The ends of her black hair brushed the sharp line of her jaw as she sighed. The steam emanating from the cup of coffee in front of her danced in the warm air. The diner was noisy and cramped and smelled like sweat. Their air conditioner was broken and you could see the wet patches forming under the servers' armpits. If her voice wasn't so sad and heartbroken, he would've made a joke about it now. But it wasn't the time.
He held his cup by the mouth, five fingers framing the circular opening, and lifted it an inch off the yellow table. Then he put it down again without taking a sip. He was uncomfortable. He never really thought they'd get there—that she'd be breaking her own heart by letting go of his.
Nevertheless, he knew she was right. So he didn't say or do anything to stop her.
He just let her think of what she wanted to say next. Her eyes were closed and her lips quivered. He noted the red shirt and the overalls she was wearing, much like the way he had made sure to remember the gray shirt and ripped jeans that she had worn when they first met, or the black silk dress he had slipped off of her a few months back. Her outfit was a crucial thing to remember months or even years from now, when he'd be reminiscing on the day it all ended.
She was the most beautiful thing in that awful place. And he was saying that with full confidence, having seen the kind of heart she had. She looked like a painting, a work of art, and he knew this one would be hanging in his gallery forever.
She swallowed hard and her eyes flicked open. "I do want to keep you, but I can't," she said. "And I know I've been telling you all this time that you mean nothing to me. But I've been lying. I love you. With all my foolish heart, I do. I think this is the biggest favor I can do for myself now—to let it all out there. I don't want any part of you to follow me out of these doors."
Her brown eyes were glassy from tears she was trying to hold back. The rest of her face looked cold. It was a new thing for him to see her without her summertime smile.
"You'll be at peace with this one day," he said, looking down at his coffee. "No need to wage war on yourself over something that brought both of us joy." He smirked. It was probably the wrong move, but he couldn't help it.
She scoffed and wiped angrily at her crying eyes.
"Thank you, Mia," he said. "It was a pleasure."
She gave him a bitter scowl before getting up and marching out of the diner, leaving her coffee untouched. She didn't understand it now but he hoped she would one day. He couldn't tell her he felt the same way—even if that was the truth. That would've given her a reason to stay, and he just couldn't let her anymore.
