Right Where You Left Me

The cold breeze blowing through the cobbled laneway suddenly picks up, and I clutch at my scarlet coat’s closure with one hand whilst I fight my flapping fringe with the other. I briskly step under the awning of the restaurant and take shelter from the wind behind the elaborate shrubbery bracketing the doorway. Scrutinising my reflection in the window, I make sure my fringe is tamed and twist from side to side to ensure that my French twist is still impeccably intact. It took me far too long to wrestle my chocolate brown hair into this French twist, it better stay in place for the whole evening. 

           The universe has tested my patience today. A co-worker spilled his morning coffee all over my favourite grey pencil skirt as we sat down for our weekly meeting. I had barely been clocked on for five minutes, and already I wanted to go home.

           The small inconveniences continued throughout my workday. Someone changed the office printer’s settings from double-sided printing to single page printing, wasting twenty pages of unusable reports (I get that she’s trying to be more environmentally friendly, but our boss wanting all reports printed double-sided to reduce our company’s carbon footprint means fuck all if she still uses plastic straws every day to drink her coffee). Then, in what I consider the universe’s final middle-finger to me, someone ate my afternoon snack of a Krispy Kreme donut that I specifically labelled with my name before storing it in the breakroom of the office. Walking into the breakroom and seeing my Tupperware container sitting on one of the round lunch tables – completely empty, no donut in sight – almost made me want to scream in frustration and agony.

           The first half of my day is firmly locked away in the deep recesses of my brain to dwell on another day.

           I take a cleansing breath and check my watch. I’m early for our reservation, but Rhys is always running late, so I’ll be waiting him to arrive. In our six years together, punctuality has never been Rhys’s strong point. Hopefully once we move in together, my punctuality will rub off on him.  

           The thought of finally having a place of our own where I can have him sleep next to me every night for the rest of my life makes my cheeks heat in affection and butterflies erupt in my stomach. The road to acquiring our own place has had many obstacles; mostly student loan debts from us both studying. For the first six years of our relationship, we’ve had to live under the same roof as our parents – we lived with his family until his parents moved to a different state, then we moved in with my parents. We were incredibly fortunate that my parents asked for minimal rent from us whilst we completed our studies and solidified our careers.

           For the last year, we have been planning meticulously to purchase our own house, and we are now in the home stretch of nailing down last-minute details on a small and quaint home only 20 minutes away from both of our jobs. By the end of the month, we will be out of my parent’s spare bedroom and into our own home.

It finally feels like the next chapter in our lives is about to begin.

We were hesitant to celebrate our anniversary today. We’ve been engaged for two years with our wedding planned to take place in exactly a year at the beginning of autumn, the perfect time of the year to escape the blistering summer and the Antarctic frozen winter days of Melbourne’s chaotic weather patterns. Today’s date marks the day we exclusively started to date, as well as the date Rhys proposed to me two years ago. It felt fitting to plan for our wedding day to also occur on the same date.

Rhys had been hesitant of the two of us planning a celebratory dinner at a restaurant because of our financial restraints, but I reassured him that indulging for one evening shouldn’t break the bank too much.

Sighing tiredly, I push open the glass door to the restaurant and I’m immediately greeted by the maître d’ with an iPad in one hand and a pile of menus in the other. “Good evening, madam. Do you have a reservation for this evening?”

Smiling, I nod eagerly, “yes, it’s under the name ‘Veronica’.”

Glancing down at his iPad, he taps a few buttons and nods. “Great, your companion has already been seated. I’ll escort you to your table.”

“Oh, thank you,” I respond, taken off guard that Rhys got here before I did. That was very out of character of him.

I follow closely behind the maître d’ as he weaves a path through tables to a small candle-lit table for two in a back corner with one of the chairs occupied by Rhys. The maître d’ pauses for a moment as we reach our table and glances at Rhys, who timidly smiles back before turning his attention to me. “Hey babe, you look beautiful. Red is your colour,” he chuckles after inspecting my coat.

I smile warmly, feeling my heart lurch at the sight of him. Considering I quickly got changed in the bathroom at work before making my way here, hearing him compliment my appearance settles my nerves. God, he’s a beautiful human. It’s cruel that someone exists that looks as incredible as he does.

He’s chosen a midnight blue sweater to wear tonight, with the collar of a pressed white shirt framing his neck, paired with simple black trousers. Whilst his outfit makes him look downright edible, it’s his hair tousled so effortlessly and falling like perfect, blond dominoes across his forehead that is my undoing.

How on Earth I managed to nab this heartthrob eludes me.

The maître d’ looks away from Rhys with a slight frown and guides me to my seat, aiding me in removing my coat to reveal the matching scarlet cocktail dress beneath. He pulls out my chair for me and fills my water glass as I settle into my seat, casting another sidelong glance in Rhys’s direction.

