At least now I wasn’t the only one confused.
“I don’t get your meaning.”
Maybe I was being unreasonable. But Beck should know better.
“That’s not me,” I said. “I’d never play with your feelings like that. I thought you knew me better than that?”
“Huh?” he asked, just as the waitress approached.
But suddenly, I wasn’t in the mood for her either.
“We’re good,” I said, before she could start side-eyeing Beck again. If she was surprised by my change in manner, Beck was too. But he didn’t say anything.
“I had a Brooklyn pastry catering business pulled up on my computer,” I said. “And lots of others too. Because I’ve been researching the possibility of starting one of my own. With the bed and breakfast order, and a few other leads… I was trying to figure out the logistics of it. And if I could sustain that kind of thing here, in Cedar Falls.”
To say he looked shocked was an understatement.
“You honestly thought I would lead you on and then skip town? Really?”
“Guess I should’ve known better. But people like you don’t stay with people like me.”
In one statement, he knocked down everything we were trying to build. I was behind the scenes, fighting for us, and he was just waiting for me to disappear.
“You’ve got to be kidding me?”
“Wish I was.”
Beck doubling down wasn’t a surprise. But that he so thoroughly got me wrong was. So much for honesty and vulnerability.
“God, Beck.” I shook my head, hurt blossoming. “I was really hoping this would go differently.” I was expecting today’s lunch to be the start of something. Telling Beck about the business, getting his support… showing him I wanted this, or at least to try, despite the risks.
Instead, I was getting more of Mathieu. Emotional immaturity. The last thing I needed in my life right now. He looked like he meant it. Like that belief—people like me don’t get to keep people like you—was tattooed on his arm. And it almost broke my heart. Almost. But I couldn’t keep offering softness where there should be trust.
“I think,” I said, picking up the napkin in my lap and folding it, “we should probably end this conversation before it gets any worse.”
He paused.
Beck could have responded in a million ways. Instead, he did the most Beck thing imaginable and shrugged his shoulders as if it didn’t matter.
As if I didn’t matter.
“Can I get you guys anything else?”
By “guys” the waitress meant Beck since I’d been invisible to her since he sat down.
“I’ll send you half of the bill,” I said, standing. “I’ve gotta go.”
The air felt heavy. Suffocating. Our waitress’s small smile made me realize I had to get the hell out of there, now. Before I said something stupid.
“Mae,” he called as I walked away, but it was too late.
People like you don’t stay with people like me.
He thought I was leaving. Jumped to that conclusion based off a website my father noticed. What other false conclusions would he invent, thinking he wasn’t good enough?
I wasn’t walking away to prove a point. I was walking away because if I stayed, I’d start fighting for something he’d already given up on.
41
