Chapter 19 Jon
JON
I’ve never broken up with someone before.
As a thirty-two year old adult, that probably makes me sound like such a dweeb.
I’ve had casual girlfriends, but they ended things before I could.
Or, the relationships just naturally fizzled out on their own.
Nicolette is my first serious relationship.
The few close friends I have call me a late bloomer.
They’re not wrong. I had a pretty sheltered childhood and when I left home, I had to learn a lot of life lessons on my own, without anyone’s help or guidance.
Regardless of what happens between me and Margeaux, Nicolette and I can’t continue.
Meeting Margeaux helped me see the writing on the wall that I turned a blind eye to.
I ignored all the passive aggressiveness that Nicolette uses when we talk.
She looks down on others who may not be as well-off as she is.
She’s manipulative, and pushy. If she really cared about me, or my feelings, she wouldn’t have put a deposit on a million-dollar condo without talking with me about it.
I’m not breaking up with Nicolette to prove anything to Margeaux. I’m doing this for me.
I didn’t choose to become a doctor because of the money. Maybe that’s something Nicolette doesn’t understand about me; status and money aren’t things I care about. I just want to help people.
Even listening to her order her breakfast is irritating. Have I always been so oblivious? Why am I just seeing the real Nicolette now?
“The egg-white omelet. No tomatoes. Ugh, such disgusting and slimy things,” she says to me over her menu.
She’s said this before, and I guess I just ignored it, too swept up by the idea that a woman as pretty as her was remotely interested in a guy like me.
“And no tomatoes on his omelet either. I’ll be sick to my stomach if a tomato touches my plate.
” The poor waiter is doing his best to ignore her pretentious attitude, but every new request she makes grates on his nerves.
I put myself through college and medical school by working in restaurants.
I only had my GED from high school and no real skills.
I was given a job as a dishwasher, which was the most humbling year of my life.
I worked my way up to busboy, prep cook, food runner, barback.
I did it all. When I finally became a waiter, I learned how fickle customers can be.
“Actually, I’m not having an omelet,” I cut Nicolette off. “Finish your order, and then I’ll tell Danny what I’d like,” I say sternly.
She gives me a puzzled look, almost glaring at me.
Early in our relationship, I wanted her to feel comfortable with me, so I let her order for me one time, and she insisted on doing it every time after that.
I never argued, and maybe that’s why I’m in this mess.
I never pushed back. I worried more about her happiness and not rocking the boat.
Well, if I’ve learned anything from my tatted badass wrestler, it’s that it’s okay to rock the boat and make a splash every once in a while.
“Oh. Are you sure, babe? I don’t want you to order something and be disappointed. You always like what I order for you,” Nicolette says under her breath, because how awful would it be if Danny hears us bickering.
“I’m sure. Finish your order so we can stop being a nuisance to Danny,” I say apologetically to the young kid.
Another habit I’ve picked up is always addressing wait staff by their names. They’re often ignored and disregarded. When I waited tables, one customer always used my name and it was so different. It made me feel like a person, rather than just a random figure in the background.
Nicolette’s eyes blink rapidly as she tries to compute my newfound attitude. “Fine. So, no tomatoes. I’d also like a side salad. No tomato.”
“We actually don’t serve salads for breakfast or brunch, miss,” Danny says politely. I can feel his patience waning by the second.
“But there’s spinach in my omelet. Could the chef not just take some extra spinach and make me a side salad as well?”
“I mean. I can ask,” he says, making a note on his note pad.
“Yes. Do ask. And, with my salad, I’d like a balsamic dressing, on the side. I also would like my salad before my omelet comes out.”
“Um. Sure,” Danny says, nodding in defeat.
“And another mimosa. This time, put some good champagne in it. This one tasted disgusting,” she says with a grimace. The disgusting champagne didn’t stop her from almost finishing the entire glass.
“I’ll be sure to tell the bartender, miss.”
“Good.” Nicolette closes her menu and raises her eyebrows at me, letting me know she’s finished ordering. Not even a ‘thank you’ to Danny for being patient and accommodating.
“I’ll have the meat lover’s breakfast special, with an extra side of hashbrowns. I’m good with just water. Thanks so much, Danny.”
“You got it, boss.” He tosses me an appreciative smile for being easy-going and hurries away from our table before Nicolette can corner him again.
“The meat lover’s breakfast?! Jon! You’re going to be a sweaty, greasy mess after that,” she berates me.
Not as much of a mess as I was last night between Margeaux’s thighs.
I try to cover up my smile and force my semi away. I need to focus.
“You were really rude to our waiter,” I tell her.
“Me? He was being difficult. It’s his job to make sure I get what I want,” she huffs like a fucking child. I swear, I have patients with more maturity than her.
“No. His job is to serve you food and drinks. It’s the middle of the brunch rush on a Sunday morning, Nicolette.
It’s a major inconvenience for waiters to bring an order in with a bunch of specifications and substitutions.
And it’s not like you were apologetic about it, or in any way gracious for his efforts,” I argue.
“Why should I apologize for wanting things the way that I want? It’s a restaurant.
You’re going to tell me that they can’t whip me up a salad?
Please, Jon. You’re being childish right now.
” She finishes her cheap mimosa, giving me her iciest glare.
“What’s got you so upset, babe? Is it work?
