Hate Story

by Nicole Williams

  It was only about ten minutes before Nina made her way back to my table. At least, this time, she didn’t look as pissed as she had the first time.

  I tried not to notice the way her hips moved when she walked. I tried not to think about the way they felt in my hands when I made love to her body. I tried not to think about how she was everything I needed . . . and couldn’t have.

  Like she could read the tenor of my thoughts, her face softened as she stopped across from me. “I’m sorry about earlier. I shouldn’t have yelled and flipped you off.” As soon as her eyes met mine, they shot away.

  I folded my arms across the table and leaned forward. “In your defense, you thought I’d done the flipping off first.”

  “Well, you had.”

  “But mine wasn’t at you. Yours was definitely at me.”

  Nina sighed. “You were defending me a dozen words ago, and now you’re back to accusing me.”

  Lifting my glass, I shook it so the scotch sloshed around. “I blame it on this.”

  “I’m surprised this place serves the ‘good’ scotch you like.”

  “They don’t.” I tossed back the last of it and braced myself. “This tastes like aged piss.”

  Nina was fighting a smile. “Then why are you here? This is not your kind of place.” She waved around the loud room.

  “My kind of place is wherever I can get the quickest drink whenever the need arises. This happened to be that place tonight.” When I caught the female bartender’s attention, I raised my empty glass. “Do you want something?” I asked Nina.

  She swallowed. “Yeah.”

  My brow lifted as I waited.

  “Something strong.”

  I lifted two fingers at the bartender, who’d already grabbed the bottle of aged piss from the “top shelf.”

  “So?” Nina pulled out the barstool across from me, but she didn’t take a seat. She was nervous, which was unusual for Nina. I couldn’t help but wonder about the cause of her nerves. “How have you been?”

  My brows drew together. Was she making small talk or did she really want to know? I guessed the former. “Fine. How about you?”

  She nodded. “Fine.” Then a long pause. “I enrolled in some courses at Portland Community College.”

  This smile came naturally. “Good for you. How’s it been so far?”

  “Good. Easier than I thought it would be. I’ve made some friends already, survived my first tests.” She lifted her shoulders. “So far, so good.”

  My eyes went to the table she’d been at. College friends. It felt like a lifetime ago since I’d hung out at a bar with college friends.

  “So cut the bullshit, Max.” The Nina I remembered appeared from behind that nervous one for a moment. “How are you really?”

  That was when our drinks arrived, which was perfect since I was going to need one to answer her question truthfully.

  “Max?” Nina prompted before taking her first drink. Her face puckered the way mine had.

  “I’m surviving, Nina.” I sighed, claiming her eyes with mine. “That’s all any of us can expect of life anyways, so I’m on par with the billions of others on the planet.”

  She didn’t say anything right after that. I guessed the tension that followed my little tirade required some silence to diffuse. Sliding onto the barstool, she drank the rest of her drink in one gulp.

  “Easy,” I said when she waved her empty glass at the bar. “You’re going to need your brain cells to get through college. Don’t waste them on shitty scotch.” When she reached across the table and grabbed my glass then drained that in one drink, my eyes went wide. “Nina, I’m serious. Slow down.”

  I didn’t care about her taking my drink or running up my bill or any of that, but I didn’t want her getting sick or waking up tomorrow feeling like a machete had been lodged in her skull. I didn’t want her to experience any more pain than she already had.

  Her eyes lifted to meet mine. “I’m sorry, Max,” she said, her forehead wrinkling. “I’m sorry for what happened that day. I’m sorry I couldn’t say back what you said to me. I’m sorry I couldn’t give you what you wanted. I’m sorry I couldn’t be who you wanted. I’m sorry I hurt you.” Her voice broke, but she kept going. “I’m sorry for everything.”

  I was quiet for a moment, not knowing what to say. I’d never expected to hear this from her. It was me who’d broken our agreement. It was me who’d confessed my love moments before our wedding. It was me who’d put this whole thing into motion in the first place.

