Armed with underwear that costs almost half of my mortgage, I fake an air of confidence as I sit at the table waiting for Vaughn. Like I said, promptness has never been his thing.
He doesn’t work Monday nights, so to kick-start my “bring on the romance” plan, I booked a table at what Google told me was one of the most romantic restaurants in Miami.
Luckily for me, Google did not lie.
The warm Miami air caresses my shoulder as I readjust the strap of my dress that’s showing more skin than I’ve ever shown in public. I watch the French doors from our table for two in the most beautiful garden I’ve seen outside of a movie set in the English countryside, hoping to see Vaughn step through them at any moment. The flames of the candles in the middle of the table flicker and cast a warm glow as I sip on the glass of wine the waiter recommended. It’s great, but I wish I would’ve just ordered the Crown and Coke I really wanted.
I check the time once more and it’s now twenty minutes past our reservation time. I’m not sure whether I should call Vaughn or give him five more minutes.
This place is hard to find. Maybe he got lost?
My fingers twitch around the clear phone case before I tuck it away in my purse and decide to wait it out.
At least this way I can order the appetizers by myself—Vaughn never wants to try anything new or exciting.
I make eye contact with the waiter, who’s never far away, and ignore the flare of pity in his eyes as he approaches.
“How may I help you, ma’am?”
I hate, abhor, loathe being called ma’am. My grandma is ma’am. My mom is ma’am. But me? In this dress? I am most certainly not ma’am.
“Can I get the spread trio and the grilled octopus for the table, please?”
His eyes tense at the corners and I can only imagine what he’s thinking, but like the professional he must be to work at a place like this, he makes sure no further indication of sad scenarios running through his mind are visible on his face.
“Of course.” His smile shines bright even in the dim light. “I’ll go put that in right away.”
He gives me a little bow—which is as lovely as it is off-putting—before turning on his heels, heading inside, and leaving me with my thoughts once again.
My mind isn’t always the friendliest environment, but it’s truly acting a fool right now. Part of me is worried Vaughn forgot about tonight and I am actually being stood up—it wouldn’t be the first time. Another section of my brain still can’t believe how much the lingerie I’m wearing cost. And the rest is stuck thinking about Delilah, something that has become much too common over the past few weeks.
Even though she’s finally showing up at work again, it’s like part of her is still missing. She’s making mistakes she never made before, coming in late, and leaving early. It’s clear to anyone that her priorities have changed, but I didn’t realize how much until I asked her about her plans for the promotion and she told me she wasn’t sure she even wants it anymore. The announcement should’ve thrilled me; after all, Delilah is my biggest competition, but instead it’s knocked me off balance. Like somehow her making such a drastic shift says more about my life than hers. I knew Delilah going on the show would change some things, but not everything.
I shift my focus to the single long-stem rose in the middle of the table and try to clear my mind. The rose is so delicate it almost doesn’t look real. Sometimes it blows my mind that this kind of beauty just exists in the world. Roses don’t have to diet and exercise and coat themselves with makeup. They just are.
I don’t know how long I stare at the rose in deep, philosophical thought, but I tear my gaze away just in time to see Vaughn walk through the open door. He’s no doubt charming the maître d’ as he smiles wide and claps the stranger on the shoulder like an old friend.
“You would not believe what a long day I’ve had.” He pulls out his chair and sits without so much as a kiss on the cheek. “Then Vinny called me back into his office right as I was leaving and talked my ear off. And you know what traffic is like around here.”
Wow, okay, so we’re not even going to apologize for being late or ask me how my day was? Not exactly the start I was hoping for, but I take a deep breath—we can still recover from here.
“Miami traffic is an ordeal.” I unwrap my silverware and place my napkin in my lap. “I took an Uber just so I didn’t have to deal with parking.”
He pulls his phone out of his back pocket and doesn’t take his eyes off the screen. “Good call. Driving isn’t your forte.”
I don’t know what I feel more annoyed with, his constant insistence that I’m a terrible driver—which I am not! I just don’t drive like I’m street racing—or that he’s already on his phone.
