Chapter 21
Twenty-One
NOVEMBER 7 YEARS AGO
“Y ou look beautiful.” Warren smiles at me when I walk out of the bedroom dressed for date night. And while I know he means it, it doesn’t reach his eyes. My stomach twists even more, making me feel worse than I already do.
The past few weeks he’s been acting a little strange. I originally wrote it off as frustration and stress from interviewing. At first, he wouldn’t seriously consider getting another job, but after another round of promotions where he didn’t get his deserved title, he understandably got fed up. He’s been actively applying and has had a good number of interviews over the past weeks.
But it’s more than just that. He’s been more secretive lately, cancelling our lunch plans or running out after work before coming home. At times he has even been standoffish, ignoring me in a room to whisper with Trent in the corner and changing the conversation when I get near.
If I didn’t trust him so much, I might’ve been tempted to believe he was cheating. But aside from the fact that he’s been ravenous when we get back home each night, I know that he’s not the kind of man to do that. And even though I truly believe, in my heart of hearts, that he’s getting ready to propose, and I’ve been so excited in anticipation, the change in his behavior still unsettles me.
Earlier in the week, when he told me he planned a date night for us tonight, I tried to hide a squeal. What better place to propose than on the hill outside of Il Piacere where he first asked me out and we had our first date?
He seemed excited too, and it only fueled my theories.
Until today.
Today he’s been distant. The sun has set in his eyes, and his smile isn’t as bright as usual. It’s unnerving. Even as we walk to the restaurant hand in hand, it’s in silence. I start overthinking. Is his grip on my hand lighter than usual? Is he not looking over at me because there’s bad news coming tonight? Is the silence only heavy to me or does he feel it too? Is he going to break up with me here, in the same spot he asked me out, so that when he walks away he can start fresh, as if we never happened?
The negative thoughts won’t stop berating me, and I try to hide the fact that it’s getting hard to breathe as we’re led to a table on the back patio. He pulls out my chair for me, but his smile is still dim. As he orders us lobster ravioli and a bottle of our favorite white wine—which we only order on special occasions—I’m not sure what to think. But the silence needs to end.
“How are your interviews going?” I ask. “You hear anything new?”
His face becomes more guarded. “Can we not talk about work for now?”
“Of course,” I say, confused. “Did you have something in mind?”
He shrugs and the wine turns sour in my stomach. “No, I just want to enjoy a work-free evening with my girl.”
Something isn’t right here. I feel like I might cry or be sick—or both. This isn’t my Warren staring back at me. He might as well be a stranger.
We struggle through dinner with small talk that’s not even remotely important and is so far from the witty and deep conversations we usually have. I can barely eat because the unease only builds the longer we’re here.
He pays the bill, and we walk towards our bench on the top of the hill. The city below us is its usual sea of lights that’s so beautiful that, for a second, I focus on the familiarity of the lights to forget the strangeness of this night.
“Analise,” he says, and when I turn toward him, he looks so nervous that I let myself hope again that he’s proposing. What else could explain all the strange behavior?
“Warren,” I goad when he doesn’t say anything else and the corners of his mouth twitch up.
There , that’s a flash of my Warren. Maybe he’s just so nervous it’s making him act this way. He takes a deep breath, and my eyes widen in anticipation of the words: Analise, will you marry me?
“I got a job offer,” is what he says instead, and I blink for a moment before registering the words. It’s an adjustment from what I thought I was going to hear, but it’s still good news.
“Oh my god,” I squeal. “Warren, that’s incredible.”
I throw my arms around his neck and hold on tight, but he doesn’t move to hug me back. My heart drops. He’s been nervous, he didn’t want to talk about work, and he’s not hugging me back. My face drops— no . I never asked where the jobs he was applying for were. I knew most of them, but there were some he didn’t talk about, saying it was a long shot that he’d be selected for those positions, so they weren’t worth mentioning. I just assumed he was only looking in the area.
“I’m moving to Washington D.C.,” he finally says. “I start in the new year.”
Apparently, I assumed wrong.
“You accepted already?” I ask, pulling back. My head is spinning; what’s happening here?
“The offer was too good to refuse,” he says. “They called today.”
“Warren.” I shake my head, but a smile grows on my face. “That’s amazing. I’m so proud of you.”
“Really?” His hesitance is so charming, but some of that light is coming back.
This could work. I’ve heard Washington D.C. is beautiful, I’m sure I’ll love it there too. It shouldn’t be too hard to find another actuarial job there—there’s a lot of good companies that operate there.
“Of course.” I throw my arms back around him and this time his slowly wrap around me. “I knew it wouldn’t be long until someone realized how amazing my man was and snatched him up.”
“How did I get so lucky?” he mumbles before kissing my cheek. “I love you.”
“And I love you.” I pull back and kiss him. All of my unease disappears when he deepens the kiss.
I sigh against his lips. In a few months we might be kissing in a whole new state. I wonder what life will be like for us there.
His fingers move up to stroke my cheek and the love I see when he looks at me is overwhelming. “Don’t worry, we’ll make long-distance work.”
Wait, what?
I stop breathing, ears ringing. Long-distance?
I stare blankly at him, not understanding at first but then I replay the conversation in my head. “I’m moving,” he said. Not us. Not do I want to come too. Just him.
Oh. My. God.
He’s not inviting me to go with him. He’s just leaving.
I’ve been quiet for too long—his face is starting to scrunch up with worry. I swallow to help my dry throat, but my voice is still hoarse when I answer, “Of course, we’ll make it work.”
He’s leaving. He’s leaving. He’s leaving.
“I love you so much, Analise.”
Then why are you leaving? Why aren’t you asking me to come with you?
My voice is almost robotic when I respond, “I love you, too.”
He’s leaving.
Is he leaving me?