February 9, 2020
I stare blankly at the rim of my water glass, considering everything that could have gone wrong. We are at Serena's favorite restaurant, the one with the open windows that let the sun be lighting throughout the entire day and serves some of the best vegetarian/vegan meals throughout the city. At night, the city streets are lit with headlights and traffic lights more than they are with the lamp posts. The restaurant is dim with yellow lights to create a cozier and romantic feel in contrast to its food.
I can't deny that the food is delicious, but I wish I could say the same for the pricing and serving size. I guess that more stems from my mom being Mexican-American. With her family, it's always about having large portions to feed immediate and extended family. Rice, beans, and tortillas are inexpensive, and the only thing we tend to splurge a little extra on is the quality of meat.
But I can overlook the price and serving size because Serena loves this place, and I love her. That is enough for me. We're sitting at her favorite table too-- right near the window. She says she likes the idea of showing every passerby of the great love we have.
We had.
It isn't until then that I snap myself out my thoughts that I note the condensed water sluggishly gliding toward the stem of the glass. I lift my head and turn my focus to the woman across from me. I slide my hand over to reach hers, but she removes it from the table to cross her arms. She frustratingly sighs and looks toward the ground. I furrow my eyebrows.
"The least you could do is tell me why you're leaving me," I snap.
"Just personal reasons," she shrugs. She doesn't dare look me in the eyes.
The waiter comes by to ask if everything is okay. When I don't say anything, Serena nods and sends him off.
"All I have ever done is try to make this work. I tried to get along with your friends, I tried to move around practice to see you, and I tried to adapt to your lifestyle. You could at least tell me why," I whisper. If I were any louder, people at the surrounding tables would hear me.
Serena's quiet. Expression blank as if shuffling through her potential responses-- anything that doesn't actually answer my question. "I didn't ask you to sacrifice anything for me. That was your choice."
Typical S.
"A decision I made because I love you."
"You mistake comfort for love. We've fallen into this comfortable routine with each other, and it feels like settling. I don't want that for either one of us."
As much as I hate to admit it, there must be some truth to her words, or else the rising anger wouldn't be working up a storm in my chest. My anger wants out, but I know better than to cause a scene that might end up on some popular tabloid.
Serena uncrosses her arms to reach out for my hand, but this time, I am the one who pulls away.
"You need someone to meet you halfway. Someone who will watch football games with you, who won't mind hanging around you and your friends. Someone who could do all that I couldn't, to make you happy." She has the nerve to shoot a smile at me.
"I can't believe you." I huff a laugh. "I don't believe you. I don't believe any of this."
"What part of this don't you believe?"
"That this is for us," I answer. "Do you know why? Because if you felt like our relationship was on a decline, you would have said it. You've always been so vocal about every one of your thoughts and opinions. And if you loved me, you would have saved it."
"I meant what I said, Oliver; you can do so much better than this. You-"
"Stop," I raise my voice. The people at nearby tables turn to look but quickly avert their eyes. I put my napkin down onto the table, push my chair out, stand, and place a fifty on the table.
I can't help but think just days ago we were lying in bed talking about houses on the market and looking into places that are roughly the same distance between our parents' homes. I mean, for crying out loud, we were looking into getting a dog or a cat.
Five years out the fucking door. High school sweethearts never last anyway.
My body stops moving toward the exit. My body heads right back to the table, and the only thing I feel when I see Serena's hopeful reaction is anger.
I lean in and whisper my next choice of words. "You don't want to carry the weight of knowing you hurt me, but you did. Nothing you can say will change that."
I grab my coat off the coat rack and walk out the restaurant door. The Boston breeze slowly runs against my exposed skin. I pull the collar of my jacket to cover my neck and shove my hands into my pockets. My fingers come into contact with a small velvet box. I pull the little black box out and open it. My breath shortens, and my chest tightens.
I am holding the key to a future I will no longer have.
