Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
MAX
It’s snowing when I leave my apartment, which I try not to take as a sign to turn around and go back to bed.
I tug on my black winter hat and tie a scarf around my neck.
I don’t mind the cold when I don’t have to be in it.
But walking around outside isn’t something I love to do in the winter.
I didn’t want to Uber there though; I thought it would be better if I got some of my anxious energy out on the walk.
The subway lets me off only a few blocks away from where we are meeting.
Chelsea, my ex-fiancé, had texted me and asked to meet up so we could talk. I didn’t know what she needed to say that she couldn’t tell me over the phone, but she had insisted.
My head has already run through a million reasons why she wants to see me.
Is it to give my ring back? Tell me she’s pregnant?
Tell me she’s moving here? I could play this game endlessly, but it was no use guessing.
With Chelsea it could literally be anything, and was usually the last thing I thought of.
It wasn’t on the top of my list to go and see her, but Ben had thought it might be healing, and at least I’d get to say the things I never got to before.
We agreed to meet near Grand Central. I wasn’t trying to give my ex-fiancée my new address. There was a coffee shop inside a hotel about three blocks away that I sometimes liked to go to when I edited photos.
The Clock Tower coffee shop is pretty big, with one section closed off as a café and the other as a restaurant. I glance around the room, looking for that familiar head of blonde hair. One that I once thought I’d be looking at for the rest of my life.
Pausing to take off my hat and scarf, I shake the snow off them while I am still on the rug by the door. I stop when I see her blonde hair at the café, sipping a hot coffee, which I know is a caffè-americano.
She doesn’t see me, so I take a moment to study her.
She looks the same, face full of make-up, blonde hair curled perfectly down her shoulders, and a navy-blue jacket pulled around her body.
She’s rubbing her hands along the outside of the hot cup, probably cold from being outside.
She always ran a little colder anyway, usually bundling up in the summertime too.
I sort of wish she looked worse, like she wasn’t as beautiful or maybe upset about something, but she looks just the same as the day she left me.
I brace myself and walk over to her table, watching her blue eyes light up when she sees me.
“Max,” she smiles familiarly, like we’re old friends.
“Chelsea,” I say sternly.
“Do you want to grab a coffee first? I’m sure you haven’t had your allotted ten cups.” She tries joking, but I keep my face neutral. I don’t know what she is doing here, and I sure as hell am not here to go down memory lane with her.
“Sure.” I nod and drop my things on the empty chair across from her before ordering an iced-caramel, cold brew. The rush of caffeine does nothing to calm my nerves, but at least it is something familiar.
I sit down across from Chelsea and she pulls back her hands, and I catch the way her engagement ring catches the light. It’s three times the size of the ring I had bought her, which unfortunately doesn’t surprise me.
She catches me staring and hides her hands under the table.
“I brought this back,” Chelsea says quietly, pushing the engagement ring box across the table. The small black box reminds me of how many months I held onto it, waiting for the perfect moment to ask her.
“Thanks,” I say sharply. I take the box and slide it into my jacket pocket without looking inside.
“You’re not going to check if it’s inside?” she jokes.
“You’d come all this way and give me an empty box?” I scoff.
“Well…no.” She frowns. Clearly, this was not how she anticipated this going. Of course, she had expectations for this.
“So, are you going to tell me what we’re doing here?” I ask, hoping to speed things along.
“I was hoping to apologize for everything. I know it’s a few years too late, but it’s been weighing on my mind for some time. And I was in town anyway.” Chelsea sighs.
“Go ahead.” I shrug. I doubt there is anything she can really say that will surprise me, but I am willing to listen.
“I’m sorry for not telling you when I knew I didn’t want to marry you.
It wasn’t fair for me to let us go through the motions when I knew I wasn’t fully into it.
I just saw our life, and I was worried we were getting married for the wrong reasons.
I loved you, but I don’t think I loved you as much as you loved me,” she starts, and it feels like knives cutting open old wounds.
“I wish we could’ve at least stayed friends, I miss having you in my life.
But I know it’s for the best, I’m happy now. ”
I don’t think before I speak, spending too much time holding back and not saying what I truly feel. I might not get another chance like this.
“I’m so glad you’re happy now,” I say sarcastically, “But I deserved a hell of a lot better than what you did. I did love you and you sent your best friend to tell me we weren’t getting married?