  “I’m sorry too, Nina.” My hand instinctively reached for hers and found hers reaching back. When our fingers wound together, the ache inside me receded just enough to let me breathe again.

  We sat like that for a minute, saying nothing, looking out the windows, our only connection our palms pressed together. It took me a while to figure out what the hard, cool object circling her finger was. At the same moment my eyes dropped to her finger, she seemed to realize I’d acknowledged it.

  “You’re still wearing it?” My voice came out quiet, almost breathless.

  She bit her lip, looking away. “I can’t get it off. It’s stuck.”

  Twisting the ring around, I slid it up her finger. She was right—it didn’t budge past the knuckle. Seeing the ring on her finger had made me feel hopeful, and that hope was crushed the next moment. She wasn’t wearing it because she couldn’t let go—she was wearing it because she couldn’t get it off.

  “I’ll send you my jeweler’s contact information.” I let go of her hand to pull my phone from my pocket. “I’m sure they can find a way to remove it.” I guessed they’d probably have to cut it off, but I doubted Nina cared if they had to crush the entire thing just so long as she would be free of it. I was surprised she’d waited this long to do something about it.

  “A jeweler? You bought a fake diamond at an actual jeweler’s?”

  My jaw tightened as I debated if I should tell her. What the hell; it wasn’t like she could leave me a second time. “No, but you do have to visit a jeweler to find a real diamond.”

  Nina inhaled. “You didn’t . . .”

  “Of course I did.” I pulled at my tie and shrugged. “There was no way in hell I was putting some fake ring on your finger.”

  “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.” She sighed, staring at the ring like she was seeing it for the first time.

  When her drink showed up, I was in the middle of forwarding her the jeweler’s information and didn’t move fast enough to keep her from upending this one in record-breaking time.

  Her face didn’t pucker up and her body didn’t shiver from the burn of it rolling down her throat. She chugged it like water then slammed the empty glass on the table, looking around like she was waiting for her next.

  “No, you’re cut off,” I said as she tried to get the bartender’s attention.

  “No, I’m just getting warmed up.” She was starting to sway on her stool, which was no big surprise since she was petite and had an alcohol tolerance so low it was practically non-existent.

  “You’re not drinking another sip unless it’s water.”

  Fire lit up her eyes. “Stop ordering me around. You’re not my husband. You’re not my boyfriend. You’re not even in my life anymore. You just disappeared. Poof. One minute you’re everywhere—the next one you’re nowhere. You don’t get to boss me around.” Her words were starting to draw out, her face especially expressive. She was good and drunk.

  “Because even if I was your boyfriend or husband, you’d be okay with me ordering you around?” My brow lifted at her.

  “No, I wouldn’t. Because people who care about you don’t boss you around. Or tell you what to do. Or break their promises. Or tell us things we don’t want to hear or aren’t ready to hear.” As Nina slid off of the stool, she almost slid all the way to the floor. I shoved out of my seat and got to her just in time. She pushed against my chest as she shoved out of my hold. “Real friends don’t tell each other they can’t h
ave another drink when they really fucking need another drink.”

  My eyes lifted to the table of people she’d shown up with. It was empty. “Do real friends also just up and bail on you without sparing thirty seconds to let you know?”

  Nina’s head whipped around. When she saw the empty table, she scanned the rest of the bar like she was expecting to find them. They were gone, probably too drunk to even recall they were leaving with one less than they’d arrived. The thought made me violent. If I hadn’t been there and Nina had disappeared to the bathroom for a few minutes and come out to an empty table, I didn’t want to think about what might have happened to her.

  Then again, she probably wouldn’t have been so drunk if it wasn’t for my presence.

  “Friends don’t mind when other friends come and go. They don’t make conditions on their relationship.” Nina started for the door.

  I followed right behind her. “Are we still talking about your ‘friends’ or are you taking hits at me now?”

