Say Please

Soup, Salad, and Wounded Pride

 I threw myself into my marketing work for the entirety of Monday and Tuesday, barely focusing on anything other than text margins and color schemes. I told myself I couldn't focus on anything. I didn't allow myself to focus on the two men that haunted me. I knew I had to talk to Mark—had to make a decision on us. I also knew that I needed to mentally prepare myself for this weekend with Chan. Regardless of work or not, there was a deep tension that I felt between us. I had competing thoughts about whether or not he reciprocated what I felt.

At the end of the work day on Tuesday, Bri wandered to my desk.

"Dude, I'm taking you for a drink and you are spilling the tea." She crossed her arms and gave me a look with extra sass.

"The tea?" I gulped, "what do you mean?"

"I mean I need to know why you have permanent frown wrinkles and have been avoiding everyone for the last forty-eight hours."

"I," I began slowly, unsure of how to approach the Mark situation with Bri. I knew she would not be happy there was a chance that I would take him back, especially after all the shit he had done to me. "Mark asked me to get back together with him."

"And you said fuck no, right?" She retorted, folding her arms. My silence spoke volumes. "Right?" She spoke again.

"I told him I'd think about it."

She slammed her palms on my desk. "You cannot get back with him, Skye. No offense, but are you stupid? That man is no good. He has shown you that he can't change. You've given him years and he still continues his bullshit."

"I know. I'm not going to. But no matter what he does to me, I can't be mean to him. It's not in my nature to be so hateful. All of me wants to scream at him, but I don't think I know how. I'm just prolonging a terrible conversation."

"You just need to close that chapter of your life before this trip. Mark is not good for you. Chan, on the other hand, is a dreamy man who you clearly have a connection with. Have a great time in LA and get this over with early so you don't have to worry about it."

She was right. This was something that was dragging me down, and wasn't fair to Mark or me. He deserved an answer, no matter what that answer was, and I deserved to be stress-free and happy.

As I got ready to leave work, I texted Mark and told him to meet me at the Olive Garden down the road from our apartment. He agreed and said he could be there within the half-hour.

As I took the bus down the crowded city streets, the unsettling pit that had started in my heart grew and grew.

Mark, I'm sorry but I can't go through this again.

Mark, I don't think we are good together anymore.

Mark, I think we should just be friends.

No matter the amount of scenarios I blew through, nothing calmed my nerves.

——

Mark waved awkwardly from a table near the front door as I walked into the restaurant. Even the alluring smell of garlic and cheese couldn't dull the anxiety that had taken hold of my entire body.

Seeing him confirmed one thing: I no longer loved him. My heart didn't stutter once. I didn't find myself feeling crushed at the thought we might not stay together. I was done.

Mark, on the other hand, didn't seem to have the same thoughts. His expression was hopeful. What type of hopeful it read, I wasn't sure. Did he miss the security of having a partner to care for him and a roof to live under, or did he actually miss me?

"Hey," he opened his arms for an embrace as I stepped up to the table. Instinctively, I pulled away. His happiness faltered momentarily and he sat down across from me.

"Hi."

"So, uh, I know I've fucked up."

"Many times," I added to his sentence.

"Many times, yes. And there's no excuse for it. I was wrong. I was stupid. I let my body get the best of me..." He continued on about how his body was making his decisions for him. I let him continue, although rage boiled within me. It wasn't his damn body talking for him, it was his immature mind. It was his impulsivity. It was his lack of love and care for me.

He didn't even bother to go through other steps. He could've asked for an open relationship, or a hall pass, or something other than breaking my trust and cheating on me for years. I may have even indulged in the open relationship if he'd asked.

I realized he finished when he clasped his hands together and sighed.

"So?" He asked as he glanced at me with longing.

"So," I began, "I don't really know what to say other than I don't think we are good for each other."

"Wait, really?" His cheeks heated and he pushed his long hair back. "I don't understand."

"What don't you understand?" My tone was curt, yet still allowed some kindness in.

"I just poured my heart and soul out to you, Skye. Don't you think my pride is hurt by doing this? In a public place?" He flailed an arm at the families that sat near. "I am being genuine when I say I fucked up. I can change, I promise. But, I refuse to grovel at your feet."

"Mark," I sighed, "I don't think you understand how I feel. Your pride is wounded? I stayed with you for years after the first receipt I found. You and I both know that wasn't a business meeting. I let you lie to me consistently because I loved you and thought maybe you'd see how much I did and you'd want to change. Now that I'm not taking that shit anymore, suddenly you'll shift your entire life around? I don't know if I buy it."

His hand clenched into a fist around his napkin. "I told you," he spat, "that I would change. I love you. But it seems that you don't love me. Have you ever really loved me, Skye?" I was angry now. Beyond angry—I was furious. If his true intention was to get me back, gaslighting me was not the answer.

"Are you fucking kidding me, Mark? I put up with so much shit. I did love you. I really did." I stood from my chair, not bothering to stay through the shit-show of a dinner this would most definitely be. "I did love you. But now? Now I don't. You've hurt me too many times, Mark. I'm sorry, but I am done."

I turned and walked away, surprised both at my ability to calmly release my rage as well as my ability to hold back the tears of frustration that he would've surely found as an excuse to call me hormonal. As I began to exit, I heard him utter a stream of profanity aimed at me.

I didn't care. I was free.