Hava Reynolds was the popular rich girl with her talent for drawing everyone thought she would become a famous fashion designer like she always said.
Nine years after high school, Hava juggles three part-time jobs and secretly hopes to become a web...
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Grace sighs, "I'm sorry, Julian, to go on like this."
"No, it's okay, talk to me," I smile as I take her hand and rub it gently.
Comforting is what I'm supposed to be, right?
To console, that's what women expect in this situation. What I hope is for Grace to stop the emotional leak. I like my mentally stable Grace; I can't handle burnout and other mental pathologies. I've been there, done that, and it sucks.
People are captivated by a person's psychic when they meet them; what hooks me is stability. Being psychologically stable and healthy is my turn-on. Grace happens to have all that in a beautiful envelope. I couldn't ask for more.
But right now, if she's going to flip mode, I don't know if I can bear it.
"Julian, are you okay?"
"I'm fine."
Marco puts down Grace's Calzoné and my seafood pizza on the table.
To my surprise, Grace starts eating her pizza without looking at mine.
"You want some," I say, pushing my plate toward her.
"No, I'm fine."
I break a sweat.
For some reason, I feel there's something wrong, and because I know there's a problem, I don't want to ask, yet I think it's the cue she needs. Grace is waiting for me to follow through with action. So, I stall, eat quietly, and avoid looking at her.
Shit, this isn't how our date is supposed to go. What on earth happened?
I lift my head to look at her, and she glares.
The fork and the bite I was going to take remain stuck midway to my mouth as I look at Grace. I can't pretend anymore.
"Is there something wrong?"
"Let's break up."
NOOOOOOOOOO, OH MY GOD! OH, MY SWEET LITTLE JESUS IN HAYSTACK.
"Graceㅡ."
Right now, I hope I will wake up. Can someone wake me up? Because I'm in a shitty nightmare here.
I wish I had heard wrong. Grace and I spent 273,75 days together. She can't possibly want to end it. This blonde little angel is the one I'm supposed to go all the way down that aisle, which ends with a say-I-do-here sign.
In a year, we would get engaged. Ten months later, we would get married and have two kids. Preferably twins, because it's practical, you go through the growing pains all at once. No, Grace can't break up with me.
"Julian, you're a great guyㅡ."
HERE COMES THE BIG SHIT, PLEASE SAY ANYTHING EXCEPT "IT'S NOT YOU, IT'S ME."
