The next morning, I woke up in the most unromantic mood. My partner in the kitchen felt otherwise. Maybe it was all of the orgasms, but the kiss she gave me when I walked into the room felt meaningless. "Good morning babe" She smiled at me. I snuck a french toast stick when she wasn't looking, but when she turned back around, I was caught redhanded, syrup and all. "You were supposed to wait for those, silly. They're undercooked." I knew there was something wrong with them. "Yeah, I like them that way." I lied, walking away, into the living room to watch the morning cartoons she had on. As Jordan set the table, I began to feel weird. Was this really how I wanted things to be until death do us part? At 26 years old, I guess this wasn't the worst choice to make. I really needed time to think about how I felt for her. Right as I was finished with my overthinking, I heard a knock on the door. I looked at Jordan and raised an eyebrow. She wasn't looking as confident as she was last night, or even when I walked into the kitchen this morning. She looked as if she'd seen a ghost. "That's probably a family member. You should go to the room-- I need some time to ease our relationship onto them." Something about her attitude at that moment wasn't aligning, and I felt weird. Still, I left the living room and took my raw french toast with me.
From upstairs, I could hear bits and pieces of her conversation with this woman. She had a soft voice, like a young woman who could be her age, or younger. I inched closer to the door to hear what was going on. I heard a kiss. It was undeniably a kiss. As many kisses as I've had in my lifetime, I knew what it sounded like, and it was a kiss. I couldn't believe my ears. It sounded like Jordan was trying to get her out of the house. I listened closer. "Yeah, I just made breakfast for my mom but she ended up going to work instead, running late." Probably one of the lamest stories I've ever heard in my life. I listened to some more. "This looks good. I would've missed the morning shift for this." "Breakfast? Or something else?" I heard Jordan reply. Unbelievable. I heard more kissing, and before I knew it, my patience reached its limit, and I plopped onto her bed, on my back. I was so tempted to walk out in fiery anger, but that would be too easy. I waited and waited for what felt like forever until I heard the closing of a door, and Jordan's voice, calling me back down to breakfast. I felt like a stepchild on Christmas. I walked down the stairs, trying to keep my cool, and I finished the delicious food in silence. Regardless of how much of an asshole she was, she could cook a damn good meal. I looked at her, not knowing what to say. I noticed her ring was off. It was on before I went upstairs. There was no way we were going anywhere, ever. "So when are you going to tell your family about us?" I asked pressingly. "When things settle down, in a month or so. My mom's on edge and my dad hasn't been doing so hot lately. He's putting his sneakers in the fridge again." I stared at her, directly into her eyes for what felt like an hour, before I got up from my seat, pushed my chair in gently, walked towards her front door, which in this giant house was half of a field trip, grabbed my coat off of the holder, put my sandals on, and casually walked out of her house, closing her door behind me for the last time ever.
As I walked outside, I felt the cool early morning breeze against my skin, and I was revisited by my early memories in Atlanta when things were simpler, and I had no hormones, or even a love life. All that I looked forward to was a basketball hoop and a meal. Moments later, I saw her walking towards me. "What's going on?" I stopped mid-walk to look at her, still clicking the button to unlock my car. "What is going on, Jordan?" At that moment, her facial expression painted the picture of a criminal caught redhanded. "I guess I haven't been totally honest with you. I'm still in a relationship." I smiled at her sarcastically, continued walking stepped into my car, and said my last words to her, who was at my window, trying to sort things out, before driving off: "It's not you, it's me."
