On the Rocks(80)

He rubbed the stubble on his face, his five o’clock shadow as familiar to me as the sound of his voice or the look he would give me when he was bored at a dinner party. I sat in the corner of the bench, my hands clenched together in my lap. I had dated actively for almost two months now, and who had I met? A cheap, pink-pants-wearing pyromaniac masquerading as a walking prehistoric Wooly Mammoth, a guy who liked to go to Renaissance faires and do jousting competitions for kicks, a guy with alleged sun blisters but probably mouth herpes, a drug dealer with gold teeth, a geriatric mailman, a hair highlighter, and Bobby. And I’d rather have been with any one of them than sitting on this bench with Ben. Why couldn’t I be here with Tom Marsh? Why’d he have to wait so damn long to get up the nerve to talk to me?

I waited for Ben to speak, staring at the cobblestones, tracing the outline of a brick with my left toe. I couldn’t believe he’d thought that coming here was a good idea. Then again, he also thought that I’d want my engagement ring covered in chocolate sludge, so clearly he didn’t know the first thing about me.

“I’m not proud of what I did,” he said.

“Okay, I’m glad we had this talk. Have a safe trip home, happy trails, and all that stuff,” I replied, hoping he’d let me leave, but deep down knowing better.

“I panicked. I didn’t have the guts to tell you I wasn’t ready to get married myself. I couldn’t stand the thought of how badly it would hurt you, and how I’d have to live with the memory of your face in that moment for the rest of my life. So I took the easy way out, and I ran.”

“That’s attractive. That’s exactly what a woman wants. A man who bolts like a skittish puppy when things get difficult. I think I’m falling in love with you all over again.”

“It’s a pathetic excuse, but it’s the truth. I think I wanted to make you so angry with me that you’d never want to come back. I wanted better for you than what I could give you.”

“Then you can rest easy. I agree with you. I want better for me too. So now that that’s all cleared up, you can head back to the Wild Wild West and get off Grace’s Facebook page. We’re done here.” I stood and took two steps away from the bench. Then, feeling like the newly empowered woman I’d become over the last two months, I decided I wasn’t going to run from him. He was the one who ran from difficult conversations, not me.

“You know what?” I said as I turned and stood over him while he remained on the bench. “When exactly did you decide that I deserved better than you? Do you think maybe you could have decided this when we were in college or something, so that I didn’t waste my twenties thinking that we both wanted the same thing? Or if that was too much of a stretch, do you think you could have decided before you proposed? Because I don’t know about you, but I operate under the assumption that engagements are serious, that you actually intend to end up with the person forever when you pop the question. I mean, I get that Elizabeth Taylor was married like, twelve times, but I was planning on only doing it once. I didn’t think you were one of those people who just give away engagement rings the way I give away hair elastics. So when did you have this epiphany exactly?”

“I don’t know,” he said as he stared into my eyes. For the first time, he looked at me and actually saw me the way I was now. Not the girl who sat crying on his couch in his apartment almost a year ago, trying to convince him to stay. The girl who was over him.

“I see. Well, this has been enlightening, and since I don’t particularly like desert heat all that much, I’m glad you found somewhere to call home that I have no interest in ever visiting. I wish you had stayed there.” He grabbed the hem of my dress and pulled me back down to the bench. So I sat, because I didn’t care enough to run. “Fine, Ben. Say whatever it is you came to say and get it over with.”

“I came home for a reason. I need to talk to you.”

“I already returned the engagement gifts, so if you’re in need of a toaster oven, I can’t help you.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it.” I did. He wouldn’t know a toaster oven if one went flying toward him while he was sitting in a bathtub.

Not that I’d envisioned that or anything.

“Then what?” I demanded. This had already gone on too long. All of it.

“I’m thinking of moving home.”

I felt like I had been hit with a blunt object. I knew I shouldn’t care, but I did. I didn’t want him back in town. I heard my subconscious saying to me over and over and over again, You don’t care, you don’t care, you don’t care. Then I realized that, this time, I agreed with her. I felt her relax for the first time in a year. Poor thing must have been exhausted.

“What happened to the girl you were seeing?” I asked.

“How did you know?” he asked, genuinely surprised that I was able to crack his oh so complicated email cipher.

“Oh, don’t insult me. You made it very clear you were dating someone else without actually having to say the words. I’m not stupid, so answer the question. What happened to her? Or are you running out on her the same way you ran out on me?” I waited for him to answer. He really ought to be careful if he was pulling one of his disappearing acts on an unsuspecting girl in Arizona. Gun laws are way more liberal out there than they are in New England. If he pissed off the wrong girl, he could end up getting shot in the crotch with a six-shooter.