Do I run down the list of things he does that annoy me? That I hate it when he throws his arm over my shoulder in front of people at work as if he owns me and wants everyone to know? How I hate the way he breathes through his mouth, like his perfect nose is only for decoration rather than functional use? I hate that he chews ice. Takes me to dinner at sports bars when a game is on and never takes his eyes off the screen. I hate that he answers his phone while we’re eating. I hate that I have to hold my breath around him every morning because of how much cologne he puts on, that he wears tennis shoes without socks, uses my tweezers to pluck hair out of his nose, doesn’t hang up his wet towels the right way, and eats cereal in the middle of the night but doesn’t rinse out his bowl so it stinks like sour milk in the morning. He’ll think my reasons are ridiculous, but I can’t change the things that drive me crazy, they’re engrained in me.
“Wait a minute.” His voice is softer now. “I know what this is. This is about your sister.”
My mind blanks and fury blooms in my chest and heats my cheeks. “Don’t bring her into this.”
“You’ve been under so much stress.” He rubs his forehead. “I feel like a dick for not seeing this coming.”
Every word he says seems to grate along my skin and zap at my nerves. “If you’re implying my breaking up with you is some kind of relapse—”
“That’s exactly what I’m implying.” The expression on his face softens, but it’s not communicating understanding as much as pity. “It makes sense that with your sister being so sick you’d start to question everything. Anything emotional could send you back . . . inside. I’m just saying I totally get it.”
I clench my jaw trying to hold back an outburst. “Don’t compartmentalize how I feel.”
The waiter returns, dropping the check on the table, and then scurries away probably because of the fire shooting through my eyes aimed directly at the man across from me.
Mark leans to the side to fish his wallet from the back pocket of his slacks. “My mom told me this might happen. She said once Celia took a turn for the worse your compulsions would come back.”
“You told your mom?”
His mom. I’d mentally add his codependent relationship with his mother to my list of reasons why I’m breaking up with him, but I’m too mad to think straight.
“Of course. Good thing too or I might have actually thought you were breaking up with me because of something I did.”
“Mark—”
“Have you considered going back to counseling, ya know, once Celia passes—”
“Seriously, Mark, I’ll say it one more time. Leave my sister out of this.”
He tosses a card into the black folder and peers at me with cold eyes. “Your anger only confirms it. Face it, Sawyer. Celia’s dying. The quicker you accept that, the sooner you can move on with your life and that includes us.”
And just like that all the anger and frustration drains from my body because in this moment I know without a single doubt that I could never stay with a man who doesn’t give a shit about my boundaries.
I warned him.
He ignored me.
I’m done.
I snag my purse from its hanging position on my chair and dig out my phone. With a calmness I didn’t think I was capable of, I hit the Uber app and pinch a twenty from my wallet.
I toss it on the table and stand with all the confidence of a woman who is about to walk away without a single regret. “I’ll arrange to have my stuff out this weekend.”
His cheeks redden and he braces to stand but I stop him with a firm look.
“Don’t. This has been over for awhile, but what you pulled tonight confirms my decision.” I hook my purse over my shoulder. “Bye, Mark.”
“Wait, Sawyer!”
“Se?or, you can’t leave until I run your card.”
“Give me one second, I—”
The heavy, carved wooden door of the restaurant closes behind me and I weave through the parking lot to the main road. I check my phone and thankfully the Uber pulls up seconds later.
The driver, an older man with white hair and who has Bing Crosby playing on the radio turns back to me. “Everything okay, miss.” His eyes move over my shoulder to the back window and I don’t have to look to know it’s probably Mark charging the car.
“Yes. Orangewood and Twenty-Second Street, please.”
He steps on the gas harder than I’d expect for a man his age. He’s probably figured out I’m trying to get away from a bad date, and I appreciate him for that.
“Bottled water?” He hands me a four-ounce bottle of cold water that I gratefully accept.
“Thank you.”
I pull out my phone and hit my sister’s phone number. After two rings it goes to voicemail.
“Hey, it’s Celia! I’m hanging off a rock face in Utah and can’t reach my phone. Leave me a message!”
“Cece, it’s me. I’m on my way to Mom and Dad’s and was hoping you’d be awake. If not, I’ll just talk to you tomorrow.”
I slide my phone into my purse and Nat King Cole and Billie Holiday later we’re pulling into my old neighborhood. With a few directions, we end up at my parents’ house, idling in the driveway.
“I’ll wait.” He throws the car into park. “Make sure you get in all right.”
Smiling to myself, I head to the front door, not at all surprised to see the lights in the front of the house on. It’s early on a Friday night. That means movie night. Warmth washes over me at the thought of putting on my PJs and flopping on the couch with my parents and my sister just like we’d do when we were kids. Back when life was easier. Stable.
I knock on the door and soon my dad answers. “Sawyer, what are you doing here?” He wraps me in a hug, but when I pull back I see his excitement bleed from his face and leave worry in its place. “Everything okay?” He looks over my head. “Where’s Mark?”
“I broke up with Mark—”
“Sawyer, we didn’t know you were coming over.” The joy in my mom’s voice makes me think she misses those old days when we were all under one roof too. “Where’s Mark?”
I open my mouth to answer, but my dad beats me too it.
“They broke up, Darlene.”
My mom’s overexaggerated shock almost makes me laugh. “You did? Why? Wait, come in and sit down. Where will you stay? You know your bedroom here is always available.” She guides me to the kitchen while firing off questions. “When did this happen? Are you okay? We’d love to have you stay here, your sister would be so happy to have you home.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.” I drop to a stool at the breakfast bar. “I don’t have anywhere to go and I can’t stand to even look at Mark let alone sleep under the same roof with him.”
My mom and dad stand on the opposite side of the bar, both staring at me with concern. “What did he do?”
I kick off my heels and flex my cramped toes. “He just doesn’t get me and frankly . . . I don’t get him either. It just wasn’t meant to be. I’ve been wanting—”
A song blares from my mom’s pocket, making all of us jump. One, because it’s loud and two because it’s Dr. Dre rapping “Bitches Ain’t Shit.” My mom frantically scrambles to get it before the song clip repeats, but in her fluster drops the thing on the floor. My dad shakes his head and I hide my laughter behind my first.
She finally gets a handle on it. “Celia, what did you do to my phone? I can’t have that, it’s inappropriate.” Her eyes come to me. “He’s not with her.” She sighs. “I guess they broke up. Okay, hold on.” She pulls the phone from her ear and presses speaker. “Go on, she can hear you.”
“Sawyer.” Her voice is soft, but still carries that take-no-shit commanding tone.
“Hey, Cece. Did I wake you up?”
“Wake me up? Bitch, I have a brain tumor, I’m not ninety.”
My parents roll their eyes, but I don’t miss the way my dad flinches slightly.
“Come to my room and tell me why you’re here without that uptight suit of yours.”
“Okay, I’ll be up.”