8. Leo

8

LEO

She stares at me with wide and curious eyes, asking a question I should have known was coming. But even when you know something is coming, you’re still not prepared for how it blindsides you.

I take a drink, thinking about why I feel weird answering her. Maybe because there was a part of me that liked being able to say to Lulu that I was getting married. Maybe some vestigial part liked the shield it provided.

She must take my silence to mean something else, since she fills it. “I’m not upset that Amy didn’t want to invite me to the wedding. It’s okay. I understand. I mean, I love weddings. I love all weddings. They make me cry. I always cry at weddings, no matter what. But you know that. I cried at mine. Of course I’d totally cry at yours too.”

A sharp pain lashes me at the memory of her wedding, but as I’ve learned to do, I shove it away, stuff it into a corner, and ignore the fuck out of it. I rub my hand over the back of my neck, half tempted to play with her only because it’d be funny, and Lulu loves jokes.

But it would also be cruel, so I choose honesty. “We’re not engaged anymore.”

Her jaw hits the floor, cartoon cash register–style. “What?”

“She’s not my fiancée anymore.”

For a second, it looks like Lulu is rearranging her lips from a grin to a ruler, and I don’t know why she’d do that. I must have imagined it.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” She reaches for my hand and squeezes.

I will myself to feel nothing. I do feel nothing. “It’s fine. There’s no need to apologize. It’s all for the best.”

“Why didn’t it work out? She’s great. You two were perfect together.”

“We were great together. She’s thoughtful and kind. She remembers birthdays and anniversaries. She liked to restore old furniture with me. She’s pretty, and I definitely loved her.”

“But that wasn’t enough? It doesn’t sound like there’s any animosity, so I’m guessing there was no cheating or dismemberment?”

I crack up at her Lulu-ism. “There was no dismemberment, nor disembowelment. Only disengagement.”

She frowns. “Really?” She seems immeasurably saddened by this, like I’ve somehow committed a sin against love.

“Sometimes love isn’t enough. Sometimes it can’t bridge the distance and the miles.” I take a drink, reflecting on my year in South America, away from my then-fiancée. “And sometimes absence doesn’t make the heart grow fonder. In fact, shitty broadband service makes the heart grow weaker.”

“Seriously? You broke up because of bad internet connections?”

“I wasn’t in major cities. We couldn’t keep in touch. I remember calling her one night, and the entire conversation was like a bad commercial. Can you hear me? Can you hear me now? I can’t hear you. I still can’t hear you. It wasn’t really conducive to maintaining a relationship.”

Lulu stares at me like I’m speaking in Morse code. “You split up because it was hard to make a phone call from South America?”

Apprehension crawls into my muscles. “Yes. And we didn’t see each other often either.”

She leans closer across the table, her eyes locked on mine. “But you loved her?”

I grit my teeth, breathe out through my nose. “Yes, Lulu, but it’s not always poetic. It’s not about love conquering all. Hell, you ought to know that better than anyone.”

She looks away, swallowing hard, and instantly, I feel like a jerk. But I also don’t want to explain all my choices to her. “I tried as hard as I could with Amy, and it wasn’t working—case closed.”

She pinches the bridge of her nose, sighing. “Sorry I pressed you on it.”

And I feel like a total shit now. “I didn’t mean to get angry.”

She flaps her hand in front of her, exonerating me. “No, it’s okay. Sometimes I get caught up in all the poetry-of-love nonsense. My God, I was all about that.” She forces out a self-deprecating laugh.

I soften my voice. I can’t ever stay annoyed with her. “You weren’t all about poetry. You were practical too, Lulu. You tried hard always, especially at the end. Don’t beat yourself up.”

“You were always the practical one.” She exhales as if she’s sorting out her emotions. “I understand what you’re saying. I just liked Amy, and I was happy for you. It seemed like you’d finally found your person.”

Was Amy my person? I’d like to think, for some people, there’s not one person, as in the one and only. I hope that’s the case.

“Amy was great. And I don’t mean to sound cold and calculating. I loved Amy. I didn’t propose to her on a whim. I proposed to her because I wanted to be with her. But duty called, and that was what I did. Even if the relationship was collateral damage. I was too busy with work, and I was committed to making the deals I was assigned to make. I couldn’t do both.”

“She didn’t want to wait?”

“I don’t think either one of us did. Look, in the end I suppose we could have chosen to be patient and see what happened after a year. But she chose one thing, and I chose another.”

“Do you regret it?”

I regret so many other things so much more. So many things I didn’t say or do.

“No, I wanted to grow the company, and it was an amazing experience in South America. I’m fluent in Spanish now. So there’s that.”

She raises her glass, toasting again. “To fluency.”

Soon enough the conversation shifts to safer topics, and we catch up on other things. I tell her I’m still living near Central Park, I’ve become obsessed with South American history thanks to my time there, and I’ve committed to learning the history and geography of a different country every month. I’m also still restoring old furniture I find at garage sales.

“Much to the chagrin of your neighbors?”

“Ah, but they are no longer chagrined. I have a little warehouse space that I use for restoring the pieces I find.”

“Why do you do it?”

“It keeps me busy, and I don’t think about deals when I’m working with my hands.”

“It’s your necessary break from work.”

“Exactly.”

She tells me about her mom, who’s still teaching media and culture classes at the college level. After years of moving around to earn an advanced degree when Lulu was younger, then to chase various teaching jobs, her mother has finally settled right here in New York, and that makes Lulu very happy.

She tells me she’s living in Chelsea, has joined a new women’s kickboxing class with her friend Mariana, and plans to connect with a local rescue so she can foster small dogs again, like she did in California for the last year or so.

“I can do that now. Tripp was allergic.” She says it with a mix of apology and promise.

I run a finger along the rim of my beer glass. “We can do this now too.” I take a beat. “It’s still weird though.”

“It is,” she says softly.

“I can’t remember the last time we went to a bar.”

“Or the last time we went to one and didn’t have to worry. It’s freeing, in a way.”

“Yeah, it is.” I hate admitting that, but it’s also a massive relief.

But even though it’s freeing, the flip side is that the knot of guilt that started to loosen is tightening again.

Because I’m here with her, and he’s gone, and there’s a part of me that’s truly enjoying his absence right now.

I’m enjoying it so incredibly much.