Broken Promises and Ripped Dresses

It Had To Be Asked

Chapter 19. It Had To Be Asked

 

A stout man with no hair on his head led us over to a table on the edge of the roof, overlooking the streets below. The Pantheon was so close I could almost touch it.

Andrew and I were leaving later that day back for home, and we wanted to get a good breakfast before the flight. Neither of us could believe that it was already ending. Our little romantic getaway that was first only a plan to save a wedding dress was coming to a stop.

"We only have a few hours before our plane leaves, so I think we should go all out," he said, picking a menu off of the table and scanning it.

"Don't even mention a plane leaving: it makes me sick to my stomach," I muttered.

"It's okay Angela," he whispered, resting his free hand onto mine on the table lightly. "We'll still be with each other in Phoenix. I promise. We'll make our own little Italy with homemade Italian food, and post your pictures on the walls." Then he chuckled. "By homemade Italian food I actually mean micro waved pizzas and pastas, because we both suck at cooking."

I was about to laugh, but I realized there was something else deep underneath the sweetness and humor of what he was saying. Something I'd had trouble mentioning to him in the pass couple days.

He'd promised he'd stay with me back then. He promised me now that things would be the same once we got back to Phoenix. It's not that I didn't believe him: it's just that I hadn't asked him about it at all yet, and now he promised again, but there was still the itching fact of what the truth is behind the abandonment of so many years ago.

I still had no clue what went on eight years before. And any other person would have asked the very first night back together.

"Angie? You okay?" he asked, tapping my knuckles and bringing me out of my thoughts. I must have just been staring blankly ahead at him for a while

I shake my head. "Yeah, yeah I'm fine," I said, abruptly swiping my hand back from underneath his. A look of confusion and sadness crossed his face.

Stupid brain. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Don't think about this now. Keep it out for just a little while longer.

 

"Are you sure?" he asked, his forehead creasing in concern. "Because you're acting pretty strange."

"I'm just starving that's all," I tried to say cheerily. It didn't seem to work. He still looked confused as hell at my sudden change in behavior.

I quickly picked up the menu with the hand he was touching to make it look like I only pulled away because I wanted to look at it. That seemed to work a bit: he seemed to loosen up, but I still saw a hint of worry in his eyes.

"Well," he said, pulling his hand back to his own menu. "The vegetable omelet sounds good, I think I'll get that."

I looked down at the menu in my hands. But suddenly I wasn't very hungry. Nothing on it sounded good to me.