38. Grant
Grant
Annabelle: You were right
Grant: About?
Annabelle: Western Greetings is not for me
Grant: So you’re coming back?
Annabelle: Just to pick up my stuff
Grant: When?
Annabelle: I’m waiting for Kat to have a weekend off
Annabelle: …
Annabelle: I’ll be sure to stop by and say hi
She’s gone. She’s gone and I’m miserable.
I’ll stop by and say hi. Like we’re distant acquaintances. Someone you smile at in the grocery store while you keep walking. Nod if they’re at the next gas pump but don’t say anything beyond, “Hello,” and “Cold enough for you?” and “Take care.”
She’s going to be it was nice to see you, instead of I can’t wait to see you again.
It’s my own damn fault. I knew who Annabelle was. I knew what she wanted—out of life, out of a relationship, from herself—and I jumped in anyway.
At the very last minute, I tried to change myself into someone else. I tried to become a man I’m not capable of being. I don’t have it in me. She knows it. I know it. That’s how we got here.
And I hate it here.