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“He doesn’t like it,” I say, feeling heavy in my heart. I take another big sip of my wine. “But it doesn’t matter what he thinks or likes anymore.” I swallow, looking at Tommy over my glass.
“It doesn’t matter?” Adorably, Tommy looks shocked as well hopeful. “Why?” In his eyes, I can see he knows something. I can also see he’s hoping for something, though he won’t admit it or acknowledge it, so I don’t either. Not yet.
I just answer his question. “We are not together,” I say briskly. I take another drink of my wine glass, draining it. I hadn’t meant to drink like this in front of Tommy, but Dennis seems to be making a mess of things, even when he isn’t around.
Tommy’s look of shock and hope intensifies.
I finish my answer to his question. “Yes. He dumped me last week, after over a year of a long-distance relationship, eighteen months committed in total.” My voice cracks around this, and I fix it with another glass of wine from the bottle. “He said it wasn’t worth it to him anymore, that he couldn’t and wouldn’t put forth any more effort.”
Tommy doesn’t say anything. He can’t, anyway. The maître d’ has just returned to take our entrée order. With the conversation at hand now, there’s only one choice to make, and that’s to order my version of comfort food: Duck confit, cheesy, creamy potatoes, and garlic and herb fried greens. Enough for both of us. A whole duck.
I order, watching Tommy sip his wine and listen to me. He gets drunk on more than the alcohol and ponders what I’ve just told him. That I’m newly single.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Tommy
Not together? He broke up with her after over a year of commitment? I take a sip of my wine, followed by another. I can’t quite wrap my head around these thoughts as they come, let alone what they make me feel.
On the one hand, I’m saddened to hear that Melissa has been so cruelly dumped. I’m angry for her that her boyfriend decided to do this, to say everything wasn’t worth his time or effort, after months of putting forth time and effort. But my final feeling is the one that causes me the most discomfort and fear, as well as joy. The fact that part of me is happy. I’m excited that she’s free, that she is no longer “taken.”
I sip at my wine, looking at Melissa. At the beginning of her confession to me about her relationship status, she looked deflated, empty. Now she looks emboldened or confident, I guess. As if she’s come to terms with what this boyfriend of hers was really worth to her.
She gives me a small smile as she tops off my wine. And that smile, the glitter in her eyes, is enough to make my head spin with yet more thoughts. Different ones. No boyfriend now. She’s free. Available. Perhaps that means I can be the one to take the reins, take his place, and take care of Melissa the way she deserves to be taken care of.
Almost as if she reads my thoughts and whatever light is in my eyes, Melissa blushes. She bats her eyelashes at me, but it’s not in a conscious, flirty way. It’s in a beautiful, innocent way. She takes the wine bottle away from the rim of my glass and carefully puts the cork in it.
I murmur my thanks to her, thinking, she deserves better treatment than that. I would be more than happy to be the better boyfriend, the better man to her, but she just had her ex break up with her. She’s probably more heartbroken over it than she’s letting on, so I really shouldn’t push myself into her life. Not so quickly or so soon, but damn!
I’m sipping on my wine thoughtfully, just looking at her. Her beautiful, shoulder-length, black hair. The way it frames her face. Her big, liquid eyes. They both shine bright and soft in the low light of the restaurant. Her big, full lips. Her flawless, ivory skin, and small, carefully-molded hands. She is so, so beautiful. So, so sweet. If there was anyone who could do a good job of loving her, protecting her, and showing her what she’s worth, it’s me!
I sigh, feeling both impatient and satisfied. Somehow, even though I want more than anything to be able to tell her how great and wonderful I think she is, and what a great job I know I would do being a boyfriend to her, I’m just overjoyed to know that she’s free now. She’s available for me to protect, love, and dote on in little secret ways.
After a minute or so of letting my mind wander to all the different ways that I might dote on her — bring her some food at lunch, maybe give her a few little gifts through the inter-office mail, go out for drinks on the weekdays after work — I snap out of it. I clear my throat and say, “I’m sorry to hear that your ex-boyfriend did that to you. He sounds like a shitty person.” I pause, careful to move my glass, so I don’t knock it over. “But how are you handling it? How are you feeling after it all?”