You seemed so stressed last night. You never spend the night at the hospital. ”
“I needed space after yesterday,” I tell her.
“Oh? From me?”
“Yes. I was very upset about you signing a lease for that condo yesterday after I told you we needed to talk about it.”
“Oh. It’s just silly paperwork to get the ball rolling.
Meredith told me she was getting e-mails from interested buyers while we were out at coffee after the showing.
If I didn’t submit an application, they wouldn’t even consider our offer when we put it in.
No decisions have been made yet, babe. This is just how things work.
I want to be helpful. You’re so busy at work.
Let me take care of this for us.” She gives me a sweet smile and her voice is a couple decibels higher, making her come off as angelic.
If this had happened a couple of weeks ago, I would probably sink back in my chair and nod in agreement, telling myself the same mantra that my parents ingrained in me as a kid: it’s the right thing to do, Jon.
But now, I’m having a clarifying moment like I did when I was sixteen years old. They don’t know what’s best for me. Neither does Nicolette.
“I don’t want to move in together, Nicolette.”
Her jaw ticks and she squares her tiny, boring shoulders, with no personality or beautiful art. I want Margeaux’s shoulders with layers of muscle and dozens of colors painted on her skin.
“Well, of course not right now, silly.” She chuckles, letting out a breath of relief. “I’m not ready to move in together either, Jon.”
I lower my defenses, feeling utterly confused by her.
“This condo will be yours, and I’ll move in eventually. But it’s time we set you up with a better place to live. You have to admit, it’s close to the hospital. I just want to help you, babe. I’ll move in whenever you’re ready. I didn’t mean for you to feel rushed. We’re still young.”
She’s got me doing mental gymnastics. She’s saying all the right things, and maybe I have been looking for reasons to be angry with her because of my situation with Margeaux.
It’s not like Margeaux wanted me to stay last night.
She told me to leave. Should I have fought harder to stay?
I don’t know what would have happened; I know I’d be happier listening to Margeaux’s brutal honesty than trying to read through Nicolette’s feigned kindness.
“I’m running to the bathroom real quick. I’m glad we’re having this talk, babe. I hope you feel better getting this off your chest.” She gets up before I can ask her to stay.
Is this the kind of life I want for myself?
Having conversations with a woman who thinks she knows what’s best for me?
Nicolette projected herself as goal-oriented and caring.
And maybe she is, but I also know she moved to Paramount with the intention of staying here and living a comfortable life.
To have a comfortable life in Paramount requires money.
Am I just a meal ticket for her? I know the answer.
I guess I was hoping she wanted me for more than my job title and future earning potential.
Would I rather be the long-distance hook-up buddy to an impulsive, professional athlete?
Without flinching, my answer is yes. Margeaux is unpredictable.
A future with her isn’t guaranteed, but she’ll never make me choose between my career and my relationship.
She’s just as passionate about her job. She’s motivated.
She’s kind to the people who have earned her kindness.
She’s real. She’s sexy as hell. Margeaux is definitely the wrong thing to do.
And I’ve never felt more confident making a bad decision.
“Has that lazy waiter still not come back with my mimosa?” Nicolette scoffs as she returns to her seat.
I reach for my wallet and get out of my seat.
“I’m leaving, Nicolette.”
“Huh?”
“I’m leaving this restaurant. I’m leaving this relationship. I’m leaving you.”
“WHAT!?” she shrieks, drawing the attention of everyone in the restaurant.
“I don’t want to be in a relationship with you any longer. I’m not happy. I’m not the person who can give you the life you want. I’m done.”
“No! Jon! We’re not done talking about this!” She follows and tries grabbing my arm.
“Don’t touch me, Nicolette.” She bites her bottom lip and starts forcing out tears, hoping I’ll change my mind. “Did you hear me say that I’m not happy? I don’t want this anymore. I’m sure you’ll find someone else. We’re done.”
I tug my arm out of her perfectly manicured hand. I pass by Danny on my way out of the restaurant and give him some cash to cover our bill and his troubles. The moment I’m outside, I feel a hundred times lighter.
I jog over to Margeaux’s hotel, ready to tell her that we don’t have to be serious, but we deserve to give this connection between us a shot. I recognize the employee at the front desk from when I left the hotel last night. I take a shot talking to her.
“Hey. I was here visiting a friend last night. She’s in room 419. I want to surprise her. Is there any way you can give me a copy of her room key?” I ask, giving my best friendly doctor smile.
“Ohhh. Sure.” Her face blushes as she types into her computer and then hands me a key card. “Don’t tell anyone I did this for you,” she whispers as she gives me a wink.
I snatch the card from her; shouting thank you as I run for the elevators. I get to Margeaux’s room, hoping to catch her in bed so I can apologize to her with my face between her thighs again. She doesn’t have her press thing with Brice Strickland for another hour or so.
I unlock her room door and quietly enter. It’s dark inside, the blinds completely shut.
I search for the bed in the dark and notice that it’s empty.
“Margeaux?” I whisper, letting my eyes adjust to the darkness.
This isn’t a big room. It takes me all of two minutes to realize she’s not here. In fact, none of her things are here. Her bags are gone, none of her toiletries are in the bathroom. What the fuck? Where is she?
I switch on a light, and the only thing in the room is an open letter and a black envelope on the bedside table.