𝗜𝗹𝗹𝗶𝗰𝗶𝘁 𝗔𝗳𝗳𝗮𝗶𝗿𝘀 | 𝐁𝗼𝐛𝐛𝐲 𝐊𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐝𝐲/𝗥𝗙𝗞

XLV: "The One That Got Away"

Evelyn braced herself against a poplar tree that hailed from a bygone era; her spine contoured to and fit perfectly with the texture and shape of its bark, she rested her legs and folded them. She then flipped a page in her book, her gaze unwavering and her inner voice narrated the words that the pages held.

Her lover had borrowed a book from her bookshelf but had laid it aside as he searched through a picnic basket, searching for the perfect lunch. The park was, as expected of a quiet Monday in the latter part of the day, tranquil; yet even the tranquility could not break the tension between them, for something had been bothering Paul ever since he had a conversation with Ethel just a few days earlier. "I saw Ethel today..." he said as he chewed on a sandwich, "she said it wouldn't be long now."

Evelyn tore her gaze away from Daphne Du Maurier's masterpiece for a moment before refocusing on it. Her voice was rather curt as she asked, "For the baby?"

"She's starting to think it's a girl."

She scoffed, barely audible, for she had known long ago – however, her standing as a starlet forced her into a feigned state of naïveté.

Paul, displeased by the silence and reticence, spat out, "I wonder when we can have what they have." The smallest of sparks, even an ember, could create the needed heat.

"What?" But leave an inexperienced man to tend a fire and it shall grow into a wild one. "What do you mean by that?" Evelyn placed Frenchman's Creek down to shift her entire focus to Paul.

Swallowing thickly, voice cracking in an unusually vulnerable manner, Paul muttered, "I'm Bobby's age... shouldn't I have a wife and a kid by now?"

A sardonic grin tugged at the corners of Evelyn's lips. "You want to get married and have children now?" She was accustomed to handling a plethora of things, yet the notion of an indecisive man, especially one who seemed so fickle about his desires, was utterly asinine.

Paul tried to speak again, but was swiftly silenced by her cutting words, "Just when you're on the cusp of stardom?" He had to bit his tongue to restrain himself from laughing—he couldn't give two damns about the bright lights of Hollywood!—but he didn't want to antagonize her further so he backed off. "I'm not being serious... it's just a thought."

Even in his defeat, Evelyn's gaze remained on Paul, drawing satisfaction from his shame. Raising the book back to her face, she dismissed him with a soft murmur — her tone dripping with disdain, "Not a very good one, clearly."

With a muted nod, he tried to downplay the pain caused by her acerbic remark. "I know, I'm sorry," he said, guilt heavy on his shoulders.

A strange silence settled between them, nothing like the usual quietness they'd shared before the quarrel. It was weighty and stale — as though all of your sensations were heightened; the harsh sun seemed to scald your skin, each blade of grass grazing your skin appeared razor sharp, the nasty aftertaste of mayonnaise coating your tongue. Even the bits of bread between your molars can feel annoyingly obtrusive.

"You might have to find another woman."

Paul was paralyzed from head to toe by what had escaped Evelyn's idolized mouth, and her stone-like disposition was even more infuriating. "Evelyn... you're blowing this out of proportion!" he exclaimed, his tone unusually heightened, mimicking that of a wounded tiger — a rather dangerous beast.

Evelyn leaned forward, her gaze meeting his with a sense of finality. "If you want me as a bride, you'll let me make a name for myself first," she declared, her words more like an order than a plea.

Paul's attempts to maintain a sense of power in his voice only made him sound more desperate, "Look, I was just—!" He instantly regretted it, realizing just how close he was to becoming the kind of man he'd seen throughout his life. "I was dreaming of a life we could have..." he said in an apologetic, hushed tone. His head was bowed and his jaw clenched, the feeling that there was too much to lose weighed heavily on his mind.