Solipsism

Abby didn’t curl her hair often, but today she wanted to look perfect. Her lips were stained red and her black lashes elongated. Every time she moved she sparkled—she’d tried a new body shimmer spray and she couldn’t stop admiring her arms as she stretched them out in front of her.

Yet she knew enough about men to know that she didn’t want to look like she was trying too hard, so she dressed casually but strategically. Her favorite denim shorts and a sapphire shirt with a neckline that teased men. She knew this was the date that he’d tell her he’d always loved her, ever since she moved to Dusking. She could feel it.

She envisioned how her audience would envy her dark curls, how they’d hang on the couple’s every word. They would feel secluded in their love, yes, but they would be very much in public view at the craft show where they had originally met. That had to be why he asked her to meet him there.

Now she knew this was too much to hope for, but she closed her eyes and allowed herself indulge her favorite fantasy. This wouldn’t just be the day he professed his love. This could be the day he gave her the ring she’d always longed for.

He would be at his booth, his polished woodworks being admired by passersby, and their eyes would meet. He’d pat his brother’s back to signal he’d be back soon, and his brother would smile. The passersby would turn their attention to his sturdy frame walking towards her, determined but not rushed. Nervous but not anxious.

They meet at some point, staring into each other’s eyes, no words exchanged, only electricity.

“Your hair is different,” he says, brushing a curl back. “Time does change things.”

“It hasn’t changed how I feel for you,” she says softly, searching his face for a sign that he feels the same.

“It hasn’t for me either, Abby. I’ve missed you. If only I’d never asked you to leave—”

She motions for him to stop talking about the painful past. “We’re here now.”

He nods and smiles before reaching into his pocket. He bends and stares up at her, marveling at her beauty. She’s more beautiful than he remembers.

“Abigail Smith,” he begins, shakily opening a small box, “I’ve never felt this type of love before. I should have never let you go. I don’t want to spend another second without you. Will you marry me?”

Abby is about to say yes and jump into his arms when her phone alarm breaks her reverie, and she reluctantly opens her eyes. How often she’s rehearsed this moment in her mind. It’s not what would happen today, not quite. There probably—probably—wouldn’t be a ring, though she did notice that his car was parked near the Dusking jewelry store. It was more likely he was at the pizza place a few doors down, but she wasn’t about to give up hope. She knew that regardless, he was going to proclaim his love for everyone to hear, and she would finally be getting her happily ever after.

Their breakup was stereotypical. The fight, even. She’d complained they never spent time together, and he was focused on his career. Careers. Woodworking was more of a side gig, though he was building quite a business with it. He was excited that people loved his art, and he could spend hours in his shop. It energized him, she could see that. But spending time with him was what energized her. Why shouldn’t she be jealous?

In hindsight, she could have been more understanding, but she was confident that time had helped him see things her way. Especially with the texts she’d sent him. They weren’t her words, after all, just quotes about love. She was letting him know she was ready, but he had to make the first move. That’s just how it had to be.

**

The biannual craft fair was in downtown Dusking, where streets closed for the day and local shops kept their doors open, hoping their booths outside would help attract business. Vendors greeted Abby as she walked by. She was impatient, but she didn’t want to look desperate if he was watching. She lingered at a jewelry booth when she noticed him. Ben. He was showing an elderly woman an oak end table when he looked up. Abby waved and she felt hope bubble up inside her as he excused himself, patting his brother on the back. This was the moment.

She felt like she was skipping toward him. But when they got closer, she could tell something was wrong. His smile was strained, his eyes tired. He’d been up late with his projects, she just knew it. She was tempted to scold him.

“Thanks for coming out,” Ben started.

“Of course. How could I miss the craft fair?” she laughed and put her hand on his arm. He started to lead them to a small spot under the barber shop awning, close enough that the crowd could see them but far enough that their conversation would be private. This wasn’t going according to plan, but it could still be romantic. Especially if she couldn’t stop herself from kissing him.

“I think there’s something we need to talk about.” Ben wasn’t smiling anymore, and he looked serious.

Abby panicked for a moment. Was something wrong? She would’ve heard, wouldn’t she have?

“Abby, our time together meant a lot to me, but…” he sighed. “We agreed that the relationship was over. Yet you’re sending me messages every day, and I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

“What do you mean, wrong idea?” Time froze. Her heart froze. Everything froze. She glanced around to make sure nobody was around. Ben followed her gaze and sighed again.

“I asked you to stop contacting me. Accidental texts about how you ‘miss him so much,’ accidental pictures, the memes, the quotes. It’s got to stop. It’s over, Abby. It’s been over. I’m sorry if this sounds harsh, but you’ve got to leave me alone and move on.”

“I thought we were on the same page.” Abby’s voice was clipped, and she pressed her hands together. This couldn't happen.

“I don’t like games. I never have. You can’t control things.” His voice was gentler now. “People don’t all think and act the way you want them to. I’m not the one for you. But I think when you do find your person, you won’t have to play games to get his attention.” Ben cleared his throat and turned to walk away. “I’m sorry.”

And Abby stood alone in the shadow of the awning, where the warmth of love and the sun felt miles away.