I walk into the house and toss my keys on the island in the kitchen. My head feels like it’s going to explode. Sliding my jacket off and putting it on the stool, I walk over to the bathroom on the main floor and open the first drawer, grabbing the bottle of ibuprofen. I open the top and shake two out in my hand before popping them in my mouth. I turn the water on, bending to take some in my mouth to swallow the pills. I put the bottle back in the drawer, slamming it shut at the same time I hear the door close. What a fucking day this has been.
Getting to the venue ahead of Helena wasn’t something I planned, but I also wasn’t mad about it. The last time we were together, I tried to get her to talk to me about things, but she ignored me at every single turn. How the hell am I supposed to apologize to her if she won’t give me the time of day? I just wanted to tell her I was sorry. To explain what happened was me being young and dumb, but she wouldn’t hear me out. I mean, it could have been worse, she could have told me to go and fuck myself, which is something I think I would have done to myself. Or she could have easily kicked me in the balls, which is also what I deserved. But instead, we pretended we didn’t love each other for two years. We pretended we barely knew each other when, in fact, I knew every single fucking inch of her with my eyes closed. She was my first love and I know they say you never forget your first love. I was just hoping I would be able to survive my first love.
“I’m here,” Helena announces from the door, “and I got food.” I close my eyes as my head falls forward. I put my hands on the white marble counter as I take a deep inhale and then exhale. The headache is now pounding even more. “Matty,” she calls for me.
“In the bathroom,” I say over my shoulder, and I hear her making her way toward the kitchen. I take a couple of minutes to myself before pushing off the counter and walking out.
The lights are all on in the kitchen as she moves around to grab plates. “Do you want anything to drink?” she asks over her shoulder.
“Just water,” I tell her as I walk over to the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water. She leans over me, grasping the bottle of white wine she opened last weekend when she came for dinner. She walks over to the side, grabbing a crystal glass as she pops the cork out and pours herself a small glass.
I walk over to the bags on the island, reaching in and grabbing one of the takeout containers. “I got you chicken,” she informs me as I pick up the second one and see it’s chicken. I grab both containers and take them over to the stools. Placing one in front of her place, I sit down on my own stool and open the container. “Are you not going to use a plate?” she asks, coming over with two plates in her hand.
“No,” I say, grabbing a fork and knife from her as she sits down on the stool beside me.
She sits down and plates her food before starting to eat. “So which flowers did you like the most?” she asks, and I shrug my shoulders.
“They all looked the same to me,” I answer her honestly, without telling her my head was trying to focus on the flowers but instead I was trying not to run out of there.
“Did you like the new touches I added?” she quizzes me, grabbing her glass of wine and taking a sip. “I think more bling makes it more elegant.”
“We can agree to disagree on that,” I say, trying to just finish my chicken.
I know she wants to say something but instead she says nothing. She cuts a piece of her salmon before she turns back to me. “You’re quiet.” I don’t know if she is asking me or telling me.
I look over at her and see her looking at me, her fork down on the plate in front of her. “No, I’m not.” I shake my head and avoid making eye contact with her. I just need to shake this off, I think to myself.
“Yes, you are,” she retorts, her voice going higher at the end. “You don’t call me anymore. It’s always me who calls you.” I try to find a comeback to say something to her, but for the life of me I don’t remember when the last time I called her was. I mean, we talk mostly every day; I’ve been on the road quite a bit. Sometimes the time difference was an issue. I close my eyes, thinking that all I’m doing is making excuses for being an asshole.
“It’s been a busy month,” I say, avoiding looking at her.
“We haven’t had sex in over six weeks.” I look over at her, pretty sure that is wrong. “Don’t even try,” she warns me, her tone sounding more and more annoyed. “You’ve been out of it since we started planning the wedding.” No shit, my head screams at her. I put my own fork down, knowing she isn’t going to just let this slide. I also know, perhaps we should have this conversation. I know deep down inside this conversation is a month too late. This conversation should have happened the minute she told me Sofia was our wedding planner. I should have put my foot down and told her no. “Do you not want to do this?” she asks.
“What do you mean?” I look down at my hand on the island. My finger taps nervously as my heart speeds up now.
“Do you not want to get married?” The minute she says those words, it’s as if my head just screams. I close my eyes for a second before I look over at her. I don’t have to say a word to her. I don’t say anything because all of the words feel like they are spinning around and around in my head as I try to find the right ones. But she doesn’t give me that minute to compose them, and to be honest, isn’t a minute too long? It should be a quick answer. “Oh my God, you don’t!” she shrieks and pushes away from the island.
I watch her walk to the other side of the island as she stares at me. “I don’t know.” The words come out in a whisper as I admit it finally to her. I thought saying it out loud would be like a weight being lifted off my shoulders, but it’s not like that at all.
“What the fuck, Matty?” she yells, her hands going up in the air. Yes, what the fuck indeed, my head doesn’t help this situation at all.
I take a deep inhale as the pit of my stomach burns and the heat starts to rise to my neck.
“I don’t think we should get married.” The words that have been on the tip of my tongue for the last month finally come out. Shocking even myself.
I look at her, waiting for her to say something. Waiting for a sign that maybe we should get married. Perhaps we just need to talk this out. But when she says the next words, I know it would not have worked in the end. “Are you fucking kidding me? I just put in my order for my wedding dress.” I close my eyes. Instead of telling me that we love each other and can work through whatever is going on, she’s more worried about her wedding dress and the money she put down.
I take a second to look at her, seeing her eyes looking at me like she could kill me. There are no tears there because our relationship is ending. “I’ll reimburse you,” is the only thing I say to her, and if I thought her look could kill me before, I was wrong. This look would have me ten feet in the grave. “Fuck you, Matty,” she hisses, “do you know how embarrassing this is going to be for me?”
I close my eyes as she huffs and rub my hands over my face. “You think this is easy for me?”
“I don’t give a fuck about if it’s easy for you or not. What the hell am I supposed to tell my family?”
I shake my head. “I have no idea. We could maybe just say that we are putting it on the back burner.” I try to think of something to tell her.
"Back burner,” she repeats what I said and even I want to shake my head at how dumb it sounded. “Fuck you, Matty.” She turns and grabs her stuff. “Fuck you all the way to hell, where you are going to rot for doing this to me.”
“Helena,” I call her name before she walks out of the room. “I’m really sorry.”