"I’m sorry I can’t go with you," he says.
He didn’t offer, and I didn’t ask him to come.
"Take care of yourself," I tell Ace.
He wraps his arms around my shoulders and presses a weak kiss to the side of my temple.
I feel nothing.
"Ace, I’m not planning to come back to South Carolina. Ever."
This was not the time to startthisconversation, the one I had been dreading for over a year. I decided a year ago, things with Ace and I would never offer me the kind of life I want. I couldn’t find the right time to say goodbye, and I kept hoping he would realize our relationship was stale. Still, the days kept moving by with the usual routine, and nothing changed.
Ace chuckles in response as if my statement is a joke. He combs his fingers through his chocolate-brown, overgrown, wavy locks and stares at me with confusion. His icy blue eyes sink as he comes to realize I’m serious. My silence is louder than any other response.
"What did I do?" His question is quiet and sadly sincere.
This moment shouldn’t be about him or us. My dad is dying.
"It isn’t what you did. It’s what you didn’t do," I explain. Ace should understand what I’m saying.
"Fine, we’ll get married. As soon as you come back, we’ll go to the courthouse and make things official. Is this what you want?"
I want my dad to live.
My head shakes from side to side almost as if involuntary. "I’m sorry, Ace. It has been four years, and we have already settled into this married-couple-rut without the marriage. It will not work."
Ace’s gaze falls to the space between his neon yellow jogging shoes and my burnt-sienna riding boots.
"I love you, Mel."
"I know, but we aren’t on the same page, and right now ... I need a clear mind to focus on my family."
When Ace’s eyes lift and lock on mine, I know this is the moment—the final goodbye. He leans forward, kisses my cheek again, and turns his back toward me.
I’m not big on considering regrets, but I moved to the suburbs of Charleston because Ace didn’t want to live in New England any longer or endure the extreme seasonal changes. I went along with it because I was in love, and I thought it’s what happy couples do for one another.
It’s been four years without a promise of a future, only the lifestyle of a fifties housewife while working odd hours of the day. I enjoyed caring for the person I love, and I may have been patient, but in my heart, I realize our relationship is not the path to my idea of a perfect life.
"Flight 342 to Burlington, Vermont will now board zone one." I glance at my ticket, focusing on the red letters spelling out zone two.
I feel like I’m free-falling from one failing life to another, and my body seems so weighed down, it hurts.
"Excuse me," a man says as his carry-on case nudges mine. "I didn’t think I would make it to the gate on time." He’s out of breath, and his hand is shaking as he studies his boarding pass. He’s probably around my age and seems to be as stressed out as I feel.
I straighten my case and force a half-smile. "No problem. At least you made it, right?"
Do I sound as miserable to others as I do to myself? Probably.
The man checks his pockets, looking like he might have forgotten something. He doesn’t look up as he releases the handle on his case and pulls out his phone to check the time, or so it appears. "There was miserable traffic in the cityI wasn’t expecting today."
His obvious anxiety encourages me to keep me focus on the ticket agent as I come up with a cordial response. "Yeah, I like to arrive everywhere way too early, so I seemed to beat the rush hour traffic." I just sounded like a snot, but my words roll off my tongue like they usually do. "However, that doesn’t always happen. I’m late more often than I’m not. It happens, right?" I should stop talking now.
"Flight 342 to Burlington, Vermont, boarding zone two." I double-check my ticket and pull up the handle of my carry-on, taking my place in the back of the line.
It isn’t long before I claim my seat on the smaller than assumed commuter plane. I’ve never been a big fan of the three-seater rows on each side of the aircraft. After the one flight when an attendant needed to redistribute the weight of passengers to make sure the plane flew smoothly, I decided I would attempt to fly on the larger planes. However, there weren’t many flight options available with such short notice this time of year, and oddly enough, a small plane had the only available seats left.
I shove my carry-on into the overhead compartment and claim my seat next to the window. I can take a three-hour nap; this won’t be so bad. I didn’t sleep at all last night, and I should be exhausted, yet part of my brain feels wired. I open my right hand after clenching my "lucky" rabbit’s foot. I stare at the matted, purple fuzz and close my eyes for a brief second to make a wish:please work one more time, I pray before slipping the old key chain back into my pocket.
