22 Lucas Loses Everything

July 22nd

Darren's fancy-schmancy work party was on the horizon, which meant that I'd spent the last two hours in the fitting room of his favorite boutique, making sure that whatever I wore would be absolutely perfect.

"Hm. No," he said in regards to a sleek, powder blue suit I came out modeling. "I told you, a black suit is classic. Mature."

"Yeah, and boring."

"Boring like me?" Darren leaned forward on the chaise he'd been lounging on. "We have to match, Lucas. My plus-one is a reflection on me, I told you that."

"I know, but—" I arched around to check the mirror, admiring the tastefully subtle little sparkles across the jacket lapels. "Gray is blah, and black washes me out."

Darren got to his feet with a soft sigh. "Black is slimming, Lucas."

My heart sank, and my fingers crept protectively to my stomach.

"So sorry to interrupt," interrupted the fitting-room attendant, holding out several more options. "But may I perhaps offer a compromise? A rich, midnight blue for instance? Or this—" he presented me with a lovely suit with a satin trim "—a sea-glass green, would really bring out your eyes."

It was a marvelous color. "I love that," I said, deliberating between it and the blue I was wearing. "I'm torn. I love the sparkles, though ... What do you think, in your professional opinion?"

The attendant's eyes flickered from Darren to me. He cleared his throat. "Well. It is true that black is timeless, and a very dapper choice for a formal event—"

"See?" Darren angled his chin at the fitting room before turning to the attendant. "He'll do the black."

We drove back to his house in tense silence, my fingers clenching together in my lap. The atmosphere was stifling, and I braved a glance over at Darren gripping the steering wheel. "I think that poor attendant thought we were gonna start fighting or something. Make a whole spectacle slap-fighting in front of the customers ..." I shot him a careful smile, "destroy the fitting room in the throes of passion?"

"Oh," Darren said coolly, "was that why you were flirting with him?"

I'd been avoiding this conversation since the Skyler incident. I steadied myself. "Okay, why do you always think I'm flirting with service people? It's their job to be nice and friendly. I am nice and friendly—"

"It's not about being nice and friendly," Darren snapped, pulling smoothly up to the house. "It's about being embarrassing." He stepped out of the car, slamming the door shut.

"Embarrassing?" I followed him into the house, mouth agape. I had braced myself for another few hours of soothing Darren's ego, reassuring him of my fidelity—not whatever this was. "You're embarrassed by me?"

Darren tossed his keys onto the kitchen counter with a loud crack against the granite. "That's not the point. I thought we were past this."

"Past what?" I stood in the kitchen doorway staring at him, my pulse racing. "What are you talking about?"

Darren scrubbed the roots of his hair, gazing up at the ceiling for a long moment. "Maybe you shouldn't come to the dinner."

I inched closer, his words buzzing in my ears. "Darren, what? Why? I—" I gently reached for him and he allowed me to hold his arm. "Maybe I'm stupid, but just explain it to me, okay? I don't know what you're talking about—"

"Lucas." His voice was colder this time. "You're always looking for validation. From me, from random servers, from the goddamn teenager you pay to fawn over you all day. It's exhausting. And childish."

I was frozen, still gripping Darren's arm like a lifeline. I couldn't breathe.

"I need to be taken seriously at work, Lucas—" he shifted, taking hold of my shoulders "—and I can't have you sashaying around this party asking people if they like your sparkles."

"I-I wouldn't do that; I know how important this dinner is for you, I won't say anything. We bought the black suit, we'll match, just like you wanted." I spread my arms helplessly. "I won't talk to any servers or smile at any waiters, I promise."

Darren groaned. "I told you, that's not the point."

"Then what is the point?"

"The point is this was a mistake." It came out of him in a rush, like he was out of breath. He dropped his eyes, fiddling with the corner of the counter. He looked ... unsteady.

Darren was never unsteady.

"What's a mistake?" I asked, barely above a whisper.

He swallowed, still avoiding my gaze. "Us. This. I don't know if it makes sense anymore. I don't know if it ever did."

My chest hollowed out, and I was shaking. "What do you mean? This has been working since high school—"

High school, where he'd been there for me through the death of my dad, through the bouts of bullying, through my first kiss, my first time, my first—

"As a hookup, Lucas," Darren said, and my rib cage shattered. "I need to settle down and think of my future. We're almost thirty and you're just fucking around with horses all day at a job you got from your mom, pretending you're going to be a real photographer."

My feet seemed to sink into the floor. "Why are you talking to me like this? I-I don't understand, Darren, you were the one who wanted to make this official—"

Darren scoffed, stepping backward. He held up his hands defensively. "Don't act like you weren't desperate for this to happen. Like you haven't been planning our wedding since sophomore year."

"I haven't! I—" Now I was the one short of breath. "Is ... is this why you didn't want me to move in?" I was going to be sick. "You want commitment and to settle down? I'm giving you that! How can I be pressuring you to move too fast but also not be serious enough?"

Darren stared back, quietly deflating. My heart hung in my throat, watching as he rubbed the back of his neck. "I didn't see it going this far, that's why." He slid his hands into his pockets and hung his head, peering up at me from below his hair. "I think we should take a break."

And there it was.

I grasped for something, anything to reason with him, to convince him he was wrong about us, wrong about me, but all that came out was: "But I don't know what I did wrong!"

"Lucas," and how dare he sound so tired, so done, "you're not right for me. At least not now."

All my fears, all my insecurities that had accumulated since high school came crashing down around me. My head buzzed, my hands went numb. "Then when? It's been ten years, what more can I do—"

Darren shrugged, like he wasn't breaking my heart into pieces. "I don't know that there's anything to do. I need someone serious, someone with discipline, and I don't think it's fair to push you anymore. You are who you are."

"Darren, please, I'll do whatever you want, I can be that person, I can—" I was crying, sniveling like a child, but I couldn't stop, couldn't breathe; I would get on my knees and beg, Please don't do this. "I love you, and I know you care about me. I-I can be whatever you want me to be. Just don't—"

"Lucas, I can't be whatever you want me to be. I'm trying to become somebody, and you ... you're holding me back. I thought we could evolve together, but I don't think you can." He was standing straight again, immune to my tears, the way I reached for him. "Don't make this harder." Darren held out his palm.

I didn't understand, nothing was making sense, and I could barely see through the haze that was hovering at the edges of my vision.

"My key, Lucas."

Somehow my fingers found my key ring, fumbling over the shape of his house key, the one I'd waited so long to be given, which he had given me. I let it tremble into his hand. "Please—"

And Darren smiled, and I knew that smile—it was the one he always wore when listening to me talk about my photos, or about the future, or when, for some brief, gleaming moment, I was proud of myself.

It wasn't sweet—it was pitying.

"Take care of yourself, Lucas." He slipped his hands into his pockets, then jerked his chin toward the door. And stared at me.

I couldn't breathe, but I forced my feet to move, to push me back outside into hateful sunlight, down the front walk to my car.