99 Reasons Why It Wasn't Love

2 | The First Reason

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The First Reason

Thatcher’s laugh echoed in my ears, making my face burn red. Hastily, I bent over my dry chicken breast again, slowly picking it apart. As this conversation continued, my appetite began to dwindle.

“There was always a reason why it wasn’t love,” I had told him, defiant. I had expected some sympathy, or just anything other than what I had got. Thatcher laughed, big and loud, completely unlike the guy I thought I just met. The guy who was oh so sad about the loss of the ‘one’ and who was only interested in my love life just to distract him from his own.

“What?” I had snapped. He shook his head, still laughing. I felt my face flush, again. Was it really that funny that I hadn’t fallen in love? Sure, at my age you could call it comical, but it didn’t merit all the stares we were getting from the other tables.

“I don’t believe that,” Thatcher gasped at last, still chuckling.

“It’s true. Wouldn’t I, of all people, know if I fell in love?” This guy was starting to really piss me off at this point. He’d hit a nerve, the one thing from to turn me from dream date to green rage monster in less than ten minutes.

That shut him up, for now at least. But in this silence the laugh still echoed in my ears, making my fragile façade start to crumble. All these years, who knew it would take just one guy to break it? By laughing?

I always thought I’d come out as a liar and rule maker in some sort of fight, with none other than the one. It would be like the movies, where we had that perfect, cutesy relationship right up to the point where he found out my secret. He’d reject me, but then his overwhelming love for me would pull through. I’d apologize and promise to change my ways, and he’d pop the question right then and there. Happily ever after.

As if, I thought darkly, shooting another look at Thatcher. He was looking at me.

“Look, it isn’t funny,” he said at last. “It isn’t. It’s just funny that you’re so oblivious to the fact that you’re doing everything wrong.”

“I’m doing everything wrong?” I echoed. How could I be doing everything wrong? Everything I had done was to make everything right.

Thatcher obviously knew he’d won. He leaned back in his chair, a look passing over his features that screamed victory. “Tell you what. I want to hear every single reason.”

“What?”

“In order. Starting from the first guy.”

“You’re crazy.” There was no way I could remember every single reason, every single face, and on top of that, in order. The faces where a blur, 99 pairs of ears and eyes, 99 noses and mouths and bad haircuts.

“Hey, you need this. Heck, even I need this. It’s obvious that you need some help. So it’s either you talk to me or I send you to the local rehab clinic.”