Chapter 3 Miz
3
MIZ
W hat’s one extra kilometre? was what I had said to myself ten minutes ago when I let my legs take a slight detour on the way “straight home.” Quitting the bliss is too hard, man. Especially when I had already been itching for a run before the incident , having missed my usual dawn run thanks to Daniel. I turn the corner to my street in the fading light and come to a screeching halt. Daniel’s car. Noooo! I look up at my tenth-floor window, my mind already imagining Daniel up there, staging an elaborate proposal scene, then opening his gym bag to get the ring out, then not finding it, then…ahhh!
I hurry into my lobby, where, thankfully, Everest is not at his desk to catch me in his usual fatherly chit-chat. I see he’s let Daniel leave his business cards on the counter again, and I scowl. When did those two get so buddy-buddy? The elevator takes for-freaking-ever, as usual, but finally, I make it to my door, bracing for the worst—balloons, roses, Daniel on bended knee holding out a twist-tie in place of a ring because for some reason he’s that determined to propose tonight.
I quietly let myself inside. Daniel is perched on a stool at my kitchen island, talking shop on the phone, his defined latissimus dorsi spread taut on either side of the backrest. I hang my keys on a hook on the wall-mounted key rack, next to the spare set that Daniel borrows on mornings when he leaves after me. He extends his arm out to me, and that’s when I see it, on the floor at his feet.
The gym bag. Mama, no.
I reluctantly take one long step from the door, bringing myself within his reach, my brain already whirring through a million possible strategies for how to get him away from the island long enough to slip the ring back in the box in his gym bag. He pulls me in for a hug and quiet kiss while he listens on the phone. I recognize his co-agent Naomi’s voice on the other line. On the countertop is paperwork and a notepad scrawled with offers and counteroffers in the seven digits.
“Unexpected developments,” he whispers into my ear.
You and me both , I think, making sure his hands don’t go anywhere near my waistband. I peel myself off him. The only thing I can think of right now is putting the ring back and then cutting Daniel loose, because I am who I am: always a bridesmaid, but dear God, never a bride.
Despite having been a dope bridesmaid at every one of the six weddings I was asked to grace with my flyness and unabashed party spirit, never have I ever believed myself to be one of those “next in line,” like in that song “Ale Gena.” No matter how loudly I bellowed the refrain with the crowd at the end of weddings to usher the newlyweds into their matrimonial future, I was not going to be a bride. Hell, I’m the only Ethiopian female in existence whose own parents have never, ever asked her about when she’s getting married.
I saunter over to the sink and pour myself a glass of water, then stand leaning against the kitchen island, drinking and watching him talk. I’m trying to calm the anxiety in me and appear casual, cool, chill.
When Daniel finishes the call, he pulls me in over the top of the kitchen island for a deep kiss that almost wipes out my recollection of recent events, were it not for the hardness of the ring cutting into my skin against the counter.
“How was your day?” he says into my mouth.
Before I can answer, his phone chimes. We both look down at the caller ID. It’s Naomi again. “Damn, y’all are on fire today,” I say, sliding my finger across the screen. “I just want to say hi,” I say to Daniel. I like Naomi a lot. She’s like a cool older aunt slash mentor who convinced Daniel to leave Calgary and relicense to work in the Toronto real estate market.
But before I have a chance to say a word, a breathy female voice fills the air. “Tell me again what you’re gonna do to me tonight, baby.”
My jaw drops, and I look up at Daniel, stunned. His hand is frozen, reaching for the phone on the counter, and he looks just as shocked as me. After a few seconds of dead air, I inhale sharply, as if to speak. I don’t even know what I’m going to say, but then I start coughing uncontrollably.
Daniel quickly takes the phone off speaker and slaps it to his ear. “Hello?” he says urgently. He looks at the screen, his face full of sheer panic.
“I guess she hung up?” I say hoarsely, finding my voice between coughs. “What the fuck, Daniel? That is so nasty.” I stare at him. I am so mad, but it’s entirely on principle. This guy is fixing to propose to me, but he has a side piece…who is Naomi ? Or should I say sugar mama? It’s so gross…but also kind of perfect. This makes breaking up with him a million times easier. Relief fills me, and I suddenly feel lighter. Sure, the fact that Daniel is sleeping with her hurts a bit, but a bruised ego is a small price to pay to have a breakup excuse served to me on a silver platter. “I can’t believe you!” I say, trying to make myself sound as devastated as possible. “Unbelievable!” Without waiting for him to respond, I dramatically storm off to my bedroom.
