“Please.”
I stopped.
“I know I don’t deserve to ask.”
“Then don’t.”
Her face folded.
That was crueler than I intended.
I closed my eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
She stared.
“I’m angry.”
“I know.”
“I don’t want to say things tonight just because they hurt.”
“So I’m leaving.”
Emma wiped her face.
“Can I call you?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Will you answer?”
“Yes.”
I meant it.
At the door, she said:
“Michael.”
I turned.
She touched the engagement ring.
“What do I do with this?”
I looked at it.
That ring had taken me five months to choose.
I had imagined it on her hand for the rest of my life.
Now it looked like an object from someone else’s plan.
“That’s your decision tonight.”
Then I left.
James opened his apartment door without asking anything.
He took one look at me and handed me a beer.
I sat on his couch.
For nearly an hour, I said nothing.
Then I started crying.
Not dramatically.
Just suddenly.
James sat in the chair across from me.
He did not tell me Emma was terrible.
Did not say he always knew.
Did not tell me I was better off.
He just let me be destroyed for a while.
At 9:16, Emma’s mother called.
I almost ignored it.
Then answered.
Diane’s voice shook.
“Michael?”
“Yes.”
“Emma told us.”
I waited.
“She says you found messages.”
“Yes.”
“She says she kissed someone.”
“Yes.”
Diane started crying.
“I’m so sorry.”
“You don’t have anything to apologize for.”
“She’s my daughter.”
“I know.”
“That doesn’t make this yours.”
Diane took a breath.
“Is the wedding canceled?”
“Yes.”
The word surprised me with its certainty.
Apparently, somewhere between leaving the townhouse and arriving at James’s, I had decided.
Not necessarily that reconciliation was impossible forever.
But that there would be no October wedding.
A wedding date could not become pressure forcing us to repair faster than reality allowed.
Diane whispered:
“Okay.”
“I’ll handle our side.”
“Thank you.”
“Michael?”
“Yes?”
“Please don’t let anyone tell you this is because you weren’t exciting enough.”
I closed my eyes.
Diane continued.
“She said something like that to me.”
“I told her boredom is not permission.”
I almost smiled.
“Thank you.”
We ended the call.
The next morning, Emma called at 8:04.
I answered.
“Hi.”
Her voice sounded exhausted.
“Hi.”
“I barely slept.”
“Neither did I.”
“Can we meet?”
“Not today.”
“Why?”
“I need one day without managing your reaction.”
That hurt her.
I heard it.
“Okay.”
Then:
“I texted Alex.”
Of course.
“What did he say?”
Emma was quiet.
“He said we shouldn’t see each other.”
I felt something ugly and satisfying for half a second.
Then disgust at myself for feeling it.
“Why?”
“He said this got too serious.”
I closed my eyes.
“So after encouraging you for three months…”
“He didn’t encourage everything.”
“Emma.”
“I’m not defending him.”
“It sounds like it.”