As I was standing in front of everyone we loved, and I couldn’t even talk to you about it?
You ditched me on the day of our wedding and then acted like it was no big deal.
And then to marry someone else less than a year later?
! You didn’t think to reach out then? To see how that might affect me, or how I might be hurt by that? ” I scoff.
“I—” she starts but I keep going.
“You didn’t love me and that sucks, but you could’ve at least told me to my face instead of being a coward. That wasn’t something to just get over; it’s something I’m still dealing with because of how bad it fucked me up,” I say angrily.
“I really thought it was all for the best,” she says quietly.
“You thought instead of privately telling the woman you were supposed to marry that you were no longer interested, it was a good idea to wait until our fucking wedding day? I don’t care that you got married again or that you’re happy.
What you did still affects me daily. It’s not an easy thing to come back from,” I admit.
“I’m sorry. I really never meant to hurt you, but I know that I did,” Chelsea says.
“You did. And no shitty apology years later is going to change that. So do us both a favor and lose my phone number because next time you’re in town, I’m not interested in seeing you.” I grab my coffee and storm out.
My face hits the cold and I realize I didn’t put on any of my things, but it doesn’t matter. I am too upset to stop, so I am struggling to put on my gloves, hat, and scarf while walking.
I can hear Chelsea calling out behind me, but I’m not interested.
It pisses me off how good a mood she was in.
She thought I was going to forgive her for the way she treated me, and I wanted nothing to do with that.
She was only there to make herself feel better, and I wasn’t interested in how that was going.
I am glad I got the ring back, I could at least sell it for cash. Better me than her. I feel a little freer knowing she is now someone from my past. There isn’t a chance for her to creep back in. Even if she asked to see me, there is nothing left for me to say to her.
I take out my phone, fumbling with the touch screen through my gloves until I manage it and pull up her number.
I hadn’t bothered to save her contact, so I report the number as spam before blocking it completely.
I don’t want Chelsea to be able to come in and disrupt my peace again.
Not that I am necessarily peaceful, but I’m not a mess she needs to clean up either.
I don’t feel like going home yet. I have too much anger pent up in me, so I decide to walk it out.
I’m bundled enough, but the iced coffee isn’t helping.
Not that I am going to part with it, I’d drink iced coffee in any weather.
It just tastes better. It’s not like I can walk all the way to Brooklyn, not where I live anyway.
But I want to get as close to it as I can without getting on the train.
There are way too many tourists staring up at the holiday-decorated buildings. It’s nice, but I’m not in the mood to keep saying ‘excuse me’ and shoving past those who act as though they don’t hear me. I mean, how can you not pay attention when you are in a new place?
I’ve traveled a lot in my life, and never have I gone to a new place without doing a little research first. Don’t New Yorkers have the reputation of being a bit of dicks when it comes to slow walkers? Why isn’t that recognized universally?
I shove past my last family of tourists before I flip them off when they yell. I’m not in the fucking mood. All I can think about is my almost wedding day with Chelsea, and the ring box poking me in the stomach as I walk.
I don’t even want to see if the ring is in there. I just want it gone. I decide to stop at the first pawn shop I see and sell it. I don’t care too much about the money; I just want the ring gone along with the memories.
“You’re parting with this?” the old man with gray eyebrows and a bushy beard asks as I show him the ring.
He picks it up as I nod, watching him examine the ring I spent months agonizing over. I wanted to make sure it was perfect for her. I didn’t want it to be a ring she had to wear forever and hated. The joke was on me, I guess.
“It’s a pretty good cut, I could give you three grand for it,” he offers, waiting for me to haggle.
“Sounds good.” I shrug. I just want it gone.
“Alright, here you are. Square up with Joanie in the front.” He hands me a receipt, and in the front, an older woman hands me a stack of cash in hundred-dollar bills.
“Thanks.” I pocket the cash and make a mental note to find my nearest bank branch.
I’m not about to walk around Manhattan with a pocket full of cash. Pulling out the first one hundred, I hand it to the first unhoused person I see. Then I stop at the bank, already feeling a bit lighter now that the cash and ring are gone.
It’s not like all my anger is gone, but it feels a little easier to let go of now. I don’t want to live the rest of my life angry about something that happened in my early twenties. All that matters is that Chelsea finally knows how I feel and isn’t walking around thinking all is good between us.