  “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m talking about my friends.”

  I waved at the empty table as we moved by it. “The friends that left you alone in a bar on a Friday night? Awesome friends. Know where I can find myself some just like them?”

  Nina ignored me as she shoved out the door, trying to power away from me, but for every step forward, she stumbled one to the side.

  “Come on, Nina. Those aren’t friends. Those are people you share a drink and a laugh with, that’s all.”

  She huffed, still struggling to walk a straight line down the sidewalk. “Please. What do you know about friends or caring about people? You were drinking alone in one of the biggest cities in the country.”

  I caught her arm before she staggered into a light pole. “I know enough to accept I’d rather be alone than surrounded by a bunch of people I have to pretend with.”

  She broke to a stop and whipped around to face me. “I wasn’t pretending. I like those people. They like me.”

  I crossed my arms and nodded. “That’s obvious.”

  “What makes it obvious? Since I know you’re dying to tell me?”

  I steered her aside as a group of loud, frat-looking guys passed by. They smelled like they’d been bathing in a vat of beer for days. After they’d passed, I lowered my face until it was level with Nina’s. She was glaring at me, but at least she was looking.

  “People who like us tell us what we want to hear. People who love us tell us what we need to hear.” I paused to let that settle in. “Since you clearly like to hear what you want to rather than what you need to, it’s safe to assume you ‘like’ those people very much.”

  Somehow, her eyes narrowed even more. I wasn’t trying to piss her off—I was trying to be honest with her. But I knew from experience that being honest with Nina was a good way to upset her.

  “Then you must have really, really, really loved me because you sure told me a whole lot of stuff you thought I needed to hear,” she shouted loudly enough to earn a few head turns from people wandering down the sidewalks.

  “You did need to hear it. All of it.” When she spun around to keep trying to move down the sidewalk, I grabbed her hand to keep her from leaving. “And right now, you need to hear that you are too drunk to go out on your own and get home safely by the end of it. You’re shit-faced and not in any condition to go anywhere alone.”

  I pulled on her hand, leading her to where my Tesla was parked up ahead. She was struggling against me, but along with dulling her inhibitions, the alcohol had dulled her strength.

  “And while I’m on a roll, let me just say that I think the whole reason you acted so appalled and upset that day of the wedding was because some part of you knew you felt the same way as I did. You knew you might have loved me too and that scared the shit out of you.” I broke to a stop, turning to face her once we were in front of the car. She looked like she was ready to slap me, but I didn’t care. “That’s why you couldn’t say it back. Because you were scared.”

  Her hand shook in mine. From the look on her face, I guessed it was from anger. “I am not scared of anything,” she seethed, nice and slow. That, she didn’t slur in the slightest.

  She was better at telling lies than sharing truths. That was the nature of a person who’d been battered by life. What I wanted to tell her was something different from what I needed to.

  “Nina, please, you are scared of everything.” I softened my words as much as I could.

  Her face fell for the briefest moment. Then she looked at me like she’d never despised the sight of a person more than she did me. “I hate you, Max Sturm.”

  When she tried to yank her hand free again, my grip tightened. “Of course you do. Because hating me is less terrifying than the thought of loving me is.”

  She froze for a moment, something hitting her. It passed as soon as it had come on. “Let me go,” she ordered, pulling against me again. “Leave me alone.”

  “Fine.” I opened the passenger door of the Tesla. “After I make sure you get home.”

  “Stop, Max.” Her free hand kept shoving at my chest, but then she lost her balance and kind of fell into me. When I caught her again, it only seemed to make her madder. “I hate you. Leave me alone. Did you just miss all of that?”

  My arms gently folded around her and pulled her to me. I held her close so she wouldn’t fall again and kept her close because I couldn’t bear the thought of letting her go again.

