to pick up a tomato sauce.”
He smiles. “An Emily Mais classic.” His eyes are doing that dance again. I don’t engage.
-
“I feel like they can never let me go. They all go into it - hot. And then they freak themselves out. It’s almost like - they punish me for how they feel. But they will never, ever formally end it.” I tell my therapist.
“Do you feel like they’re keeping you around for self-serving purposes?”
“Yes. Absolutely.”
To know that if they still could get me, they could still have me.
-
“How’s your summer?” I divert.
“I just had the best two weeks of my life that have now led to the worst week of my life at work.”
I hold in my internal eye roll.
“Oh yeah. You went to the wedding - how was it?”
“It was…” he changes the subject from attending his best friend’s wedding. “I spent a week in Ibiza afterwards. Now I have to make up the money I spent.”
Reader, I’m going to be honest with you. Why I have entertained Jesse as long as I have is because he was not like this when we first started dating in 2017. And I don’t know if it was because it was my influence (probably), or that he was more secure back then. He didn’t have this need to prove himself with how much money he made. He was himself. He was funny, he was warm, he was charismatic. He made me feel safe.
But something changed over the past year. Myself, being one of them. Living in Europe for three years will change anyone. But something inside of him changed, too. It felt like he started to see me as his competition, more than his love interest. And every conversation and interaction became this calculated power struggle.
My friend walks over.
To Be Continued.
Ohhh can’t wait for the next part