Delilah mentioned that when she’s with her new mystery man, they aren’t allowed to have their phones. I thought that sounded slightly unhinged when she first told us, but now I’m thinking they might be onto something. I can’t remember the last time Vaughn and I had a night together that wasn’t interrupted by ringing phones or text messages or social media push notifications.
“Hey.” I reach across the table and put my hand over his phone. “Do you think we can maybe have dinner without our phones? Just tonight.”
“Yeah, sure.” The words are light and airy, but the tension around his eyes and mouth shows he’s none too pleased with this idea.
“Thank you.” I move my hand to squeeze his. “I just feel like we’re a little disconnected lately. With our schedules being what they are we don’t get enough quality time together.”
“I think that’s a great idea.” He puts his phone away and his long, calloused fingers curl around the delicate menu. “You really do look beautiful tonight.”
I appreciate him saying it even though it feels like he’s hardly looked at me since he got here. It feels more like an afterthought than a genuine compliment.
While he said everything was great when he left my house last week, we haven’t talked much since. The date he said he’d plan fell through when he double-booked two clubs.
“This old thing? Thank you. I wanted to look nice.” If he thinks this dress is good, he’s going to flip when he sees what’s beneath it.
“This is nice, babe.” He reaches his hand across the table and interlaces his fingers with mine. His mega smile softens a little bit and he reminds me more of the Vaughn I met back in Iowa than the club promoter I’m so used to these days. “We should do it more often.”
Our waiter clears his throat, startling us both as he sets the appetizers on the table, forcing us to separate our hold on each other.
“Can I get you anything else at the moment?” He seems so happy, and I don’t know if it’s because he’s relieved I didn’t get stood up or because I didn’t get stood up and I’m not messing with his tips for the night.
“I’ll have a tequila soda,” Vaughn says.
“Yes, sir, I’ll have that out for you shortly,” he says before he disappears once more.
“What is this?” Vaughn asks when the waiter is out of sight. “You order the weirdest food.”
“Just because you’re not used to something doesn’t make it weird.” I try not to roll my eyes. Vaughn has the palate of a toddler and it makes me irrationally angry. We’ve been dealing with this for years—he tries to yuck my yum, eventually gives in and tries the food, and then likes it. If it wasn’t for me, he’d be the kind of person who only eats meat and potatoes like some sort of Midwestern caveman. But no matter how many times we relive this scenario, he never ceases to complain about everything I order. Which is why I was only too happy to order before he got here.
He doesn’t say anything as he scoops one of the spreads and the octopus onto his plate. I keep my mouth shut because I refuse to start a fight tonight, certainly not over something as unimportant as food. Instead I remember why I’m here. This might not be the romantic dinner of my dreams, but we still have the after-dinner festivities to look forward to.
Fun fact, if you don’t want to be annoyed by your partner, three glasses of wine really helps. Two is not enough, and four is too many. Years of perfecting this has taught me the magic number is three. It’s the sweet spot.
I push open the door to my place, holding on to Vaughn’s hand as I pull him into my apartment. My skin feels electric and my mind is feeling fizzy in the best way possible thanks to those three glasses of wine.
“You have to sit on the couch for a second.” My words are slower than normal, but I can’t actually blame that on alcohol. I’m so nervous about step two of my plan my brain is on the verge of malfunctioning. “I have a little surprise for you.”
“Oh, do you now?” He pulls me into his hard chest and wraps his arms around me. “What is it?”
“I can’t tell you.” I let my head fall onto him and I revel in this feeling. This is what I was hoping for. “That’d ruin the surprise.”
When we first started dating, we’d stand like this all the time. In our dorm rooms, we’d hold tight to each other, dreaming of the future but grounded in the moment. And when we’d leave, he’d touch me for any or no reason at all, like it physically pained him to keep his hands off me.
Life was so much easier back then.
Before the injuries. Before the jobs. Before the mistakes.
Even though I don’t want to, I push away from him, trying to latch on to the liquid courage pumping through my veins so I don’t lose my nerve. I keep my steps slow and measured as we move through the dark open space of my apartment. The space I’ve kept mostly empty in the hopes that we’d find a place together soon. Of course, I’ve been hoping for that for years now.
