by Lacey Legend
After grabbing Malcolm’s little card out of the roses, I dialed his number before I could change my mind. He answered on the very first ring, sounding surprised, although extremely pleasantly.
What ensued was kind of a general “catching up” conversation. He told me more about his time in LA, and I told him a little bit about my summer travels, although without mentioning Fed. We both exchanged news about our families. Malcolm told me that his grandma had recently had a mild stroke but was doing all right, and I told him that my grandparents were still living happily down in Illinois. Malcolm, who’d always gotten along with my grandparents extremely well, asked me to please pass on his best regards, and I said I would.
After all this, there was a long pause before Malcolm broke the silence.
“Are you giving some thought to my proposal, Jas?”
I didn’t answer right away. “I’m not not giving some thought to it, if that makes any sense at all.”
“I’ll take it…and I think I understand how you feel. Maybe you just need a little time to let this all sink in.”
“Maybe.”
“Hey, I’ll tell you what. How about if I take you out for dinner tomorrow night? We can really talk then.”
I opened my mouth to say something along the lines of, “Malcolm, I have a boyfriend.” However, I suddenly realized that I actually didn’t. Not anymore. Fed and I were over. Even still, the idea of going out to dinner with another man so soon struck me as just somehow very wrong, and I declined Malcolm’s invitation.
“Maybe we could meet up for coffee, though…or lunch.”
For some reason, those things didn’t seem nearly as “wrong” as dinner.
Malcolm said those were great ideas. “How about we do lunch?”
“All right.”
“What do you think about Georgiou’s? Do you still like the gyro plates there?”
Recalling Fed’s and my first date there, I felt an ache in my chest, and my eyes began welling with tears again. Blinking them back, I told Malcolm that Georgiou’s wouldn’t work. He asked why not, and I told him I didn’t know.
“I guess I’m just sick of the food there or something. Maybe I’ve just had too much of it.”
“Well, where else, then? You pick.”
After a few moments spent thinking, I suggested a semi-upscale Mexican place near my apartment called Los Amigos. Fed hated it, saying that they had the worst, driest, most flavorless chicken quesadillas he’d ever tasted in his life.
“We could meet there at noon.”
Malcolm said that sounded perfect, and that he’d see me the following day at noon. We soon hung up, after he’d wished me sweet dreams. I offered only a simple thanks in return.
I cried myself to sleep that night, then woke up at three in the morning, upset because my bedding still bore a faint trace of Fed’s woodsy, heavenly, masculine scent. Before I could go to sleep again, I had to strip off all the bedding, put it in the washer, and put new sheets and pillowcases and a new blanket on my bed.
The following morning, I slept late and then called in sick to work, just not wanting to run into Fed.
At noon exactly, I arrived at Los Amigos, discovering that Malcolm was already there waiting for me. This surprised me just slightly, because he had always tended to run a few minutes late, which had always annoyed me.
He surprised me again by presenting me with a gift after we’d greeted each other in the restaurant’s waiting area. The gift was a small gold bag of dark chocolate-covered candied orange rind sprinkled with a fine layer of edible, completely real, twenty-four carat gold dust. This treat was from the premier chocolatier in the city, and it was so ungodly expensive that I winced inwardly just thinking how much Malcolm had spent on it when I was sure that he probably wasn’t just rolling in cash after leaving his business behind in LA.
Wearing a hopeful sort of expression, he asked me if I remembered the significance of the candy.
In spite of myself, I couldn’t help but smile. “Of course. We’d been dating for about a month, and I had a horrendous case of the flu. You stayed up with me all night, caring for me, and we happened to start talking about our favorite foods. I said that my two favorite sweet things were dark chocolate and ‘anything orange,’ and you said, ‘Oh, boy. When you get well and get your appetite back, have I got a treat for you.’ Then, a few days later, you brought me a little gold bag and started my addiction to absurdly expensive candy.”
