Could haves and should haves

By: Audrey Yeung

As I locked the apartment door, I found myself reminiscing about something that happened five years ago. Perhaps it was the sound of the lock clicking that triggered the memory. Perhaps it was the fact that I regretted what happened every day since then. Perhaps it was because today was exactly five years from the date that it happened.

Five years ago, he entered the apartment, locking the door behind him. Click. I had gotten home from work just minutes before, and I had made myself a cup of tea before settling on the leather sofa.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” I replied offhandedly, turning on the TV.

“How was your day?” he asked.

“Good. Uneventful,” I switched the channel. “You?”

“It was fine.”

I didn’t realise it then, because I was too engrossed in the flashing lights of the horror show that was playing on the screen, but he was obviously nervous, cracking his knuckles over and over again.

“I need to talk to you. It’s kind of serious,” he said. I tilted my head toward him slightly, keeping one eye trained on the TV. He started talking, but I wasn’t really listening. I had caught a few words of what he was saying like ‘job offer’ and ‘Canada’ but the only thing that was really sinking in was the screams of the woman that had just seen a ghost without its head blaring from the television.

“Marisa? Did you hear what I just said?” he asked.

“Hm?”

“Marisa.” he reached for the remote control and turned off the TV. I instantly turned to look at him.

“What are you doing?” I was annoyed that he’d done that.

“Marisa. I said I’m moving to Canada,”

“What?”

“I’m moving to Canada,” he repeated. No. This couldn’t be happening.

“What are you talking about?”

“Marisa, I’m moving to Canada,” he said slowly and more deliberately. I frowned. He was talking to me like I was a child. Like we hadn’t been in a committed relationship for three years. Like he never thought to include me in his decision to move to a whole other country. How many times had he said he was moving to Canada? Three? Four? Every time he repeated those words made it hurt more.

“Why?” my voice sounded strained.

“I just got this really great opportunity from a really good law firm in Toronto. They offered me a job, and I’m taking it. Which means I’m going to move there. I’m leaving in two days,” he said, with a grin on his face. To Canada, I thought.

“But, what’s wrong with your job here?” I knew I sounded pathetic.

“Nothing,” he said hesitantly. “It’s just, I really think this new job is going to take me to higher places, you know what I mean?”

I wanted to bitterly say no, I don’t know what you mean, but I stopped myself before the words came crashing out.

“Marisa,” he said softly as if he could read my mind. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so, sorry. But I have to do this. I have to. Don’t you understand?”

The truth was, deep down, I did understand. I knew his new job would get him to the top faster than his current job ever would, I knew he had to take the job because it was going to bring him several steps closer to his dream of becoming a judge since he was a kid, I knew he had to go and there was nothing that was going to stop him. Not even me. But he didn’t know that I had turned down job offers of my own to stay with him, and he didn’t know that every time I turned down a better offer, a part of me broke as I took a step back from my own dream, thinking that he was going to be the one who would eventually fix me.

“I should go pack,” he stood up, leaving me on the sofa. I followed him to our room, where he started tossing clothes into a suitcase. What he didn’t know was that he was also taking half of my heart away with him.

“Stay.” I couldn’t stop the word from slipping out of my mouth. It was selfish, but there it was. The word hung in the air and everything stopped.

“What?” he asked.

“Stay, Adam,” I whispered. “Please,”

“Marisa, you know I can’t,”

“Stay,” I persisted.

“Marisa,”

“Stay,”

“I can’t, I’m sorry,”

“Stay,”

“No!” he yelled. I started shaking. “No, Marisa, I can’t stay! I am not letting this opportunity go, do you understand? I have been waiting for this my whole life, and you’re telling me not to take it? Is that what you’re telling me?”

“I thought we were in this relationship together! I thought you would maybe talk to me about something as big as this!” I fired back.

“It’s my life, Marisa!” Adam shouted. “I am taking this job, whether you like it or not,”

“Then go! I don’t want to see you again!” I said, but I knew I didn’t mean it.

And with that, he was gone. He left his suitcase and left the apartment. He must have returned while I was at work because when I came home, all his things were already gone. I broke down when I realised what had truly happened. He’s gone. The next few days, I drowned myself in my own tears and a good amount of alcohol, not leaving the apartment. Missed calls and unread texts filled my phone from worried friends and colleagues. I was half expecting Adam to call, saying he was sorry and that was going to stay with me. He didn’t. So, I decided to. I dug out the spare phone that I never used from the bottom of a drawer since he hadn’t saved the number, and as my hand quivered, I entered Adam’s phone number. Please don’t have a new number. Please don’t have a new number, I thought. I held the phone to my ear, waiting. Eventually, the ringing stopped, and I heard his voice.

“Hello?” he said. My heart raced. I thought of what I wanted to say. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I said. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

“Hello? Is someone there?” he repeated. Say it. Say it. Say you’re sorry, I told myself. But I couldn’t speak. I just couldn’t say it. I hung up.

Five years later, I still regret it. I should have said it. It wasn’t supposed to be difficult, it was only a five-letter word. I should have said it, but I didn’t. If I did, he might have said sorry too. If I did, he might have come back, and we could have figured it out together. If I did, I might have even moved to Canada with him. We could have gotten married. Started a family. Grown old together happily. Died together. Even if it was in Canada. I could have had all of that, but I threw it all away because of a five-letter word I should’ve said. A five-letter word I didn’t say.