When I first moved to Miami, I lived with Vaughn for a couple of months. It seemed logical to stay with him instead of living in a hotel or renting a place I’d never seen before.
Let’s just say it was quite the learning experience.
Our schedules clashed time and time again until it began to take a real toll on our relationship. I’d get snappy when he would wake me up before my alarm. He’d get frustrated when I didn’t have time to cook and do house crap. In the end, we decided it would be better if we both had our own places until we really settled into our careers.
But now we’re both in more comfortable, more stable parts of our careers. I’ve really been wanting to take the next step in our relationship for a while now.
And maybe tonight will help move us in that direction.
If I can just make everything perfect…
“Sit right here.” I push him onto the couch and he doesn’t hesitate before grabbing my remote and turning on ESPN.
Because nothing says romance like throwback football games.
Thankfully he doesn’t see me roll my eyes as I slip into my room.
I may have gone a little overboard with re-creating my Pinterest inspiration board for tonight. I bought a candle or fifty and set them up in the bedroom before I left for dinner. I rush around lighting them all only slightly concerned about setting off my fire alarm. I grab the box of rose petals I ordered online and scatter them across my bedspread and the floor before running into the bathroom to freshen up.
I peel off my dress, put on the suspenders and thigh-highs Delilah and Bailey said were a mandatory part of the outfit, and stare at the stranger in the mirror.
“Congratulations, Maya. Are you comfortable? No. Are you confident? Not really.” I start giving myself perhaps the worst pep talk in the history of pep talks. “But you’re going to fake it until you fucking make it. If Delilah can go on national television and prance around in a bikini, you can pretend to be a goddamn sexpot in front of your boyfriend of for-freaking-ever. You will not waste this lingerie, so get it together! You’ve got this!”
I take a deep breath, feeling surprisingly pumped up. I smooth my hair down, apply another layer of lipstick, and spritz one pump of perfume on my wrist.
I can do this.
I’m going to rock Vaughn’s fucking world. He’s going to realize I am everything he’s ever wanted. This is the first step to the next level of our relationship, showing that I can mix it up and surprise him even after so many years together. After tonight, he’s never going to want me to leave his side.
I take my time walking back into the living room. I want to portray calm, seductive energy, not the chaotic, unhinged energy I really feel.
I pull the door open like I’ve seen in movies, stepping into the living room in nothing but the barely there matching lace set. “Vaughn,” I say in a singsong voice. “I’m ready for you.”
I already feel fucking ridiculous and that feeling skyrockets when he doesn’t immediately turn around and ogle me. In fact, he doesn’t turn around at all.
Seriously?
“Vaughn,” I repeat, the annoyance in my voice unmistakable.
Again, nothing.
My mom always said one of my worst traits was my insistence that sighing is a viable form of communication. But the sigh I emit in this moment says everything words could never.
I stomp into my living room and come to a stop in front of my couch where Vaughn is sleeping like a goddamn baby.
The audacity of this man. I was in my room for maybe fifteen minutes.
“Vaughn!” I yell this time, because who has the patience for this? Not me, that’s for sure. “Wake up!”
I shove his shoulder and his eyes flicker open.
“Ow.” He groans and rubs his shoulder. “What was that for?”
“Because you were asleep and I have a surprise for you, remember?” I know it’s wrong to strangle a person, but wow do I want to choke this man right now.
“Fine.” He yawns and stretches his arms over his head before he takes his time sitting up. “What’s the surprise?”
Any of the motivation I was feeling after my pep talk to myself dissipates instantly into the air around me. I want to run into my room, hide under the covers, and never show my face again.
“This!” I motion to my practically naked body. “This is the surprise!”
If this outfit can’t get his attention, then I really don’t know what we’re doing here.
“Oh.” He blinks away his sleep. “You look nice. Is it new?”
Oh?
I look nice?
IS IT NEW?
I’m going to go back into my room and knock over all of my candles because I’m ready to burn it all down.
“Yes,” I say through gritted teeth. “It’s very new. I got it just for tonight so we could have a nice, romantic evening. You know, like real couples tend to do?”
