Page 185 - In Five Years

“Because it’s not just six months,” he says. “In the summer, there will be
something else, some other reason.”
“There won’t!” I say.
“There will! Because you don’t really want to marry me.”

My shoulders shake. I can feel myself crying. Tears run down my face in
cool, icy tracks. “Yes I do.”

“No,” he says. “You don’t.” But he’s looking at me, and I can tell he’s not
convinced of his own argument, not entirely.
He’s asking me to prove him wrong. And I could. I can tell that if I wanted to,
I could convince him. I could keep crying. I could reach for him. I could say all

the things I know he needs to hear. I could lay out the evidence. That I dream
about marrying him. That every time he walks into a room my stomach tightens.

I could tell him the things I love about him: the curl of his hair and how warm
his torso is, and how I feel at home in his heart.
But I can’t. It would be a lie. And he deserves more than that—he deserves

everything. This is the thing, the only thing, I have to offer him. The truth.
Finally.
“David,” I say. Start. “I don’t know why. You’re perfect for me. I love our life

together. But—”
He sits back. He tosses his napkin onto the table. The proverbial towel.
We sit in silence for what feels like minutes. The clock on the wall ticks

forward. I want to throw it out the window. Stop. Stop moving. Stop marching us
forward. Everything terrible lies ahead.
The moment stretches so far it threatens to break. Finally, I speak. “What

now?” I ask.
David pushes back his chair. “Now you leave,” he says.
He goes into the bedroom and closes the door. I take the food and put it,

mindlessly, into containers. I wash the dishes. I put them away.
Then I go to sit on the couch. I know I can’t be here in the morning. I take out
my phone.

“Dannie?” Her voice is sleepy but strong when she answers. “What’s up?”
“Can I come over?” I ask her.
“Of course.”