Malcolm grinned. “It’s worth it, though, just to see you smile.”
I smiled right then with a little rush of heat rising to my cheeks.
Malcolm suddenly took one of my hands. “It’s just really good to see you.”
I smiled again with my cheeks becoming even a little warmer still. “You, too, Malcolm.”
*
Our brief conversation in the lobby was as good as Malcolm’s and my lunch date got. While we waited for our food, he began telling me some more about his experiences out in LA, and then he told me more, and then he told me more. By the time our food came, I realized that he hadn’t yet even asked me how I was doing, or how my day had been so far, or anything like that.
It was at this point that I began remembering a few things about our relationship that I’d somehow kind of forgotten, namely, how he’d always irritated me by going on and on about himself and his own life while never asking me much about my own. While we’d been dating, I’d brought this to his attention several times, and he’d always promised to change. However, he never really had, and his self-centeredness had more or less remained a constant throughout our relationship.
While we shared an order of tortilla chips with guacamole and salsa, Malcolm finally moved on from talking solely about himself to say that he had “big plans” for us.
Confused, I asked him what he meant, and he said that he’d found a house for us in West Bloomfield. “I mean, it’s small. It’s definitely a ‘starter house,’ but I think you’ll really like it. It has a has a nice big front porch and a big flower garden out front, and around the whole house, there’s a little wooden fence. It’s not white, but I’m sure I could paint it easily enough.”
Incredulous, I didn’t know whether to laugh or get angry. “Malcolm…I agreed to meet you here for lunch…but I didn’t say yes to your marriage proposal.”
Seeming to realize that he’d goofed, he quickly said that he knew that. “I just thought you might like to hear about the house just to keep it mind while you’re thinking over the deal.”
“What ‘deal?’”
“Oh, you know…I just meant ‘deal,’ as in, my marriage proposal.”
Malcolm had suddenly made his marriage proposal seem terribly unromantic in all possible ways.
We both fell silent and started in on our entrees. For whatever reason, I’d ordered a chicken quesadilla, maybe just to see if this menu option really was as terrible as Fed had said it was.
After taking a few bites, I concluded that it was and set the rest of the quesadilla triangle back on my plate. “It really is the worst, driest, most flavorless chicken quesadilla ever.”
Malcolm glanced up from his enchiladas. “What’s that?”
“Oh, I was just making a comment about the quesadilla. I just wish I’d ordered something else.”
“Well, have some of my enchiladas. You know I always order the best.”
This was another thing I’d kind of forgotten about Malcolm. He had a tendency to be a “one-upper,” which was to say, a person who generally always had to be right, or superior somehow. According to Malcolm, he always made the best decisions, ordered the best item on the menu, and had the very best taste in everything, including cars, clothes, and alcoholic beverages. I’d really forgotten how annoying this could be.
I had a few bites of his enchiladas but found those pretty flavorless as well. Honestly, I couldn’t fathom how Los Amigos was even still in business. Eventually, I went back to my quesadilla, realizing after a little while that I was o
nly eating it because it somehow reminded me of Fed, which felt oddly comforting somehow. I didn’t even know why. I didn’t even know why I should want to be comforted by him anyway.
While we continued on with the meal, Malcolm told me about his plans to start up his wedding photography business in Detroit again. Then, he told me more about his plans. And then, even more. By the time our cinnamon-sugar churros arrived, I just about wanted to run out of the restaurant screaming. I knew I’d made a huge mistake in coming.
While we ate our dessert, Malcolm told me about some of the celebrities he’d met out in LA. I listened attentively, or I at least probably appeared to, anyway. But really, I was thinking about Fed. Specifically, I was thinking about his coal-gray eyes with blue flecks; I was thinking about his smile; and I was thinking about how I’d become so hopelessly addicted to his body. Also, in the back of my mind, I was thinking about how Malcolm could never be Fed. He couldn’t even come close to Fed.
