Editor's Note: A slightly abridged version of this story appears at The Black Table: Waxing Off. Thanks to AJ and the girls for a nice ride.
“marcus. . .”
“Hi, remember me?”
“I do remember you. I was thinking about you today…duh, of course I was...how are you?”
“I’m okay…how are you?”
“I’m okay, really, but I’ve missed talking to you… Jack has scarlet fever and I wanted to ask your advice about the local boy and Daniel’s girlfriend spent the weekend with the boys and it freaked me out a little and I have missed your voice and how did the opening go? How are the boys? Were the holidays okay? I’m really glad you called.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry about not calling you…I didn’t know what else to do, and not speaking to you seemed like the best solution to the problem I was having. The boys are good, holidays were fine and work is fine. Anyway, I really don’t want to talk about all that other stuff; this is hard enough.”
“Talk to me about the problem, honey.”
“I just can’t do this, Madeline. I can’t think about you with Jefferson when I’m not there, and I can’t continue to be involved with someone so far away.”
His voice was calm and measured as he laid out his reasons for ending our relationship.
“Baby, I am cut out for two things: lots of casual sex, and love: one-on-one. And I can’t be in love with you when you’re so far away AND involved with my best friend. It’s too hard.”
My thoughts raced.
But I love you.But you love me.But I said this would happen from the beginning.But you said I was the best thing that happened to you this year.But I want to see you again.But this isn’t fair this is so not fair.
I didn’t say much. I kept my back turned to the kids, wiping my eyes quickly when they wandered into my line of sight, smiling and nodding.
Really, what could I say?
I wish I had a witty, snarky comeback for his arguments. I wish I could say that that’s how it goes and chalk one up to bad luck.
But I can’t. I don’t think I’ll ever feel that knowing marcus was bad luck. Bad timing, maybe.
I'll miss the flash of his smile when he greets me at the airport. The way that, in the middle of a conversation about international politics, he tells me how smart and hot I am. The way he can look at me naked and admire my body and I never feel self-conscious. And damn it, I'm going to miss fucking him.
I don’t wish we’d never met.
I don’t wish we’d never fallen in love.
I do sort of wish I hadn’t puked on his dick that one time.
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