Arthur stood in the doorway, takeout bags in hand. "I brought you soup dumplings and noodles. Come eat?"
I didn't move. I just glanced calmly at the time.
He followed my gaze, paused, then offered an explanation. "They were elders, after all. Hard to brush them off, so we ended up chatting a while."
"Mm." I nodded, as if I understood.
"You haven't eaten, have you?" He reached for my hand as he spoke, meaning to lead me to the dining room.
I turned aside, slipping out of reach, and looked at him.
"Arthur."
"Let's break up."
His hand froze mid-air. He stared at me for a few seconds, then laughed under his breath.
"You're a grown woman. Why are you this jealous?"
It was always like this.
Somewhere along the way, every problem between us got recast into a teasing little "petty," a teasing little "jealous."
The problem got grafted onto me, and then he'd play the gentle one, the one big enough to forgive.
He dangled the takeout in front of me, his tone the put-upon patience you'd use to coax a sulking child.
"All right. I won't lift a finger for another woman again, I won't go out to eat on a whim, and I promise I'll beat you to the airport next time. Happy now? Come on, come eat."
He finished, turned, and headed for the living room.
My phone rang again.
It was my mom, probably asking whether I'd landed yet.
I picked up and only told her the flight was delayed, that I might not get home until late tonight.
Her voice carried a smile down the line as she asked about our marriage plans.
I thought for a moment, then told her plainly, "Mom, we're registering next week. I'll book your tickets ahead of time and bring you over."
I hung up and turned around. Arthur was standing in the doorway.
His frame sank into the shadows, and as he caught my words, that careless, just-humoring-her look finally drained away for good.
"Eveline, stop messing around."
He pressed his fingers to his brow. "Registering isn't some small thing. You don't just wave an ID around and say you're getting married."
"I've never met your parents. Mine don't know about any of this. We should take our time."
I picked up where he left off. "You can meet them tonight."
When I said it, he went quiet for two seconds.
The reluctance I'd expected.
I sidestepped the words already hanging there and told him the truth. "Besides the registration date, the wedding date's set too. November twelfth."
He stared at me, as if trying to sort out how much of it was real.
"It's less than a month until this wedding you keep talking about. The wedding photos, the venue, the plan, nothing's locked down, so what's the point of you picking a date? You—"
"Arthur," I cut him off. "My parents are coming for the registration next week. So are the relatives."
He let out a cold laugh. "Eveline, you decide all this on your own. Did it ever cross your mind that it would throw off the whole layout of my life, my plans? Did you ever once think about me?"
"Don't you think it's ridiculous, pinning your entire family on me to force a marriage? Are you that desperate to be married?"
"Could you not be this selfish."
His words came at me like knives.
But somehow they didn't hurt anymore.
In that moment, I only felt a bleak grief for eight years of my own feelings.
His life plans had always been crystal clear.
Clear enough to rank the "special" partnership project above all else, to put Ms. Winfield, the partner on that project, first.
Anniversaries, dates, trips, meeting the parents—all of it had to give way to this "special" thing.
With so much planned out, naturally he had no energy left to plan anything for a stale old relationship.
I met his gaze and tugged the corner of my mouth.
"Mm. You're right about everything."
After I said it, I turned and went back to the bedroom.
My phone happened to light up with a message from my friend. "I'm at the airport."