When I realize he isn’t following me, I whirl around and see him sweeping his papers off the counter and into his shoulder bag. Then I watch as he picks up his gym bag and heads for the door without saying a word. I, and my shattered trust, could not matter less to him.
“What’re you doing?” I say, my voice coming out as an unintended squeak. “Are you actually leaving , Daniel?”
“I gotta go.” He glances at me before he steps out the door, but his face is completely blank.
“Excuse me?” I yell, now angry. I hurry after him, grabbing the door before it slams and following him out to the hallway. I’m not an expert on proposals, but I’m pretty sure this is not how the lead-up is supposed to go. And besides, I’m the one who’s supposed to throw him out. That was the plan, after I put that ring back.
While he jabs at the Down elevator button, I say the only thing I can think of, trying not to barf as I say it. “You leave now, you can consider us over!”
Daniel finally looks at me, and when he does, it’s as though I’ve just spoken gibberish. “ Us ? When has there ever been an ‘us,’ Miz?”
The player is stealing all my lines! “Seriously, Daniel?” I sputter. I don’t know what else to say. Everything is happening so fast. I’ve completely lost my bearings. I’ve lost control of the situation. The elevator arrives and dings open, already filled with a few people. Daniel all but dives in and starts pushing at the button to close the doors.
“Wait!” I call out feebly, but I don’t make a move to follow him in. I’m not trying to broadcast my business out to the elevator, lobby or beyond. As the doors slide shut, he’s not even looking at me, but down at his phone, redialling Naomi. “What the… what? ” I hiss to an empty hallway. I grab my phone out of my armband and call Daniel. He immediately declines my call. How ironic. I’m supposed to be declining him— no, goodbye, we’re through —and he’s supposed to beg for forgiveness, scramble to explain, try to win me back. Instead, he bounces? He leaves me ?
I stomp back to my apartment angrily, wounded. In the kitchen, I toss my phone on the countertop and rush to the windows. Daniel is pacing outside his car, talking on the phone. Judging from his frantic gestures, I’m sure he’s talking to Naomi . I watch him pace for a few moments, then he hangs up, gets into the driver’s side and peels off like an F1 racer.
I throw my hands out. “Uh, okay! See you later, I guess?” I suddenly remember the ring and extract it from my waistband and stare at it. What now? What was I going to do with this thing now? I didn’t want this in my condo. I shuffle over to my bedroom and open my nightstand drawer. With one final glance at the sparkling stone, I tuck the ring in the back corner of the drawer. “This is temporary,” I say to it, as if it has feelings about being abandoned in the dark.
I straighten up, and as I do, I see, at the base of my bedside lamp, my AirPods. Of course that’s where Daniel left them . I scowl at them—they started this whole mess in the first place. I scoop up the white case and plop down on my lumpy mattress, sighing as I examine them. Clogged with Daniel’s earwax, of course. Gross. Can’t even respect my property, but you thought I would marry you? I roll the edge of a tissue to a point and start cleaning them. Something nags at me. Something’s off . In fact, multiple somethings are off. Why would Daniel plan to propose to me but have someone on the side? And why would he haul ass to do damage control with her instead of salvaging what he has with me? Why, in all the time we dated and he borrowed my AirPods, had he never cleaned the damn things ever , like, not even once? It’s the least a guy could do for the woman he’s planning to wife up!
Oh. Oh, Miz, you sweet idiot.
I drop my hands to my lap, sending the AirPods to the floor.
Why? Because the ring wasn’t meant for you, Miz . It was meant for her .
I get very still. I’m the side action? Then I unravel, sliding down to the floor with relief. Thank you, baby Christos. I knew the ring didn’t make sense. I knew that what Daniel and I were doing wasn’t that serious.
But then my relief dissipates as I realize that I’ve not only stolen—let’s call it what it is—Daniel’s property, but I’m blocking another woman’s happiness. I groan. Even if I may personally think I’m doing Naomi a favour, this is bad. Really bad.
I pull the drawer open slowly and peer in. The diamond twinkles at me from its dark corner like a sad little alien. “I’ll get you back to him,” I promise it. Or rather, to his gym bag. I don’t know how I’ll manage that, but somehow, I’ll make this right. I close the drawer again, this time with solemnity, feeling heavy with this burden that could have been so easily avoided, if for once in my life I had stopped running when I was supposed to.