“I’ll give you some time to look over our menu,” he informs us as he places down menus in front of us. “Please let me know when you would like to order.”

I smile gratefully in return, “thank you so much,” I dismiss him. He casts another odd expression in Rhys’s direction and leaves us.

Rhys chuckles nervously, “I don’t think he likes me very much.”

I shrug, unbothered. “Don’t worry about it, maybe he’s having a bad day at work. That would make two of us,” I sigh as I reach for my glass of water.

Rhys clears his throat awkwardly. “Oh… You had a bad day at work today?”

I shrug again, beginning to look over the menu. There isn’t a single meal under $30 on this whole menu. I’m going to be eating two-minute noodles for lunch for a week, it seems. “Nothing a nice dinner with you can’t fix.” I glance up at him and shoot him a small smile.

The look on his face makes my smile slowly fade.

He tugs anxiously at his collar, avoiding eye contact with me. “That’s nice,” he mutters, snatching up his own glass of water and taking a hefty gulp.

Immediately, I’m on edge. “What’s wrong? You look like you’re about to burst a blood vessel in your forehead.”

“I need to tell you something…”

That is possibly one of the worst combination of words a person can have directed at them. The conversation that follows rarely ends positively. I snatch the fancy bright-white napkin from under my cutlery and begin to fiddle with it in my lap. I need something to occupy my hands to help ease my bubbling anxiety.

“I’m sure whatever it is, we can work through it together,” I respond, trying to remain optimistic.

Rhys sighs and runs his finger along the rim of his water glass, still avoiding eye contact with me. “I don’t think there is anything you could do to fix this.”

I gulp, feeling my heart plummet into my stomach. “Just spit it out, Rhys. Enough beating around the bush,” I mutter through gritted teeth, anger and anxiety fuelling me. “And give me the decency of looking me in the eye whilst you tell me whatever it is you’re about to say.”

He raises his head, and his expression is steadfast and certain. “I’ve met someone.”

A beat of silence fills the space between us as I absorb his words. “As in, a new friend, or a romantic interest?” I respond, somehow calmly. Maybe this is why he changed his mind and accepted my idea of having dinner in a restaurant tonight, so there were people around us. He knows I wouldn’t dare make a scene in public.  

“Romantic.”

That single word crumbles my entire world within a nanosecond.

For a moment, all I can focus on is remembering to breathe. I have always had a weird habit of holding my breath when I become anxious and upset, and as a kid this little trait used to land me flat on my back, passing out from lack of oxygen.

I will not pass out in this goddamn, fancy-ass restaurant.

I avert my eyes to my lap, watching my hands wring the napkin in different directions. It almost feels as though my hands don’t belong to my body.

Breathe, Veronica.

“How long?”

Rhys takes another sip of his water. “A little over a year.”

My head shoots up, my eyes begin to sting. “A fucking year?!” I exclaim slightly louder than intended. An elderly couple several tables away jump in shock at my foul language and twist to face us with disgruntled expressions. I ignore them. “Rhys, we’ve been looking at buying a house that entire time, and we’re about to sign all the papers to confirm our purchase! We had been engaged for a year by then! What the hell is wrong with you?!”

“I don’t love you anymore.”

Forget my earlier thoughts: THAT is the worst combination of words a person could ever hear. I can feel bile rising in my throat and tears burning behind my eyes. “And when did you come to that conclusion?” I gasp desperately, my anxiety beginning to have a chokehold on me.

He sighs, almost appearing mildly perturbed. His anxiety that he was exhibiting when I first arrived is nowhere to be seen. Now, he just seems exhausted with me. “Probably around the time I met Ella.” What a stupid name for a stupid home-wrecking bitch. “I don’t know what happened, I just felt a spark with her, and it made me realise I hadn’t felt one with you for a while.”

I reach for my water glass, my mouth suddenly feeling drier than a desert. My hands vibrate as I clutch the glass and slowly bring it to my mouth.

“I’m going to propose to her this weekend.”

The glass slips through my shaking fingers and shatters on the white tablecloth, water seeping into the stitching of the linen. Again, I hear multiple gasps from other patrons of the restaurant. Behind Rhys, at another table, the maître d’ stares daggers into the back of Rhys’ skull.

“So, you agreed to have dinner in a restaurant tonight to tell me all of this?” I seethe, tears now freely falling down my face. I can feel my mascara barrel down my face, trapped within my tears. “Do you respect me so little that you chose to do this in public?”

