"Ah." The sound she makes is soft, almost pitying as she looks over at me. I stare down at the table, unable to meet her gaze, the candlelight blurring into a golden smear on the polished wood. "Goodbye," she finishes, the word final and sharp as she turns and walks away, the click of her heels echoing through the awkwardly silent restaurant hall.
Vince scrambles to follow, calling her name into the empty space she leaves behind.
And just like that, I am alone with Ted.
The awkward silence is deafening.
"Well, hey there, folks!" The waitress appears suddenly, her cheerful tone a jarring contrast to the tension at the table. "How's everything going? Can I get you anything else?"
I stare at my untouched plate. "Uh..."
"Can we get the check, please?" Ted interrupts curtly.
The waitress glances at the table, clearly picking up on the vibe. "Sure thing. Do you need boxes for your food or...?"
"We want the check," Ted repeats, not looking at her.
As she walks away, Ted turns to me, his tone biting. "I'm not paying for any of this, just so you know."
I clench my jaw. He stands, smoothing out his shirt. "I'll meet you back at your place."
"No, you won't," I say firmly, my voice surprisingly steady.
Ted freezes, looking at me like I've just slapped him. "What?"
"You're not meeting me at my place," I repeat. "Ted, this is over. I'm done. You've been cruel to me all night, and this whole scene was humiliating. I don't want to do this anymore."
Ted forces a laugh, his face darkening. "Are you serious? Just like that? You promised to give this a second shot. You promised to give it until Christmas."
"I did give it a second shot, we just didn't make it that far. We're not seeing each other again after tonight, Ted," I say simply, pulling out my wallet to pay the outrageous bill placed in front of me.
Ted stares at me for a moment, his face a storm of anger and disbelief, the carefully constructed mask of confidence he wears cracking. His perfect features contort, the smooth brow furrowing into harsh lines, the jaw setting in a way that makes his teeth clench audibly. I can almost hear the gears turning in his head, calculating, searching for some angle, some leverage to regain control, but finding none.
His eyes, usually so bright with practiced charm, now hold a raw, wounded animal quality, the pupils dilated in the dim restaurant lighting. The color drains from his face. He opens his mouth as if to say something, to launch into another tirade or maybe to plead one last time, but the words die on his lips.
He looks around the restaurant, noticing for the first time the curious glances from nearby tables, the sympathetic looks from the waitstaff who have clearly witnessed our disaster unfold. The humiliation of being publicly rejected, of having his tantrum exposed in this elegant setting, finally breaks through his anger, replaced by a deep, burning shame.
His hand, which had been resting on the back of his chair, clenches into a fist, the knuckles turning white, then slowly uncurls as if he's physically forcing himself to let go of his anger.
Then, without another word, he turns and walks out of the restaurant, his shoulders slumped in defeat, the expensive shirt suddenly looking too big on him as he disappears through the ornate doorway, leaving behind nothing but the echo of his expensive shoes clicking against the marble floor and the lingering scent of his cologne, a cloying reminder of what I've just escaped.
Chapter 21
Perhaps, One Day
Andrew
Idon'texpecttohear from Vince for the rest of the evening after dinner... or maybe ever again, to be honest. So, when my phone buzzes with a text from him while I'm lying in bed, commiserating over the disaster of the night, I'm caught completely off guard.
Vince:Andy, are you still up?
Vince:Are you ok?
Andrew:Oh yeah, I’m totally fine.
Andrew:I want to crawl into a hole and die, and I’m questioning all my life choices.
Andrew:But yeah, I’m fine.
