| |
You’re perfect for me.
For one moment, I’m elated.
You’re perfect for me, too, I want to say. I love you so much.
And then I remember.
I was supposed to break up with Chloe.
But when she arrived, tears in her eyes, I couldn’t turn her away. I listened; I comforted her. That’s what everything in me demanded I do. I hate it when she’s upset, and I’m pissed at her father. Why doesn’t he see what a wonderful woman she’s become?
Instead of breaking up with Chloe, I held her, and we had sex. I thought it would be less intimate if she was bent over the sofa, if I couldn’t see her face.
But it was Chloe, and so it was still intimate.
Now, though, I have to do the right thing. The timing is crap, but I can’t let this continue.
I abruptly sit up and pull on my T-shirt. “You’re wrong. I’m not perfect for you—in fact, I’m no good for you at all—and we can’t keep doing this. We have to break up.”
She frowns. “I don’t understand. If you feel that way, then explain the past half hour.”
“I’m an asshole, and I wanted to fuck you one last time,” I say, deliberately crude, wanting to push her away.
“Before the sex—how do you explain that?”
I clench my hair in frustration. “You just have to accept that I’m not the man for you.”
“Drew, I think—”
“It’s over, sweetheart. We don’t belong together.”
Her face crumples. It utterly crumples, and I’m the one who did that.
“I love you,” she whispers.
No, don’t say that! She’s making this so difficult.
“You don’t really love me,” I say, desperately needing that to be true. I know how painful it is to be dumped by someone you love, and I don’t want her to hurt too much. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Her eyes flash. “How dare you say that? How dare you say I don’t know my own feelings? I’m not a stupid little girl. You’re acting like my father, thinking you know what’s best for me.” Her voice is a little angry, but more than anything, it’s full of dejection.
I flinch. I’m not like her father. I don’t want to impose my dreams on her. I don’t deny who she truly is.
But breaking up is for the best, and she’ll realize that eventually.
“Let’s be honest,” I say. “We haven’t known each other all that long. You might think you know me, but you don’t.”
“I do know you,” she whispers.
“No.”
Her lower lip trembles. I reach out and press my thumb to it, but she shifts away and stands up, shaking her head. She puts on her pants and T-shirt and grabs her purse.
She’s going to leave, and I’m never going to see her again. The thought is an unbearable ache in the pit of my stomach.
Well, maybe I’ll see her if Michelle insists on going to Ginger Scoops, because if my niece wants to go there, I wouldn’t say no. But otherwise, I won’t see Chloe again.
This is for the best. I have to keep telling myself that. I’m doing this for her.
I’m doing this because I love her, even if I didn’t say the words.
I would crush her spirit, and I would be a terrible dad to her children, and she doesn’t deserve any of that. She deserves a better person than me.
She steps out the door without another word.
* * *
A funny thing happens after Chloe leaves.
I go to my chocolate stash because I deserve some good chocolate after doing the right thing, don’t I?
Except I’m not simply craving chocolate.
No, for some inexplicable reason, I’m craving chocolate ice cream.
I walk to the grocery store and buy some dark chocolate ice cream, the good stuff that I used to enjoy. Then I sit on my balcony with the pint and a spoon and shovel ice cream into my mouth. It’s actually pretty good, and it doesn’t make me gag.
How times have changed.
After eating too much of it, I text Glenn to see if he’d be up for a few drinks this week, and then I attempt to forget about Chloe by reading a book about grisly murders.
But nothing can make me forget her.