When the lunch bill arrived, I insisted on splitting it with Malcolm, even though I always let Fed pay. For some reason, I just didn’t want Malcolm to buy my lunch.
Outside the restaurant, before we parted ways, he asked if he could give me a hug, and I said sure. However, when the hug went on a little longer than I liked, I gently pushed him away, telling him that I really had to go.
He said he understood. “Can I call you later today, though?”
I said I wasn’t sure. “How about if you let me call you instead?”
He shrugged. “That’s fine…just as long as we can connect.”
I was really starting to think that any connection we’d ever had was far in the past. I didn’t want to say this to him at present, though, afraid of some kind of a public scene. So, after thanking him for the candy, I went my way and he went his.
That afternoon, I went for a long run just to clear my head and do some thinking, and by the end of it, I realized that although his offer of marriage and children had been a tempting one, I just didn’t want a commitment from Malcolm. I wasn’t sure that I ever wanted to speak to him again, even. The only man I wanted a commitment from was Fed. Who, naturally, was the man who was refusing to give me one.
That evening, I sent Malcolm a text. I’m sorry to say this, but I don’t think we have any chemistry at all anymore. Not to mention that I’ve realized that the only man I want to marry is the man I’m currently in a relationship with. I wish you all the best.
It was only after I’d sent the text that I realized that I wasn’t currently in a relationship with Fed anymore. This thought instantly brought tears to my eyes, and I wondered how long it was going to take me to get used to that fact.
Presently, I began wondering something else, which was if Fed was going to text or call to check in on me. After all, I had a stellar attendance record at work and hardly ever missed a day. Except when I missed nearly a hundred days to jet off to Europe with Fed, I thought. But the point was that I hardly ever missed a day when I was actually in Detroit.
Thinking about Fed possibly being worried about me and not wanting him to be, I thought about texting him a simple message telling him that I was fine. However, for some reason I feared that I’d be unable to keep the message simple, and would instead write something else that I didn’t want to. Maybe something about how I missed him and still loved him. And I just couldn’t allow myself to do that.
Instead, I soon texted Sheila, who I’d talked to that morning when I’d called in. Did Fed ask anything about me at work today?
He didn’t come to work himself today. I thought you would have known that. Is anything wrong?
During our brief call that morning, I hadn’t told Sheila that Fed and I had broken up, just not wanting to get into it.
I quickly texted her back. No, nothing is wrong. I just thought Fed might have stopped into the office. Never mind.
I’d just hit send when my phone began going off. It was Malcolm. More than a bit reluctantly, I answered, hoping that he just wanted to say a quick goodbye before accepting things and moving on. How wrong I was.
First, Malcolm asked me if I thought it was funny to “string a man along” how I had.
Incredulous, I couldn’t speak right away. “Excuse me?”
“I think you heard me, Jasmine, and I know you know what I mean. You really got my hopes up, too.”
“Just because I agreed to have lunch with you? I think that’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard. If anyone got your hopes up too high, it was your own self. I mean…looking at houses just because I agreed to have lunch with you? If you feel jilted, you have no one to blame but yourself, Malcolm.”
We went back and forth for a minute or two, until finally I had enough and told him I was done.
“Opening my apartment door when I saw you through my peephole was my first mistake in all this, and maybe I’ve made a few mistakes since then, but I’m not making any more. Goodbye, Malcolm. Please don’t ever call me again or contact me in any way.”
With that, I hung up on him. He immediately called me back, but I didn’t answer. The only man I wanted to talk to currently was Fed. However, I was determined not to call him.
*
The following day, I again called into work, just still not ready to see Fed.
Sheila sent me a text midmorning. Just wanted to let you know that Fed just came in, although he’s not looking very well. Dark circles under his eyes. Looks generally tired, like he hasn’t been sleeping much. Maybe he’s upset about something…and maybe you should call him.
