Chapter Three
Bethany
Today I’m confronting Zachary about our relationship, or lack thereof. Is he in or is he out? Are we dating or are we just friends?
For months I’ve stewed over these questions but have been unwilling to rock the boat. The little voice inside my head says, “Why settle?” Just because he ran into me on a slide when I was two years old and our families think we’re perfect for each other, doesn’t mean I have to accept it.
Face it, Zach and I have been settling for quite some time now. When he needs a date for a party or event sponsored by his fancy law firm, who does Zach call? Me. The few holidays our families get together, we see each other. Every Thanksgiving and New Year’s it’s the same old, same old. Bethany and Zach joining in the family touch football game on Thanksgiving Day. Bethany and Zach toasting on New Year’s Eve. We don’t date on a regular basis. There’s no connection, desire, or passion. Our relationship has become stale and boring, but we don’t change anything.
“Bethany, how are you?” Zach answers his cell on the first ring. That’s a good sign, right?
“Great! I’d like to get together tonight. It’s Friday and I feel like being wild and crazy. How about dinner and a movie at your place? I’ll bring dinner.”
He grunts. Not even a chuckle at my poor attempt at humor.
“I’m really busy at work and I brought a ton of work home. Tonight, isn’t good for me.”
I grind my teeth at his response. How many times in the last two months has he used this excuse? Too many to count.
“You have to eat,” I say in a cajoling voice. “I’ll stop by with dinner. We need to talk.”
My words are met with silence as I wait an exceptionally long time for his response. Looking at my cell phone, I check to make sure that the call is still connected.
“Um, why do we need to talk?” He grumbles, sounding whiny.
“Because,” I say firmly. “I’ll be right over. I stopped by Yastrimski’s Deli on the way home and got those loaded sandwiches you love.”
I hang up before I have a chance to change my mind or let him whine more about how busy he is. We live in the same condominium complex, so he can’t hide from me. His car was in his usual parking spot when I got home. Grabbing the large brown paper bag filled with sandwiches, sweet tea, and chips, I rush out the door.
When I arrive at Zach’s doorstep, I lose a little of my mojo. He didn’t sound very excited to see me. Fluffing my hair and wetting my lip gloss, I ring his bell. Plastering a huge smile on my face, I wait.
Seconds seem like hours before Zach answers the door. He’s wearing a flannel shirt and ratty blue jeans. His hair is mussed as if he hasn’t combed it recently.
Not waiting for an invitation, I push my way in. Handing him the paper bag as a peace offering, I say brightly, “Yastrimski’s loaded sandwiches. The ones you love!”
The look on his face is not encouraging. He awkwardly takes the bag from me.
The smell of cigar smoke hits me and I cough. “Did you take up smoking?”
His face turns bright red as he looks at his feet. “I have company.”
The words hang awkwardly between us as if one of us just passed gas.
Peering over his shoulder, I glance into the kitchen where his colleagues Zion, Chris and Malik are sitting at the small, round table. Cards and poker chips are strewn across the wooden surface. The countertop between the stove and the sink contains three open pizza boxes and five six-packs of Budweiser. Wow! Do they plan on getting sloshed?
My eyes lock with Zach’s. His eyes contain embarrassment. Mine are filled with shock and anger.
“Why didn’t you tell me you had the guys over?” I whisper loudly.
He shrugs. No apology. No remorse. Just a shrug.
My hurt expression finally gets through his Neanderthal brain, “I said I was busy,” he lamely replies.
“Busy with work. I wanted to surprise you with food, so you could take a little break from work.” I say the word “work” with disdain, which isn’t lost on Zach.
“I was trying to spare your feelings, Bethany.” His eyes stare at the ugly shag carpet beneath his feet as if that was the most interesting thing in the room.
No, he wasn’t trying to spare my feelings. He was lying to me, plain and simple. My hand wants to slap his what-I-used-to-think-was-handsome face, but I don’t. Instead, I glare at him and confront the elephant in the room head-on. My anger doesn’t care about asking him a very personal question with his friends within earshot.
“Are we in a relationship or not, Zach?”
He runs his hand through his hair. An action I’ve seen him do many times when he’s uncomfortable. “Um, I guess so?”
The fact that he phrased his answer as a question, says everything to me. I blink back a couple of tears and clear the lump in my throat.
“We’re done, Zach. I don’t want to date you only when it’s convenient for you.”
My words come out harsher than what I intended. His hurt expression makes me feel awful. A contrite counter-statement springs to my lips. Trying to lessen the blow, I add, “Listen, we’ll always be friends. We just aren’t meant for each other, even though our moms keep pushing us together.”
A small smile crosses his face at the mention of our overly enthusiastic matchmaking moms. He looks relieved that he no longer needs to fake our relationship for the sake of our mothers. Why didn’t we end this sooner?
“Enjoy the sandwiches and the poker game.” I give him a quick hug, turn, and walk out.
As I head back to my condo, my spirits lift. I feel relieved to have shed the heavy weight of a relationship that wasn’t working off my back. I never felt any zings or tingles for Zach like I do for Chef Nick. Next Tuesday can’t come soon enough.