“Whoa. Calm down.” He holds his hands in front of his chest. “I said you look nice. I’m sorry I fell asleep, but I don’t think that warrants this attitude. You know my sleep schedule is weird from work.”
I wonder if in the whole history of the world there’s ever been a time where a man telling a woman to calm down has actually made her calm down.
I’m thinking that’s a hard no.
“This isn’t attitude, this is anger.” It’s hurt. I grab the throw blanket folded over the arm of my couch and wrap it around myself before sitting next to him since I can’t disappear or turn back time. “I put a lot of effort into planning our date tonight even though you promised you’d plan this one. I spent ages picking the perfect restaurant, put on lingerie I’m wildly uncomfortable in, scattered rose petals all over the place, and my room has so many candles lit it’s definitely a fire hazard.”
“I said I’m sorry, what else do you want from me?” He sounds exhausted, but I have a sneaking suspicion it isn’t because I woke him up. “Why are you making such a big deal out of this? I mean, expensive restaurants and candles? That’s not who we are. That’s definitely not who I am.”
He’s not wrong. This isn’t who we are, but I’m not sure if either of us even knows who we actually are. We met as broke college kids and now we’re successful adults. But somehow, even though we’ve grown, our relationship still feels stuck in the dorms we’ve long escaped.
“I just really wanted a special night to help us find each other again.” I consider my next words, unsure I should say them out loud. “Don’t you feel like we’re drifting apart lately? I feel like there’s a lot of distance between us. Sometimes I don’t even feel like I’m in a relationship at all.”
“Wow. Not in a relationship? This is just what happens when two people have been together as long as we have.” He adjusts his long legs and shifts so he’s looking directly at me. “So are you saying that because I’m not into this kind of thing I’m not a good boyfriend? Because I’ll never want to do the fancy restaurants your family is used to, I’ll never light candles, and I might not realize when you go shopping for new underwear. And I don’t think a good girlfriend would try to change me into that person.”
“I’m not trying to change you,” I argue back, furious that my voice is thick with unshed tears. “I just want us to prioritize each other sometimes. Have nights we can put away our phones and not think about work. I want us to show the other that we care, that we do actually want to share our whole lives with each other, not just pencil us into our schedules.”
His eyes go soft, and for a moment I think I finally got through to him, but they harden again. “You know how much I struggled to bounce back after football. Being a club promoter isn’t something I want to do forever, but it’s what I need to do to make connections in this industry. That’s where my focus is right now and I thought you were good with that, but now I’m not so sure. I can’t give more than I’ve been giving, and it’s not fair of you to ask me to do that. It’s actually pretty selfish of you.”
His words knock the breath out of me. I’ve been called quite a few things before, but never selfish. It almost feels like he’s intentionally trying to hurt me now.
“I’m not asking you to ignore your career.” This is not where I thought this evening was going to go and I have no idea how to fix it. “I would never ask you that. I just—”
“You just want to feel like the priority and…” He takes a deep breath and my vision blurs. “I can’t make that promise. I love you, Maya. But maybe you’re not the person I need. Maybe this isn’t working anymore.”
His words slice through me like an axe and pain radiates into every single part of my body. The tears I’ve been fighting fall down my face. I try to come up with an argument about how wrong he is, convince him that we’re meant to be together. But I’m angry and heartbroken and mortified and all of the emotion is clogging my brain. The logic I thrive on is nowhere to be found.
“So what? Because I wanted to have a nice night and make an effort and surprise you, you want to throw us away? After ten years, we’re breaking up?” I pull my hand from his, wiping away the stupid, traitorous tears. “Just like that?”
“I think so.” He reaches his hand out for mine, but I pull it away. His touch might break me. “I’m not saying this will be forever, but I don’t think this is working right now. I need to keep my head down and focus on work. I think it will better for both of us.”
I know Vaughn is trying to make me feel better, but if there’s one thing that pisses me off more than anything else in the world, it’s a man telling me he knows what’s best for me.
“So you get the final say in what’s best for me without even consulting me about what I might want or need?” My sadness shrinks beneath my anger.