  “No, I didn’t,” I said, lowering my mouth to her ear. “But here’s the thing. I care about you, no matter what you say or do to try to make me feel otherwise. I care about you, and I will look after you in whatever way I can, and tell you what you need to hear, and force you into my goddamn car so you don’t wind up naked in some ditch tonight.”

  She was shaking against me, crying. I’d never wanted to be the cause of Nina’s tears, but at the same time, I knew the only way to really move on from something was to properly mourn it. This was my final gift to Nina. My good-bye gift. So once the tears had dried up, she could bury us in a box and move on.

  “I will always do what’s best for you, even if it means you wind up hating me. Because that’s how much I love you,” I said.

  After I got her in the car, I drove her home, carried her into her house, and tucked her into bed. I stood there and watched her sleep for a minute. She’d passed out before I’d pulled away from the curb outside the bar, and I guessed she’d wake up tomorrow and feel the exact same way about me as she had tonight. And that was okay.

  Nina Burton might very well spend the rest of her life hating me.

  But I’d spend the rest of mine loving her.

  Every morning I rolled out of bed with the goal to move on from Max. Every night I crawled into bed swearing I’d try harder the next day. It was a sick cycle I felt powerless to overcome.

  It had already been three weeks since the night I’d run into Max at that bar. It had been three weeks since I’d seen or heard from him. I didn’t remember much about that night—at least not much after that quart of scotch I’d chugged hit my system.

  I remembered arguing with him, but not what the argument was about. I remembered yelling at him about something, but not what had preceded that. I did remember shouting at him, “I hate you.”

  That was what I woke up the next morning remembering—those three words. That was all I could recall as the night’s events struggled to materialize. He’d driven me home. He must have carried me into the house and laid me on my bed. He had to have taken off my shoes and tucked the blankets over me and left the bottles of water and aspirin on my nightstand.

  He must have stayed all night and made his escape once he’d heard me stirring, because when I padded out into the living room that morning, I’d just caught a glimpse of his car disappearing down the road. His body’s impression was still molded into the leather chair he must have spent the night in.

  He’d left so he wouldn’t have to face me, and really, I couldn’t blame him.
Not with the words I remembered shouting at him.

  He’d done the right thing, as only Max could, and then he’d left. I’d succeeded at pushing him away—if I hadn’t already the day of our failed wedding when I couldn’t say three words to him.

  Instead, I’d given him three different words.

  My mind never strayed far from those trios of words—the ones he’d spoken, and the ones I had.

  I love you.

  I hate you.

  I didn’t hate Max. I never could. I’d lied.

  The love part was more confusing. I’d seen it abused by too many people. I’d perverted it too much on my own. I’d convinced myself it could never be experienced within the confines of a romantic relationship. A mother could love a child. A son could love his father. But a man could not love a woman. A woman could not love a man.

  That had been my belief for years, but all of that was starting to crumble, the first crack punched in it the day Max professed his love for me.

  So that was my life now. Crumbling walls that had kept me protected now exposed me, leaving me feeling naked and scared. That was probably why I’d sought solace here this afternoon.

  This was the most peaceful place I’d ever been. Maybe that was because the residents here had permanently made their peace with life, forced or otherwise.

  It had been a while since I’d visited Grandma’s grave, but today I’d woken up and known a visit was in order.

  I’d been sitting here for a while, just staring at her headstone, searching for answers on the marble face. I’d read the inscription hundreds of times, maybe thousands—I’d committed it to memory the first time I read in her will what she wanted on her headstone.

  It was simple and concise, but still, there was comfort in reading that handful of words over and over. Margaret Louise Burton, May 24th, 1939 to January 8th, 2015. Below that was only one word. Love. No famous quote, no scripture verse, no “Beloved Grandmother.” Nothing besides that one word.

  If it had been up to me, I would have added that “Beloved Grandmother” part, but this had been her request, and it had seemed more important to honor that than to make sure anyone who passed her headstone knew she had been a beloved grandmother. I knew she had been—and so had she. There was more permanence in that than in some words etched into a big piece of stone.