I know that last night was important to you— I begin.
Yet you insisted on rescuing some random stray, she interrupts.
I’m not going to reiterate that if Lana had been less rigid, I could have done both. Would being fifteen minutes late really have been worse than not showing up at all?
How did dinner go? I ask.
Her voice is icy. How do you think it went? My parents came all the way across the country to meet my boyfriend—who wasn’t even there.
Again, I have an unvoiced argument. Mr. Hillier was here on business, and they would have taken Lana out for dinner in any case. But pointing this out will only make her angrier.
She flips back her glossy blonde hair. Did you know that my father has never approved of my dating you?
But he’s never even met me, I protest.
A hockey player from Canada. And he’s not even going to make the NHL. Her tone emphasizes that this is a direct quote. I kept defending you—telling him how smart you are, that you have a future in the investment business after graduation.
Now her eyes meet mine. But the most important thing—to me and to my father—is that a guy treats me well. And I insisted that you were the most considerate guy I’ve ever dated. That’s certainly not how it seems to him.
That’s a punch in the gut, because yes, I treat my girlfriends well. I was raised by a feminist mother who was adamant about the equality of the sexes. If she even suspected my brother or I weren’t treating our girlfriends with respect and consideration, we would be in deep shit.
But now Lana is saying I’m a crappy boyfriend. This is like an upside-down world, where everything golden in our relationship has turned to shit. I need to sit down, but when I land on the edge of the bed, she immediately edges away.
Lana, I’m not going to keep apologizing, even though I’ve clearly screwed up even more than I realized. But we’ve been going out for nine months now, and this is the first real conflict we’ve had. Can’t we work through this?
Nine months? We weren’t even in the same country for four of those months, she scoffs. We started dating in late spring of our freshman year, then we both went home to opposite coasts for the summer.
I didn’t date anyone else while we were apart, I state, realizing that we’ve never discussed this before.
Lana averts her eyes, which makes me suspect that she did date other people. We never promised to be exclusive, since we hadn’t been going out very long. But I’m beyond having to score with new women constantly. My summer finance job was extremely challenging, so any free time I had was spent catching up with old buddies.
Maybe I had some subconscious idea of this, and I never pushed the issue because I didn’t want to fight. Shit. But now isn’t the time for this battle. If we’re going to stay together, I have to reason with her.
We love each other. There’s no way that can be gone in a day. The last time we said those words was here, last Saturday. A beautiful, intimate moment after making love. How far away that feels right now.
Lana’s posture is stiff, and she won’t look at me. But that only makes me feel more sympathy for her—she keeps her emotions locked down, but I know how deeply she feels things. People think that Lana is some golden girl who has everything going for her, but underneath she’s as full of doubt and insecurity as anyone. More so, since she has to maintain her shiny image.
A man who loved me would never do what you did to me, she declares.
I’m shocked at her words and the finality of her tone. There’s a creeping chill spreading through my body. She seems immovable.
Love is about a person, not a single action. We can grow and learn from our mistakes, I argue. Please, Lana. Do you really want to throw us away just because of one night?
She barely lifts her shoulders in a shrug. What’s the point? Roy, our relationship took a lot of work, and I’m tired. I told you yesterday we were done. And if my dad doesn’t approve, we don’t have a future.
I swallow, but there’s something stuck in my throat. I believe that I’m actually the one who does more of the work here. What about all the times I’ve bitten my tongue to avoid fights, attended boring sorority events, or even dressed the way she dictated? Or all the times I’ve had to listen to her complaints about some pretty petty issues? Lana cares a lot more about image and other people’s opinions than I do.
Suddenly, I’m tired too. I’m not going to fight for our relationship when all she’s showing me is indifference.
I reach over and brush her cheek with my hand. She looks up, startled, but all the affection I’m used to seeing has been wiped away. How the hell does she switch her feelings off like that?
I’m sorry it’s ending like this, I say sincerely. I’m really going to miss you.
Then, I stand and walk out of her room for the last time.
I MAKE IT BACK TO CAMPUS BEFORE THE FULL EMOTIONAL IMPACT HITS, AND I COLLAPSE ONTO A park bench. I don’t want to think about everything I’ve lost. One step at a time. First, get through this stupid meeting. Maybe it will be brief and positive. A nice pat on the back would feel good about now.
I head to the admin building through the light snow. There’s a woman in a navy puffer coat in front of me. It turns out to be Cleo Nelson.
