Empty Sheets

(7) The Month That's Over

I rest my jaw in my hands with my elbows on the table. I look around the restaurant and try to ignore the hunger pangs that are only growing stronger and stronger as I identify each food aroma wafting through the air. I don’t make eye contact with Geoff. I want to get straight to the point and tell him that he needs to go through with his part already. I decide not to rush into it though. Not yet.

                Geoff checks his phone. I look at him this time and make an attempt not to keep it awkward any more. “So how are you and Victor doing on that telephone billboard?” I lower my right hand and mindlessly glide my finger over the table.

                Geoff smiles a little and puts his phone away. “He just messaged me about it. Funny thing. He showed me possible fonts we could use for it.”

                I nod and then interlace my fingers over the table. I would drag the conversation out, but honestly I don’t feel like speaking with Geoff. I have nothing to say to him that doesn’t concern splitting up. I can still be amicable, but when one part of your life ends, it ends for a purpose. There’s no sense in metamorphosising (no, that’s not a word) it into something else just for the sake of conversation or company. Sure, the other person might be a good person, but your time with them is done.

                A new chapter in a book doesn’t begin with the protagonist as a rock star just because we readers couldn’t connect with him as a mathematician in the earlier chapters. We would put the book down and stop reading because the connection is lost. We would only keep reading if the mathematician has a story worth caring about or if we hope for a change that we subconsciously know won’t happen.

                Just like I can pick up another book if I want a good story, I can talk to other people if I want good conversation. That is the purpose of new beginnings.

                “Not that talking about my job would interest you,” Geoff says with a small smile that never seems to go away.

                “Hm? What are you talking about?” I usually need to be brought back to the current setting when my mind drifts off. I almost forgot what I had even said minutes ago.

                “You’re asking about my job like you really want to know.”

                “You asked me to come here. This was your idea, so what do you possibly want me to say?”

                The food finally arrives on a round metal tray. I thank the server and proceed to pick up a plastic fork. My stomach can’t wait any longer. Besides, eating fills in for the uneasy gaps of silence.

                Geoff doesn’t keep silent though. He pours some cilantro sauce over his chicken and says, “Are you really that unhappy?”

                I don’t feed myself yet because the question throws me off. This is the first time that he’s addressed this issue since I handed him the divorce papers. The most I had gotten out of him before was: “Why?” “Are you serious?” or “You’re acting ridiculous, Rin.”