I shove the box back into my pocket and make my way over to the Blüdhaven Brewery and Cafe.
Blüdhaven is a recent establishment in this part of the neighborhood. It opened up a couple of months ago. I was a little unsure of it at first, thinking it might be just a gentrifying project, but my sister Ally suggested supporting it since it's black-owned and the owner donates all the profits from their coffee beans to homelessness.
Upon entrance, Blüdhaven's sweet vanilla bean and cinnamon air blends bittersweetly with the scent of coffee. The heaters are running on high, and I rub my hands and legs to get the blood flowing from the frigid outside air.
With twenty minutes before close, the workers are sweeping up the place. My usual barista, Elvi, is standing behind the bar and waves me over.
"Sorry for coming around closing time," I apologize. This is more of a habit than I'd like to admit.
"Don't worry about it. You look like you could use a drink or two." Elvi props her elbows on the counter. "Do you want to talk about it?"
I run my hand over my eyes. "You know Serena, right?"
Of course, she does. She's not an idiot.
"The girlfriend who you've only mentioned about a thousand times or so," she smirks.
"Ex now."
Her eyes widen and follow with a dramatic double blink. "What happened?"
"I'm not sure. I asked her to tell me where we went wrong, but there wasn't much of a response." Pulling the black velvet box out of my coat pocket, I place it on the table and slide it over to Elvi.
"Oh man," Elvi breathes out.
"I think I got a little ahead of myself," I chuckle.
Elvi leans back and tilts her head. She squints and nods to herself, then grabs an old-fashioned glass. "I know what you need."
"I can't," I shake my head. "I'm driving."
"It'll be one drink, one the house, and not as strong as you think," she offers.
I sigh. "What are you making?"
"Just trust me on this." She turns her back on me as she prepares the drink. Once done, she presents me the drink with a smile. My eyes stay on Elvi as the cold glass meets the tip of my lips.
"If I find out you poisoned me..." I lift the cup and rest the rim between my lips as the drink flows down as I tip the glass.
"If it is poison, you'd probably find out a little too late," she jokes. "It's a Mocha Latte with a bit of Kahlúa and Bailey's."
I stare at her wide-eyed and pretend to roll my eyes to the back of my head. She laughs.
I finish the drink faster than expected. I probably shouldn't have done that, but it hit the right spot. "Thank you. I definitely needed that."
Elvi places both hands on my right one.
"We've been friends for a while now, and maybe it's not my place to say," Elvi hesitates. "Girls like Serena love the thrill of starting a romance-- the initial spark. And when the spark goes, so do they."
Not knowing how to respond, I nod.
"I promise you that with time someone else will come, and they'll make everything you have faced worth it. You do deserve more."
The muscles in my mouth can't seem to agree on which one of my fake smiles to wear. I probably look tortured.
Elvi closes up the shop, double-checking everything is locked up, and sets the alarm. As usual to my late-night visits, I offer Elvi a ride.
"Is this where you murder me?" She walks out of the bar, removes her work apron, and gets her bag.
"If it is, you'd probably find out a little too late," I say. "But no, the only things I murder are spiders, roaches, and crickets. I have my sisters to thank for that."
It isn't the first time I had given her a ride home. Elvi tells me she shares a car with her sister, who frequently picks Elvi up after work when she is not working overtime. The car ride was full of jokes and sing-alongs that almost made me forget about the current situation. We arrive at her destination, and I place the car in park.
"Hey, thanks for the pep talk and drink."
"Well, thanks for letting me be honest with you," Elvi says. "It's not that hard to be single when you've got a great support unit to lean on. Friends or family. I hope you have that."
"More than you know," I smile.
"Don't be a stranger. You know where to find me."
"Night Elvi." She shuts the door. I watch her walk down the path and up the steps to the house. She inserts her key, opens the door, and waves good night before entering. I drive away.
Elvi is right. Healing would take time, no doubt about that. But the pain and anger is mine to bear alone. Pity does not have a place beside my pride.