I still hadn’t told Sheila that Fed and I had broken up, although somehow, I just got the idea that she knew.
I didn’t take her gentle advice, and I didn’t call Fed. Instead, I went out on another long run that afternoon, followed by a long bubble bath to soak my tired muscles. Afterward, I got into pajamas and poured myself a large glass of wine, even though it was only a few minutes past five o’ clock. But it’s still after five, I told myself.
After finishing my large glass of wine, I had a seat on the couch, turned on the TV, and tried not to think about Fed. Slightly buzzed, I watched half a show, though, before I realized that I really hadn’t watched any of it at all. Instead, the main character in the sitcom reminded me of Fed in some way, and I’d then fallen into a daydream of sorts about Fed, wishing that I could just see him in person.
After another glass of wine, this one a very small one, I sat down at the kitchen table with my phone, debating whether or not I should text Fed. In my buzzy state, it was becoming harder and harder to resist the impulse, although I had no idea what I would say. Eventually, after thinking things over, I decided to just stop fighting it and send him a text. I just want you, not Malcolm. Too bad for me, right? Because you don’t want any commitment. Regardless, I told Malcolm to never contact me again. Also, I miss you.
Literally the second I hit send, I received a three-word text from Fed. I miss you.
Shocked, I started at my phone screen in disbelief, realizing that we had to have been texting each other simultaneously. Somehow amused by this, I quickly sent him another text. Jinx. Several moments later, I received another from him. Can I come over? Drinking the very last tiny swallow of wine left in my glass, I thought about it, realizing that I couldn’t not allow myself to type the word yes. I just simply wasn’t strong enough to, especially not in my slightly intoxicated state.
Besides, despite the argument we’d had, I wanted Fed to come over. Not seeing him for two days felt like it may as well have been two months. So, before I could think better of it, I texted him yes. Right away, he texted back. Great. Trying to get out of here. Senior engineer’s presentation is going long. Will be over when I can.
It turned out that “when I can” wasn’t within the next half-hour. I ate some cereal and watched some more TV. I brushed my teeth and changed into sexier pajamas than the ones I’d been wearing, then changed them back again because I was starting to feel sleepy and just wanted to be comfortable.
&
nbsp; When it had been about an hour since Fed had last texted, I got into bed, figuring that maybe he’d changed his mind about coming over. And maybe that was for the best. Now that I was completely sober, I was thinking a little more pragmatically than I’d been earlier, and I realized that as much as we missed each other, Fed and I needed to have a serious discussion before we ever fell back into bed together, which is what I was pretty sure would have happened if he’d come over.
I’d just started drifting off to sleep when I heard a distant knock on my apartment door. This sound was followed by the chime of a text alert, and I saw that it was from Fed. I’m here.
Suddenly, I felt a little tipsy again, although not on wine anymore, just on the fact that I would soon be seeing Fed. I didn’t plan on sleeping with him, though. Instead, I was determined to have a talk with him to get to the bottom of why he never wanted to get married. I’d become convinced that it wasn’t just because he simply felt like his career wouldn’t allow it.
However, unlike the last time we’d discussed this matter, I didn’t intend for things to get heated. I wanted us both to remain calm, because I felt like Fed had a tendency to just shut down when he felt stressed or pressured.
When I opened the door and let him in, I suddenly became afraid that any kind of a talk was going to be really difficult, mainly because Fed looked so incredibly good to me, and it had been two days too long since the last time we’d made love. I was still determined, though, so after leading him into the living room, I asked him if he’d like to sit down so we could talk.
Sighing quietly, he gave his head a small shake. “Do we really have to talk tonight, Jas? I’ve missed you more than words can say.”
“Well, I’ve missed you, too, but--”
“Just let me hold you.”
“All right. Answer me just one question, and you can. The question is why don’t you ever want to get married. Please answer.”
“No.”
I snorted. “You’re really obstinate sometimes; you know that?”
“Yes.”
