When I broke up with my boyfriend of four years, I was devastated about not only the breakup in general, but especially about his hurtful and demeaning response in the aftermath. I felt foolish–like I’d been hoodwinked by a lie for all those years. I was living with three of my best friends at the time. We were fresh graduates, absolutely broke, and living in this tiny apartment with only three rooms. For weeks afterward they would all climb into my twin-XL bed with me and we would talk–sometimes about the breakup, but mostly about other things. We talked about our art (in a house with a writer, a painter, and an actor, we had a lot to say about art!), or about our days or what TV show we were watching, but because we were broke, we talked a lot about food. The cheap staple of our apartment was Nutella. We put it on everything. We lined the empty plastic jars up like a shrine and placed our makeup brushes and pencils in them. And on the nights that my friends would climb into bed with me, we would all come armed with a Nutella sandwich. One of these nights, I broke down again crying over something my ex had said or done–I can’t even remember what it was now. What I do remember is my friend Leigh saying, “Good riddance” and then, absentmindedly, reaching up to wipe away my tears … with her Nutella sandwich. Seeing her wiping at my face with a Nutella sandwich sent me into a new spiral, cackling with laughter. It was ridiculous, but that moment alone healed a major part of me. We may no longer live together, but over ten years later Leigh is still up the street from me, and she’s still the first person I want to talk to when it feels like the only thing that will fix me is a good conversation and a Nutella sandwich.
Laura
December 16, 2024
