He bobbed his head up and down a few times, glanced at the woman behind him who studiously looked anywhere but at us, before gulping down a breath.“Engaged.”
All the air left my lungs in a whoosh.My hand flew to my stomach as I wheezed, “Engaged?”
He winced.
I struggled to suck back all the emotion I’d inadvertently allowed to slip.“Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
I looked over the water.Sought its peace, its certain, predictable rhythm, which was the only thing that made sense in that moment.Because every conversation Paul and I had about marriage over the last year and a half of our relationship ended with him saying marriage was an antiquated institution.
I waited for him.
For five years, I’d waited.
Anger rose fast and fierce.“I guess marriage isn’t quite as antiquated as you wanted me to believe, hm?”
“Harley…”
I waved his words away.My throat tightened with shame.Confusion heated my face.What was wrong with me?Why was I never the first choice?
“It’s fine.I see the problem was me, not marriage.”
How long did he date her before proposing?Was her fucking pussy soaked in cocaine?We’d only been broken up for eight months.
Eight months and he was engaged?
“No.Yes.No,” he huffed.
“Make up your mind, Paul,” I snapped.“Was I the problem or wasn’t I?”
He took a deep breath and let it all out in one go, his words running together.“You never needed me.”
Tears stung my eyes.“What do you mean, I never needed you?”
He shrugged.“You’re self-contained.Independent.I don’t think it mattered to you one way or another if I was even there most of the time.”
“It mattered,” I hissed, furious with my tears, mortified by the public nature of our encounter, and oh so ashamed of how I’d beseeched him on more than one occasion to move ahead.
Ashamed of the number of times I showed him rings, dreamed about setting up the hall at the resort, of having children with his eyes and my hair, all the while planning other people’s weddings, deflecting his comments about my weight, and countering his arguments about the validity of that piece of paper.
I didn’t love him.Not anymore.I didn’t know when I stopped but somewhere along the way my feelings for him changed.At the time I thought it was all part of the ebb and flow of a relationship.I expected the feelings would return.
Had he loved me the way he did in the first couple of years, they never would have left.
No.I didn’t love him.These were tears of frustration.Loss.Missed opportunity.
Loneliness.
And the sharp laceration of rejection.
“I needed you,” I replied quietly.“I didn’t need your comments about my weight, but I needed you.I needed you to love me.”
He winced again.“Harley, the truth is, I was a douche to you.I was jealous of your relationship with your family.And frustrated that I couldn’t seem to be what you needed.”
“Why didn’t you ever talk to me about it?”
“It wouldn’t have changed anything.You didn’t need me, and I need to be needed.You wanted me to fulfill the items on your life plan.Marriage.House.Children.Dog.But you didn’t need me personally.I was a single piece of your puzzle.”He glanced back to check on the woman behind him.“To her, I’m the whole damn picture.”
