last summer in the city

becoming undone

“I needed to escape. I’m plagued by my exes.” I message my friend

LOGAN ROBINSON

. I’m visiting my sister for the weekend, and thankfully, she lives very outside of the city.

There’s this unspoken pressure that comes with living within a city, and living within certain neighbourhoods. Not knowing who you’ll run into, when you’ll run into them, where you’ll run into them, who they might be with, etc. etc. And now, since the weather is nicer, everyone is coming out of the woodwork.

I thank the three years I spent living in Europe - where athleisure in public was frowned upon - so now I am forced to look presentable in public At All Times (I own one pair of leggings lol). But sometimes, I just want to throw my hair into a messy bun, leave the house in my glasses, wearing a huge oversized hoodie that isn’t mine.

When I’m with my friends and family, I feel like I can become undone. I can sit in the corner of their couches in their living rooms, glasses on, wearing whatever I find the most comfortable. I can put a blanket over my lap, and be thankful that they’ve seen every version of me, and know who I am at my core.

Last week, I asked Chat GPT how it thought MFB felt about me - and, ironically, it responded by telling me that MFB felt “undone” by me.

The realness, the rawness, and everything that he shared.

“There was definitely a vulnerability hangover” my best friend calls it. And this isn’t the first time we’ve used this term.

-

I pack up 2 pairs of sweatpants, leggings, and my glasses. Makeup (always optional) - but it’s eyebrow gel and a clear lipgloss. I buy us eyepatches, but leave my gua sha and peels and face oils at home.

She has piles of poetry books and soft blankets, and also always has way too many candles - so I will often treat myself to one or two as a take home present. And my favourite? Her cupboards are filled to the brim with different types of dried flowers for teas. Hibiscus from her recent trip to Columbia, rose petals, and dashes of cinnamon.

-

The last time I stayed at my sisters for a prolonged period of time, was when I came back from Rome at the end of August. No one knew I was home, other than my close friends. I hadn’t written about it in my newsletters, I hadn’t posted anything on social media.

“Oh my god.” I’m holding my phone and standing in my sister’s doorway. “Guess who just started following me again.”

“Stop.” She knows exactly who I’m talking about. “And he had no idea you were back?”

Me and OFM had gotten into a *tiff* at the end of last spring - that resulted in me telling him “feel free to never message me again unless it’s to thank me for the words I’ve written about you”, and, that must have really hit a nerve - because a month later, I realized he wasn’t following me anymore. So you can just imagine the slew of Instagram stories that I was posting last spring - ranting about him.

“None. I’ve had him hidden since May.” My heart is racing.

“Is this your version of a truce?” I message him.

“Was watching a tv show and the actress reminded me of you. Where in the world is Carmen San Diego living now?” He replies.

I show my sister the conversation. “Well. Maybe now that you’re home - you two can finally get married.” She teases me.

-

Now, almost 8 months, 3 apartments, 1 lease, 4 men that resulted in 2 semi-situationships later - I’m back at her kitchen island. Glasses, leggings, and oversized sweater on. A huge bowl of our favourite pickle dip and 2 large bags of ruffles chips in front of us.

We’re talking about our birth charts.

“You know what I love? How you’re ruled by the moon.” I tell her. My sister is a Gemini Sun with a Cancer Rising.

“And you’re ruled by the sun.” I don’t need reminding, but she tells me anyways. I’m a Gemini Sun with a Leo Rising.

“Look at that power we both have.”

She pulls up my birth chart. I’ve been telling her how I’ve been obsessed with my Pisces Midhaven. It fits in with my newfound mermaid aesthetic.

-

“Important question. Do you think I’m more of a mermaid or a fairy?” I ask MFB. It’s a few nights after we’ve hooked up. I’m sitting at the bar, eating a plate of pasta.

He pauses. “Wait. I have to think about this one.” He goes into the back to grab something and comes back. He’s deep in thought. I’m laughing.

“Ok. The one that’s always in my ear and annoying me.” He returns with a smile.

“She’s a mermaid. You clearly don’t understand her.” His best friend, who’s also working the bar, chimes in.

“Wait - who’s that Disney mermaid again? The one who wants to sing and be with the humans.”

“Ariel.” We start laughing.

“Makes sense. She’s always…longing to be somewhere else.”

-

“Has a hard time escaping her imaginary world. Can risk not being happy anywhere because she realizes no place will match her inner harmony. Should try to remain present, and remember the grass isn’t always greener. Applicable?”

I nod. “Yup.”

