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Sharing A Bed With My Ex
Breaking up without breaking a lease keeps two ex-lovers in one apartment.
by Pilar Anderson
“You’re doing what?”
I heard that a lot in the spring of 2007, whenever I explained to friends that I had broken up with my Nathan, boyfriend of four years, yet we were still living together in the apartment we’d shared for the last two. It was a temporary matter, I’d say, a situation that would last about a month or two, until we found our own places.
It turned out to be about six. And they were strange times. Even now, more than a year later, I’m in awe that we didn’t manage to kill each other. Even stranger: by the time we parted ways and even to this day, we’ve managed to stay friends.
A “friendly breakup” sounds good in theory. The term is an oxymoron, something I always regarded with skepticism whenever friends would lay claim to it. After a breakup, the instinct is to get as far away from that person as possible. Maybe with enough distance, you’ll remember what attracted you to each other in the first place, maybe even a lesson that validates the relationship. In time, perhaps you’ll even start to like them again. But let’s all agree: there’s nothing friendly about breakups.
Indeed, during the first few days our interactions were definitively awkward; it became apparent that the breakup was for real. On the first night, coming home to Nathan on the sofa watching TV, I made a beeline for the bathroom and sat in the claw-foot tub. When it came time to go to sleep, I recall Nathan and I briefly negotiating who should sleep where. “I’m not the one who wanted to break up,” he smiled, implying that technically, the couch was the bed I had made for myself when I ended the relationship.
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1 Matt // Aug 21, 2008 at 9:36 am
I had a nearly opposite experience, almost exactly contemporaneous with yours. My fiancee of three years broke up with me in November ‘06, but our lease ran through May ‘07. We stayed in the apartment, though I quickly moved to sleeping on the couch in my office out of respect for the breakup itself.
We remained somewhat close and very friendly throughout, never even arguing over who would get what dish or which books belonged to whom. But as the move-out date approached, and I methodically started packing and preparing to go, she dragged her feet and ditched me for any excuse she could find - mostly to go out and party.
In the end, she left me by myself to organize and dispose of three years’ worth of shared inventory, and I piled her things out of the way for her to sort through later. She disappeared when it was time to repaint (even though painting had been her idea in the first place), and she eventually stopped answering my phone calls and text messages altogether.
The sad part is that I really liked her. But the desertion at the very end totally soured the milk. She never bothered even to say goodbye, forcing me to leave a farewell note, written in Sharpie on crumpled paper. Such a terrible conclusion.
I’m glad to hear it doesn’t always have to go that way. Thanks for sharing your story, and best of luck to you and Nathan. It’s a jagged road, but I hope you manage to stay friends.