Gavin and Roxanne ✔️

ONE

Tierney did pretty much all of the talking. That would mean I did all the listening, right?

Well, not really. The first thing out of her mouth was 'I still love you, but I don't think I'm in love with you anymore.' How's that for an auspicious beginning?

Those words broadsided me with the force of a rogue freight train, and I spent most of our walk in near-catatonic shock. I didn't process ninety percent of what she said, but I didn't need to. The intermittent phrases which did penetrate my wall of disbelief told me more than enough.

"I feel like we've been growing apart lately."

"I think we just want different things out of life."

"We've changed so much since when we were first together."

"And actually, I've met someone else. I think I might be falling for him."

Wait, what?

Honestly, she could have led with that piece of news and saved herself some effort. In the end, it really was all about that someone else — he had her heart, and I didn't. Not any longer. The seven greatest years of my life were over in the time it took us to cover eight square blocks, and I didn't even have a chance to plead my case.

I'll give Tierney credit, though, for not making the breakup any more agonizing than she already had. She moved out in one afternoon, and she insisted I keep the apartment. She assured me she didn't cheat on me — at least not in that way — and I saw no reason she'd lie to me about that. She hugged me goodbye and sincerely thanked me for the memories we'd made together.

And just like that, three short days after our fateful walk, she was gone. The first time I returned home from rehearsal to an empty apartment was at once surreal and heartbreaking. Thank goodness I still had Duke. Even though Tierney loved him dearly — and the love was unquestionably mutual — he'd always been my dog, and that was never in doubt.

Duke was my Doberman pinscher, and his absence on these sleepless nights has been as hard to bear as Tierney's, maybe even more so. He'd been my best friend since I was fifteen, when my family adopted him as a puppy, and he rarely left my side for the next thirteen years. Duke was the one constant in my life as the rest of my world changed around me. Even after the most trying day, the earthy smell of his dog breath and the gentle abrasiveness of his face nuzzling against mine raised my spirits like nothing else.

But fate, that cruel bastard, would have none of it. This Gavin McKee, you know what he could use in his life? More hardship! More pain! Insert evil cartoonish cackle here.

Not long after Tierney moved out, I came home from playing an evening concert to find Duke sprawled out on the carpet. He was listless, virtually unable to move, whimpering pathetically. I immediately sensed something was dreadfully wrong and rushed him to the all-night animal clinic.

He passed away a few hours later, from some aggressive intestinal infection which occurs mostly in Dobermans and similar breeds. Symptoms can be difficult to detect and might not appear at all until it's too late, as was the case with Duke.

Duke and his limitless reserve of unconditional love had made the early stages of life without Tierney bearable, and now he had up and left me too. Is it any wonder I devolved into such a hot mess? I ducked out of orchestra rehearsals for a week, claiming to have a stomach virus, and I practically barricaded myself in the apartment. My Xbox and I became reacquainted. I stopped going to the gym. I survived on protein bars, Little Debbie Oatmeal Creme Pies (hey, sometimes a guy needs some comfort food once in a while) and anything that could be delivered to my building. Mostly pizza. Lots of pizza.