Collection of Stories

The Let Down

Amanda looks at me across the dinner table, and I try to take all of her in. The way her hair flicks slightly at the front in a singular curl. The faded green streaks from our trip to Berlin that ended up with us dying our hair crazy colours. The small freckle on the left side of her nose, strikingly bold against her almost faultless complexion. The way her glasses don't quite sit properly on her nose, the smudge marks on the lenses, the tiny speck of toothpaste on their bridge. The stray hair by her eyebrow that she missed, not distracting from their perfect shape with each tiny gap filled in. The signature black lipstick that I've smudged with my lips, reapplied at party, wiped away at the end of the day, from her lips time and time again. The hazel eyes with a streak of green only around the pupil that makes her eyes stand out in a sea of face. The tiny tint of sleeplessness underneath her eyes from countless late night binging session. The chunky purple sweater that I got her last Christmas, with the woolen scarf with little llamas on that her mum sent her after they went to Peru. Underneath the table, I knows there's a pair of black, stained skinny jeans, probably with her fake leather belt that she insists is genuine and purple Converse  shoes that are an identical shade to her jumper. Her hands are tightly clasped, but not enough to hide the chipped "noir chic" nail polish with a glittery top coat on stubby nails. Suddenly she speaks up and I jump slightly.

"Edith?"

"Yeah?"

"I need to talk to you about something."

Oh. "What is it?"

"Promise you won't get mad?"

That sounds serious. "Of course not."

"So um... you know how I went out with Karen last week?"

Karen. Thirty something who works in Amanda's office. Size 10. Takes pictures of her coffee when she goes to Starbucks. Lives downtown. "I remember."

"Well, I go out with her quite regularly actually."

Is she... implying... what I think she is? "Right?"

"I think I'd like to keep going out with her more and more."

She is. "Do you love her?"

Amanda looks down at the table. "I think I do."

Oh. "Oh."

She slides a small box across the table, and I look at it in confusion. Then I realise, it's the engagement ring I gave her. This is it. This is actually it.

"I'm so sorry,"she whispers.

"It's okay," my voice cracks but I know in a way I mean it, " At least you were honest."

We talk for a little while longer, then Amanda says that she has to go. I give her a hug, a final hug, and take in all those things from before for one last time and then she's gone. Just like that.

What a let down.