I try to cover up my smile and force my semi away. I need to focus.
“You were really rude to our waiter,” I tell her.
“Me?Hewas being difficult. It’shisjob to make sure I get what I want,” she huffs like a fucking child. I swear, I have patients with more maturity than her.
“No. His job is to serve you food and drinks. It’s the middle of the brunch rush on a Sunday morning, Nicolette. It’s a major inconvenience for waiters to bring an order in with a bunch of specifications and substitutions. And it’s not like you were apologetic about it, or in any way gracious for his efforts,” I argue.
“Why should I apologize for wanting things the way that I want?It’s a restaurant. You’re going to tell me that they can’t whip me up a salad? Please, Jon. You’re being childish right now.” She finishes hercheapmimosa, giving me her iciest glare. “What’s got you so upset, babe? Is it work? You seemed so stressed last night. You never spend the night at the hospital.”
“I needed space after yesterday,” I tell her.
“Oh? Fromme?”
“Yes. I was very upset about you signing a lease for that condo yesterday after I told you we needed to talk about it.”
“Oh. It’s just silly paperwork to get the ball rolling. Meredith told me she was getting e-mails from interested buyers while we were out at coffee after the showing. If I didn’t submit an application, they wouldn’t even consider our offer when we put it in. No decisions have been made yet, babe. This is just how things work. I want to be helpful. You’re so busy at work. Let me take care of this for us.” She gives me a sweet smile and her voice is a couple decibels higher, making her come off as angelic.
If this had happened a couple of weeks ago, I would probably sink back in my chair and nod in agreement, telling myself the same mantra that my parents ingrained in me as a kid:it’s the right thing to do, Jon.
But now, I’m having a clarifying moment like I did when I was sixteen years old. Theydon’tknow what’s best for me. Neither does Nicolette.
“I don’t want to move in together, Nicolette.”
Her jaw ticks and she squares her tiny, boring shoulders, with no personality or beautiful art. I want Margeaux’s shoulders with layers of muscle and dozens of colors painted on her skin.
“Well, of course not rightnow, silly.” She chuckles, letting out a breath of relief. “I’m not ready to move in together either, Jon.”
I lower my defenses, feeling utterly confused by her.
“This condo will be yours, and I’ll move in eventually. But it’s time we set you up with a better place to live. You have to admit, it’s close to the hospital. I just want to help you, babe. I’ll move in whenever you’re ready. I didn’t mean for you to feel rushed. We’re still young.”
She’s got me doing mental gymnastics. She’s saying all the right things, and maybe I have been looking for reasons to be angry with herbecause of my situation with Margeaux. It’s not like Margeaux wanted me to stay last night. She told me to leave. Should I have fought harder to stay? I don’t know what would have happened; I know I’d be happier listening to Margeaux’s brutal honesty than trying to read through Nicolette’s feigned kindness.
“I’m running to the bathroom real quick. I’m glad we’re having this talk, babe. I hope you feel better getting this off your chest.” She gets up before I can ask her to stay.
Is this the kind of life I want for myself? Having conversations with a woman who thinks she knows what’s best for me? Nicolette projected herself as goal-oriented and caring. And maybe she is, but I also know she moved to Paramount with the intention of staying here and living a comfortable life. To have a comfortable life in Paramount requires money. Am I just a meal ticket for her? I know the answer. I guess I was hoping she wanted me for more than my job title and future earning potential.
Would I rather be the long-distance hook-up buddy to an impulsive, professional athlete? Without flinching, my answer is yes. Margeaux is unpredictable. A future with her isn’t guaranteed, but she’ll never make me choose between my career and my relationship. She’s just as passionate about her job. She’s motivated. She’s kind to the people who have earned her kindness. She’s real. She’s sexy as hell. Margeaux is definitelythe wrong thing to do. And I’ve never felt more confident making a bad decision.
“Has that lazy waiter still not come back with my mimosa?” Nicolette scoffs as she returns to her seat.
I reach for my wallet and get out of my seat.
“I’m leaving, Nicolette.”
“Huh?”
“I’m leaving this restaurant. I’m leaving this relationship. I’m leavingyou.”
“WHAT!?” she shrieks, drawing the attention of everyone in the restaurant.
“I don’t want to be in a relationship with you any longer. I’m not happy. I’m not the person who can give you the life you want. I’m done.”
“No! Jon! We’re not done talking about this!” She follows and tries grabbing my arm.
“Don’t touch me, Nicolette.” She bites her bottom lip and starts forcing out tears, hoping I’ll change my mind. “Did you hear me say that I’m not happy? I don’t want this anymore. I’m sure you’ll find someone else. We’re done.”
I tug my arm out of her perfectly manicured hand. I pass by Danny on my way out of the restaurant and give him some cash to cover our bill and his troubles. The moment I’m outside, I feel a hundred times lighter.