Clearing his throat, he suddenly rises, brushing imaginary lint from his sleeves and once again avoiding eye contact. “I don’t want to make this any harder than it is, and I have nothing else to say. I’ll come by tomorrow and grab my belongings from your place and leave you my copy of your key.” He pauses as he turns to leave, piercing me with a glance that is completely devoid of any affection. “I’m sorry.” He nods and turns away from me, weaving the same path through the restaurant to the entrance that I followed to our table.

My vision is completely blurred by tears and there is an incessant ringing in my ears. I can feel every thump of my heartbeat in the base of my throat, and the sensation makes me feel nauseated. I’m beginning to feel lightheaded, and black spots are appearing in the peripherals of my vision.

I’m about to have one of the worst panic attacks I’ve ever had, and it’s happening in a public restaurant.

A guttural, gasping, groaning sound finally reaches my ears through the ringing, and I realise it’s coming from me as a gasp for breath. I fold my arms on the table and drop my head onto my arms, trying to control my breathing. I feel a slight stinging sensation down my arms and dimly realise I’m laying across the broken glass from my cup of water.

Suddenly, I feel a tender hand stroke my shoulder. “It’s okay, you’re going to be okay. I’m so sorry.” It’s the maître d’. I can feel him moving around me, cleaning up the broken glass scattered across the table. “I’ll bring you fresh water and a first aid kit to patch up your arms. I’m so sorry, I knew he was going to do this.” Before I can respond, I hear him walk away. I don’t question how he knew what was going to happen. Maybe he’s witnessed this kind of scene before. Maybe Rhys’ body language and behaviour before I arrived clearly spelled out his intentions for tonight. Perhaps they were still visible by the time I arrived, but I was too blinded by affection and exhaustion to see the signs.

As I curl in on myself and try to control my breathing and racing heart, my mind runs at a million miles a minute, agonising over the life that he’s seeking with another woman. One day, Rhys will have a family with this woman. When we talked about having kids, he always said he wanted to have at least two. He grew up as an only child, and always felt so lonely because of it. I always said I wanted to have a boy and a girl, but he wished for two boys.

Will his Christmas tradition of having hot chocolate with marshmallows and candy canes in the morning continue with this new girl? She will accompany him to his parent’s big Christmas lunch they host every year; his ginormous family will probably find this new woman kind and pretty, and she’ll fit right into the picture-perfect family setting I once cherished being a part of.

Did any of his family already know about this woman?

The maître d’ returns, places a new glass of water and a small first aid kit on the table and rubs my shoulder again in sympathy. “I’m so sorry,” he repeats solemnly. He gently grabs my shoulders and pulls me upright in my seat then inspects the small cuts on my arms. He grabs Rhys’ abandoned napkin and cautiously dabs away the droplets of blood across my forearms. Flipping open the lid of the first aid kit, he extracts several band-aids and with a feather-light touch, he applies them to the deeper cuts on my arms. He gently lowers my arms to my lap and readjusts the table, removing the white tablecloth with the wet stain and smears of my blood. Grabbing the first aid kit and moving my new glass of water closer to me, he casts another empathetic expression in my direction. “Please, take all the time you need. If you need anything, just let me know.” He pats my shoulder and turns to leave me be.

“Wait,” I request. “What did you mean when you said you knew this was going to happen?”

He sighs heavily and glances around the restaurant at the other patrons. Some appear as though they are trying to be respectful of the moment and are not looking our way, but others are less subtle – the old couple who didn’t appreciate my colourful language earlier are openly gaping at the scene in front of them as though they’re sitting in the front row of a riveting play. Glaring at the old couple, who don’t seem too phased by his icy stare, he glances back at me with a pained expression. “You would be surprised at how many times I’ve seen this kind of thing play out at this restaurant,” he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “It’s happened often enough that I’ve learned how to identify people like your partner.”

I scoff sarcastically. “At least everyone else is getting dinner and a show, it seems,” I jest flatly, trying to regain my composure.

He grimaces at my attempt of cracking a joke and pats me on the shoulder again. “Like I said, take all the time you need. I’ll get the chef to cook you a nice pasta dish, on the house.”

My cheeks heat in embarrassment. “No, please, it’s okay, I don’t need-”

“No arguments,” he interjects. “Please, from what I’ve seen and heard tonight, you definitely deserve a little kindness.”

Fresh tears rise to the surface and I feel choked up. “Thank you,” I mutter quietly.

He smiles and nods before retreating to the kitchen.

As I sit staring at my glass of water, my stomach churns, and I fight back the sensation of bile crawling up my throat. I feel as though my heart and my soul walked out of this restaurant right behind Rhys. The plans I had for the rest of my life were ripped from my heart and mind as Rhys made his hasty exit out of the restaurant.

How am I ever expected to move on from this spot?