Growing up, my sister and I couldn’t have been more different. She played soccer; I played Nothing. I had to get glasses early on, which meant I used that as an excuse for getting out of gym classes regularly. I also broke my finger playing dodgeball in the fifth grade and was Traumatized Forever. My sister played the piano and the guitar, while my mom called my music teacher in grade 9 to ask him to just give me a 50, because “we both know she’s not going to end up in music, anyway.” I sat in the back of the class and painted my nails for the rest of the year. Lol.

My sister would play Lego in her part of the basement, and I played with my Barbie dolls in another. We would play separately in our respective spots, but we were always, always together.

When I was sick (for some reason, I was always/am always still on antibiotics) - she’d make me “Get Well Soon” workbooks on Microsoft Paint. She’d make me puzzles and worksheets and staple them in little booklets together. And when my mom got sick, she did the same thing. She put all of the information my mom needed for her chemotherapy sessions together in one package, covered with pictures of Beyoncé, Michelle Obama, and Shakira.

“Strong women for inspiration.” She said.

-

“What do you want exactly?” MFB’s best friend asks me one night. I’ve figured out everyone knows that MFB and I hooked up. My Pisces Midhaven gives me psychic powers, and I already know how this story will end.

“I don’t know.” I lie.

“I don’t think that’s true.” He counters that. “I think you’re open to exploring more, and I think he’s scared.”

-

“I’ve never seen a guy beeline to meet dad as quick as MFB did. And then call you a baby to him, essentially.”

It was a Sunday in March (pre hook-up), and me and my sister were seated in the middle of the bar/restaurant. He walked over to say hi to me, and placed his hand at the back of my neck. It wasn’t a casual placement either, it was charged with something. I felt my cheeks turning, and I see my dad walking towards us. I snapped out of whatever trance we were in, and told him, “My dad is coming”. He snapped out of it, too - quickly removing his hand from the back of my neck, and put on a bit of a show for my dad.

My sister was dying of laughter. I was still beet red.

“You know one of the first things he ever said to me - was that his ex’s family still tell her that he was the best boyfriend she ever had.”

She rolls her eyes, and I do, too. We can’t stop giggling.

“So. What really ended up happening with OFM?” My sister asks. She uses OFM’s real name, of course. And sitting at her kitchen island, I can feel my walls coming down. I feel like I’m becoming undone.

“We just…couldn’t figure it out. The last time I saw him - it was beautiful, it was so beautiful - but it was so … haunting. I told him we’re probably never going to be together, and he said, “well you can’t say never.” And then he’s like, “maybe we’ll figure out, in 10-20 years from now.” And I rolled my eyes at him. I told him I was going on a date on Wednesday. He then told me he was “just going to move to Florida then”. But when we both agreed to “see where things went” - he didn’t even try to see me. We’d talk every day, and I think we saw each other a total of three times. And each time, he’d ask to see my phone. Or he’d grab my head and accuse me of eye-fucking other guys-

“Emily. That’s …”

“No, I know. It’s so…complicated now, because he was never like that. And we both cried on that last night. But the things he would say, how he’d look at me like…I was his property. And when we hooked up that night, for the last time - it was the first time where I felt…really unsettled by it all. It was like he was angry at me, angry at himself, angry at the situation. And it all kind of scared my best friend when I told her, too.”

“I can imagine.”

“I remember re-reading a conversation I was having with her. And I thought to myself - I’m one conversation away from saying - well, it’s my fault because I wore that dress.”

And I never told anyone this, but I remember coming home from his apartment that morning. Wondering how or if I’d ever be the same again.

-

What would make him feel more secure? I thought about asking him that question, but I never did. Because it really would have meant: Where can I be less than, in order to make you happy?

I didn’t want to tell him that there was a part of me that was relieved when I signed the lease, too. We could finally try again. But I didn’t want him to think I was staying in the city for him. Would that have made me look weak? Irresponsible with my heart, maybe.

And I wondered if I hadn’t lied when I told MFB that I didn’t know what I wanted. What if I actually admitted the truth - that I longed for something real? Something serious? Someone who understands? And when I fell asleep on his chest that night - and when I woke up to his lips pressed against my forehead - I felt it.

And maybe neither one would have been the right one, maybe neither one would have lasted.

But there is power in my truth, isn’t there? Strength in my own vulnerability.

-

I’m curled underneath a huge duvet with 2 fuzzy blankets. The TV hums in the background. Toulouse is sprawled out beside me. I feel my eyes getting heavier and heavier, so my sister takes my glasses and phone and gently places them on the table next to me. I drift off to sleep.

-

“I don’t know.” I look down and wipe away a few tears. “It’s kind of how I feel about you, too. The writing. The newsletters. I want us to live somewhere, to remember us. Because -”

“It was special.” He squeezes my hand.

He has always seen me, for me. He has always loved me, for me.

“It is special, Emily.” He corrects his choice of past tense, and looks sad, too.