“This relationship isn’t what I need right now and it doesn’t seem to be what you need either,” he says, and it’s as if I didn’t speak at all. “We’ve been through so much. We’ve spent our entire twenties together. But right now, I need space away from it. I need to take some time and figure out what I want before I can decide if I want to move forward in a relationship with you.”
I open my mouth to tell him that after ten years together, he should already know. He shouldn’t need to figure anything out and he really shouldn’t make these decisions for me. But I don’t. It’s pointless. Once Vaughn has an idea, nothing and nobody can talk sense into him, and it’s clear what I want isn’t something he’s at all worried about.
I pull the blanket tighter around my body, horrified that I’m still half naked, and nod. He takes that for what it is, and even though I don’t want him to touch me, I don’t pull away when he leans over and places a soft kiss on my cheek.
He stands up, his long, lean body slowly rising from my couch, and every muscle in my body begins to scream for me to chase after him, to fight harder and tell him this is wrong. To beg him to stay and prove that he doesn’t need “space.”
Instead, I sit frozen on my couch, watching as he walks out of my door without so much as a backward glance. I don’t know how long he’s been gone before I finally get up, but I do know it’s been long enough that the smell from those obnoxious candles has permeated every nook and cranny of my apartment.
Before I go to my room and face the rose petals that are going to mock me, I walk to the fridge and pull out the bottle of champagne I placed in there after work. I pop the cork, and ignoring the flutes on the counter, lift the bottle straight to my mouth. I carry the bottle with me to the bathroom, taking deep gulps as I impatiently wait for my bathtub to fill with the bubbles I bought for tonight.
Just as the water is nearing the edge, I hear my phone ringing from the other room.
Now I’m not proud of this, but for a moment the thought of Vaughn calling because he’s realized what a gargantuan mistake he’s made has me running to my phone. Which is why seeing my sister’s name flashing on the screen feels like I was punched in the gut for the second time tonight.
“How can I help you?” I don’t mean to be so short with her, but I don’t have the energy to bother with pleasantries at the moment.
There’s silence on the other end for a second too long and I almost hang up when I hear her voice loud and clear. “What’s wrong and what did Ralph do to cause it?”
I couldn’t hold in the exasperated sigh even if I tried. I just can’t. Not tonight and definitely not with Ella. She’s never liked Vaughn, and for years has demonstrated this by calling him by his first name, Ralph, which he absolutely loathes.
“Nothing. I’m fine, but do you need something?”
“You are so not fine,” Ella, my beautiful but relentless and socially clueless sister, says. “You sound like you’ve been crying. You never cry. Why were you crying?”
“I wasn’t crying. Everything is fine. I’m fine.” I overcompensate, sounding even more guilty now. “Vaughn and I got into a little argument, but everything’s fine.”
Ella would dance on tables if she knew what had just happened between me and Vaughn. To say she’s not his biggest fan is a massive understatement. Which is exactly why I can’t tell her. This can’t be one more thing she adds to her arsenal of reasons she thinks we shouldn’t be together.
“I’ve never heard a person say the word ‘fine’ so many times in my life, but I can tell you don’t want to talk about it so I’ll drop it.” The for now at the end of the sentence is left unsaid, but I know it’s there. Ella never truly drops anything. “But if you need to talk, I’m always here for you.”
The genuine concern in her usually bubbly and silly voice absorbs some of my anger and sadness. But without either of those to hold on to, I’m left depleted and utterly exhausted.
“I know, thank you. I think I’m just tired, it was a long day.” This is not a lie. Today might’ve defied the laws of time as the longest day ever in the history of the world. “Did you need something?”
She hesitates for a second before answering, which, even though it’s not like my hotheaded sister, I appreciate. “It’s not important. You rest, I’ll catch up with you next week.”
“Thank you. Talk soon.”
“You know it,” she says, and the worry I sensed from her earlier is gone.
I can’t tell if her farewell was a threat or a promise, but all I know is I’m too tired to figure it out or care.
I turn my phone off and decide against the bath. I go into my room and blow out all of the candles before climbing into my bed with my makeup still on and without even wrapping my hair. I just need to hurry up and sleep so today can be over and it can be tomorrow.
Tomorrow will be better.
Tomorrow has to be better.