Chapter 1: The Beginning of Us

Before tonight, my girlfriend and I had spent nearly seven wonderful years together. Our love story began during our final semester of college, sparked by a chance encounter in a coffee shop just a couple of blocks from campus. I remember seeing her at a booth, alone, enjoying a large black iced coffee while crumbs from a croissant littered her plate. She was deeply engrossed in a hefty textbook—its title escapes me now—but she seemed entirely oblivious to the world around her. Clad in a worn navy sweatshirt and black joggers, her tired eyes hinted at the exhaustion that came from late-night study sessions.

As cliché as it may sound, to me, she was the most captivating person in the café. I hadn't intended to speak with her, but somehow my feet carried me to her booth, and we hit it off instantly. Within moments, I discovered that she too was an NYU student, majoring in biochemistry, while I focused on film studies.

After a series of dates, we became inseparable, until a few months ago. Shortly after graduation, I started working on various short films as an editor or director’s assistant. While I enjoyed my work, I loved watching Morgan thrive in her lab job. Her passion and enthusiasm during our conversations revealed what I was missing—joy in my own career. The thrill of being on set was exhilarating, but I was growing impatient waiting for my big break as a director.

Then, out of the blue, one of the directors I had assisted on a previous project reached out to me.

"Hey Cade, how's it going?" Hugh Langford's familiar voice rang in my ear, and I was pleasantly surprised. He had directed a film called Lukewarm, which I worked on two summers ago.

"Hey Hugh, I'm doing well, thanks! What’s up?" I replied, expecting him to talk about another project, but instead, he said, "I want you to direct my next short film."

"Me?" I was taken aback.

"Absolutely. Every new director deserves a chance, and I believe it’s your time now. What do you think?"

"I'm all in!" I exclaimed.

"Fantastic! I'll send over the details. Please review them and get back to me soon," he instructed.

Morgan sat at the edge of her seat, eager to hear my side of the conversation. After I hung up, she squealed with excitement, bouncing around the room, even without knowing why.

With the help of talented actors and Hugh's mentorship, the short film garnered several Academy Awards, which meant attending many award ceremonies—an experience Morgan dreaded. Time and again, she expressed that she preferred the quiet of her lab to walking red carpets and facing countless cameras.

Fortunately, she managed to set aside her nerves and join me, but once we returned home, her relief was palpable.

"I'm shocked this dress doesn't have sweat stains. I thought I was going to melt under those lights," she remarked, hanging up her gown and slipping into her pajamas.

"Not really hot for me, but standing on stage, I did start to feel a bit warm toward the end," I admitted as I joined her in bed.

"When you won and mentioned me in your speech, I thought I was going to faint when the camera panned to me. I had to fan myself!" she laughed, a soft smile lighting up her face.

"I'm so proud of you," she said, gently stroking my cheek. "Your parents would have been proud too."

Morgan was my anchor, and I couldn't imagine my success without her support. We were there for each other through thick and thin—she helped me cope with the loss of my parents in a car accident just months earlier, while I assisted her in navigating her parents' tumultuous divorce. I knew that with her by my side, I could face any challenge, including the pressure of selecting my next project.

However, one downside of having a successful project was the daunting task of choosing the next one. I was inundated with offers, but I struggled with the decision. It was a good problem to have, yet I found myself sifting through scripts for hours. Eventually, I asked Morgan for her input.

One night, we sat together after her work, analyzing each script. I liked them all, but one stood out—there was just one hitch: it required an eight-month commitment in Italy. I turned to her, a hopeful smile on my face. "Why don’t you come with me?"

Her expression shifted to one of disbelief. "I can’t do that," she replied firmly, and my heart sank.

"Why not?" I pressed, frustration creeping in.

"I just started at Dr. Huckman's lab. I can’t just leave!" she insisted.

"Could you take a sabbatical for a few months? You've always talked about wanting to visit Italy!" I argued.

"I can't. If I leave now, they might give my position to someone else," she shot back.

I sighed, feeling the weight of my disappointment. Sensing my frustration, she offered, "How about I visit you in the middle of the shoot? I can take a few days off."

I reluctantly agreed. Two weeks later, I headed to Italy to begin filming. The first few months flew by, with our FaceTime calls becoming our lifeline, though often cut short by exhaustion.

When she finally visited, I wanted her to experience as much of Italy as possible during her three-day stay. However, I received a call from my assistant while we were sightseeing, pulling me back to the film set.

"Honey, I have to go," I said, but she was not pleased.

"You’re joking, right?" she responded, disbelief etched on her face.

I wasn’t joking. I had to leave her alone for the rest of the day, and she was understandably upset. The next morning, I drove her to the airport, and she left without a proper goodbye.

After her departure, an unsettling shift occurred in our relationship. About a week later, I missed our scheduled FaceTime chat while working late. When I finally called her, I woke her up; she had forgotten our call and didn’t seem enthusiastic about speaking.

From that point on, our communication dwindled. Instead of FaceTiming, we resorted to sporadic texts until I finished filming.

I decided to come home a week early, picturing a warm welcome. Instead, the apartment was empty. Hours later, I heard her laughter echoing down the hallway as she struggled with the door. "Thanks for taking me out tonight, Caroline. I had fun. I needed to get him off my mind. Yes, I'm at my door now, talk later," she said before stumbling in and spotting me.

Her eyes widened, and she took a step back, clearly affected by the alcohol. "Cade, what are you doing here?"

"I finished early and wanted to surprise you," I replied, my tone colder than I intended. I couldn’t blame her for being out late, but I hadn’t expected to wait up until past midnight, either. She placed her bag down, and I noticed the distance growing between us. In the past, she would have rushed into my arms, but now she seemed hesitant.

"I'm sorry, Cade. I just wasn’t expecting you," she said, taking off her coat and sitting across from me, her smile failing to reach her eyes.

"Did you have a nice time with Caroline?" I asked, trying to ease the tension.

She nodded, but that was the extent of her response.

In all our time together, I had never experienced such awkwardness. We had barely spoken more than a few sentences since her return from Italy.

"So, are you back home for a while?" I inquired.

She shook her head. I had already lined up my next project, but I was unsure how to break the news to her. She pressed her lips into a thin line, struggling to meet my gaze.

"Is this how it’s going to be? Months apart, only to spend a few days together before you leave again?" Her question hung in the air, the answer already apparent.

A heavy silence enveloped us, the strain in our relationship palpable.

"We can’t continue like this," she said, tears glistening in her eyes. "I can’t say it." Her face contorted with emotion, and she bit her lip, fighting back tears.

I didn’t want to voice the words either; they felt like a death sentence. But I couldn’t picture a future where we lingered in a relationship out of obligation. I knew that was true for her as well.

Morgan cherished a tranquil life, while I thrived on constant movement. Despite my admiration for her calmness, it was precisely that difference that pulled us apart.

I swallowed hard, feeling the lump in my throat grow. If I didn’t say the words aloud, it wouldn’t feel real. "We’re breaking up."

Chapter 2: A New Chapter

In "Souled American - Before Tonight," the narrative captures the essence of longing and the complexities of relationships, reflecting the shared experiences of love and loss.

Jeff Tweedy's "Before Tonight" delves into the themes of nostalgia and the bittersweet nature of memories, intertwining music and storytelling in a profound way.