Page 28 of I Dreamt That You Loved Me

“You were right about musicians.” We sat side by side, our backs leaning against the headboard to debrief. “They can’t be trusted.”

My shoulders tensed. “Did he cheat on you?”

“No.” She shook her head. “I don’t think he’s a cheater. He’s too honest for that. But I did the stupidest thing ever. I told him I loved him. I said the three words.”

She buried her face in her hands and groaned. “It was so bad, Cleo. I can’t even think about it without cringing. He didn’t say it back. Can you imagine?” She threw up her hands. “I say the words and he just leaves me hanging.”

“What an asshole,” I said, enraged on my friend’s behalf. “He didn’t sayanything?”

“He said, I think we need to talk. In the history of time, those words have never boded well. Can you fucking believe that? It was dead silence and then…I think we need to talk,” she said, mimicking his voice.

“We’d just gotten back here after a disastrous night out and we were both drunk. All night, he was moody and brooding and just really quiet. But I thought maybe he’s just one of those guys who doesn’t love birthdays and didn’t want me making a fuss over him. It was the worst possible time to say those words. So after I said it, I told him to get out, to just leave because neither of us was in the right mood for a big talk.”

She released a shaky breath. “The next morning, I woke up with the hangover from hell, but I decided the best way to deal with everything was to avoid it until I stopped feeling like shit. So I went to the dance studio and I did all these intense workouts and sweat it out. Then I came home and passed out. I didn’t wake up until he called me at midnight.”

Annika pulled a mint green furry pillow into her lap and hugged it to her chest. “The ending was kind of anticlimactic. We went to Leshko’s because it’s cheap and he never has any money. It was kind of a full circle thing. It ended where it all began.” Her voice cracked on the words.

“Oh, Annika,” I said softly, wrapping my arm around her shoulders. “I’m so sorry.”

“It sucks. I really liked him.” She leaned her head on my shoulder. “But I think it’s for the best. While we were talking last night, I realized that we weren’t even that compatible. I only pretended to be interested in the books he was reading. We don’t even like the same movies. Half the time, I didn’t know what the hell he was talking about. I’d just be nodding and thinking,oh my god, stop talking about that stupid French poet already and just kiss me!”

I smiled. “Well, at least you won’t have to listen to that anymore.”

She lifted her head. “I think it was mostly a physical attraction. I mean, come on, the guy’s gorgeous. The sex was amazing too. Like, it wasn’t just wham bam and it’s over in two minutes. He really had some great moves,” she said wistfully.

Thankfully, they’d spent a lot of their nights at his apartment, so I’d been spared from having to hear them fucking all night long.

“In the end, we just looked at each other and said, this has run its course, hasn’t it? And then he walked me home, gave me one of those sweet forehead kisses, and said,Sweet dreams,Annika. It felt like a movie. Kind of sad and romantic and bittersweet.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I’m going to be okay.” And I believed her because he wasn’t the great love of her life. “But from now on, no more musicians. They’re just too much work.”

She jumped off the bed and snatched up a Polaroid tucked into a framed Degas print above her dresser. “I missed one.”

She tossed it into my lap and returned to her seat next to me.

The photo must have been taken the day we went to The Cloisters. Gabriel was leaning against a marble column, looking off into the distance. I squinted at the photo. On the far right, just at the edge of the frame, I could make out my leopard print coat.

He was looking at me.

Guilt stabbed me in the gut. I quickly stuffed the photo into my back pocket to hide the evidence.

“You know what I really hated about him?”

“Tell me.” I knew the drill. This was the part of the breakup process where we focused on what we didn’t like about the guy we’d just broken up with.

“I hated the scent of that stupid Nag Champa incense,” she said. “I hated those stupid boots he wore. One time I bought him new laces, and he stuffed them in a drawer and forgot about them.”

She plucked a thread from her floral comforter and continued her rant. “I hated that he never really let me in. Like I never really knew him. Sometimes I just felt like another one of his groupies,” she said. “I was kind of obsessed with him…and he was…just really good at avoidance.”

“It sounds like his loss,” I said. “How could he not love you? You’re amazing.”

“Exactly. He has no idea how good he had it.”

Annika was gorgeous, funny, loving, and supportive, and she treated him like a king. What more could a guy possibly want?

“You know what else I hated?” she said. “He never wrote any songs for me. What’s the point of dating a musician if you’re not even his muse? Not to mention he’s a really moody guy. I think he’s deeply troubled.”