Chapter 5
772 Words
The room was quiet for a long time.
"She pays, I design. It's a fair trade." His voice lowered. "Delia, don't read too much into everything. I was just helping her out."
"Helping her out?"
I looked at him. "You've been helping her for two years. You made more than ten designs for her. I asked you to design one house for us, and you said you didn't have time."
"That's work!"
"And our home isn't?"
That question stopped him cold. His lips moved, but no words came out.
"Stanley, I just want to know one thing. Do you still want a future with me?"
"Of course I do."
"Then why won't you marry me?"
"I told you, once I finish this project..."
"When will that be?" I cut him off. "You've been busy for seven years. Tell me, Stanley, when exactly are you going to stop being busy?"
His grip tightened around the towel in his hands until his knuckles turned white.
"So that's it? You just don't trust me anymore?"
I let out a quiet laugh. "What have you given me to trust?"
I walked over to the desk, opened the drawer, and took out the sketchbook.
Then I flipped it open and spread the drawings he'd made for Faith across the desk, one page after another.
"Look at these. Every drawing is carefully done. Every detail is thought through. When you were doing all this, did it ever occur to you that not a single thing you promised me ever happened?"
His mouth opened. Nothing came out.
"You say you were helping her. Fine. I believe you. But tell me this. After these projects, what then? If she comes to you with another project, will you help her again? And the one after that? Are you planning to help her for the rest of your life?"
He remained silent.
"She asks because you're talented. You help because you want to."
My eyes stung, but I didn't cry. "You just don't want to spend that time on me."
I closed the sketchbook and set it back on the desk.
"You don't need to explain anymore. I believe everything you're saying. But I'm done waiting."
With that, I walked into the guest room and shut the door.
Over the next few days, I quietly erased myself from the apartment.
The fiddle-leaf fig in the living room had been my idea. I gave it to the woman next door.
The easel on the balcony was mine. I called a secondhand collector to take it away.
The spice jars in the kitchen that I'd carefully matched and organized all went into the trash.
Stanley didn't notice any of it. As far as he was concerned, I'd simply become quieter lately. And he seemed perfectly happy with that.
The following Wednesday arrived.
Seven years ago, on a Wednesday just like this one, Stanley had gotten his first assistant architect position. He'd spun me around in our tiny apartment and laughed.
"Delia, when I become a lead architect, the first house I design will be ours."
He'd also said, "As soon as things settle down, we'll go get married."
Back then, "someday" had sounded real. Now I realized those promises had been nothing more than casual words.
Like when someone says, "I'll buy you dinner sometime."
"Sometime" was a day that never would come. Just like "later".
The sky was barely light when I wheeled my suitcase out the door.
I placed my key on top of the entryway cabinet and left a note underneath it.
It read:
Stanley, I'm taking the marriage application with me to cancel it. You don't have to tell me to wait until you're done being busy anymore.
The lock clicked shut behind me.
The elevator doors opened, and I stepped inside.
In the mirror, I saw a woman without makeup, her hair tied back carelessly, dark circles under her eyes.
Looking back, I had given the best years of my life to someone who was always waiting for the next project to end.
Starting today, I was done waiting.
The airport announcement called for boarding.
I took one last look at the gray sky hanging over the city. Then I turned around and handed my boarding pass to the gate agent.
As the plane lifted off, the city outside the window grew smaller and smaller until it became nothing more than a gray dot beneath the clouds.
I leaned back in my seat and closed my eyes.
Something warm slid down my cheek. I didn't wipe it away. Let it fall.
When it was gone, so was everything else.
- Writer
