I’m still staring.

“Married,” I repeat. I realize I sound dumb. It’s just that this is so unexpected. “But our relationship hasn’t been going well,” I say. “Why would we get married?”

“I think it’s been a bit tricky because we’ve been together for so long but haven’t committed. And the more I thought about it, the more I realized it’s never going to be perfect. You’re not perfect; I’m not perfect. And you know what? Perfection is boring.”

My head is spinning. Married to David? We barely kiss anymore, and although we share a bed a few nights a week, it hasn’t been the same in months. There was no sign this was going to happen. I can’t marry him. Can I? People do get married for all sorts of reasons. Caring about each other. I do care about him. Financial stability, which I would have with him. Good-looking kids. I would have that too. A nice house. Yes, I’m sure. I guess if you put all these things on a list, they’d make sense. But what about love? What about trust? What about imagining growing old with that person and smiling, not cringing?

“I didn’t get you a ring. I thought we could go together to Tiffany’s and you can pick it. I’m not sure which one you’d want.”

What about knowing each other’s likes and dislikes?

“David, look, I—”

“Don’t give me an answer now. Think about it. I’ll be back tonight, and—”

“Where are you going?”

“To the Yankees game with Jason, remember?”

I don’t remember. Maybe he told me, but like with most things lately, I’ve filtered it out.

“Are we happy together? I mean—”

He frowns. “I’m happy.”

I’m genuinely shocked. “With me?”

“Yes, with you. Are you not happy? If you’re not happy, why are we still together?”

That’s a good question. A valid question.

“I love you,” he says and I want to say it back. It’s that easy. Just say, ‘I love you too.’ But the words don’t come out.

“Tomorrow, let’s go ring shopping.”

He leans down to kiss me and I let him.

I feel nothing. This is bad. Worse than I thought.

An hour later, he’s ready to leave.

I’ve always thought we are all born equal. Equal parts coward, equal parts brave. In time, our personality, our experiences push the scale one way or another. Am I braver or more coward? Tonight has shown me that although I might have changed in the last year, a lot has stayed the same. I am still more coward. So, I don’t tell him what I want to. What I’ve wanted to tell him for a year.

There’s nothing left between us.

Sixteen

I know what I must do. I think I’ve known it for a while…

As soon as he leaves, I call my mother. I usually call her on Saturdays and we already spoke yesterday, so she’ll immediately know that something is off.