Thirty Years Ago

Thirty Years Ago

"You're losing the thread," Cory said. "She's awful."

"Why don't you tell me how you really feel?"

They were sitting at a small restaurant near Rockefeller Center, the ice-skating rink busy outside the windows, the Christmas tree lit up and bright. Cory had just met Sylvia for the first time. Sylvia, who had interviewed Liam for a luxury travel segment she was doing for her morning show and with whom he was subsequently spending too much time. It wasn't a planned meeting, between Cory and Sylvia, of course. Not that it would have gone better if it had been.

"Not to point out the obvious, but you're the one who decided we shouldn't be together," Liam said. "Get married, the traditional way."

"Spare me. I didn't want to marry you the way that you're capable of being married. And apparently, I was correct about that. Sylvia doesn't hold a candle to Rachel. Wow, what a cliché you are."

"Never been like that with you."

"Only because I refuse to allow it to be."

She pushed her plate out of the way. They were sharing a bowl of seafood pasta, a bottle of house wine. She wasn't touching any of it. Her hair was piled into a bun on top of her head, her eyes tired and puffy. And, now, they were narrowed in anger. But she looked beautiful. She looked impossibly beautiful every time he was lucky enough to be sitting across from her. If anything made him a cliché, it was that he felt that way.

She leaned toward him. "You don't see the way Sylvia is coming for you, but she is," she said. "And you are going to move to the dark side before you even know you are there."

"We should be together. Really together."

"You've got to be joking."

"I'm serious."

"You're serious? Okay, I'm married, and you're married, and all you're focused on is your new friend who is not going to stand for you being married for much longer. Mark my words on that. And just to be clear, I don't blame Sylvia for that. You're the one letting it happen. Correction, you're the one making it happen, Liam. Because it's easier than admitting it."

"Admitting what?"

"I'm not doing this," she said.

"Admitting what, Cory?"

"The reason this works, that we still work, is that you don't owe me anything. That we don't owe each other anything."

"That's where you're wrong. Maybe for the first time, you're actually wrong. We owe each other everything."

She motioned to the waitress for their bill. And then she stood up. She was done sitting there with him. She was done with this part.

"Where are you going?"

"To the Carlyle," she said. "To get a proper drink."

"I think it's you," he said. "I think it's you who likes to keep us here. Because it's safer. Because you've decided it's safer. It's easy to sit across from me and judge my choices when the only choice I really want isn't available."

"How convenient for you."

"Please sit down."

She was already putting on her coat. She was already moving away from him. "No. Fighting with you is boring," she said. "I love you too much to sit here and fight."

"Then listen to me."

He tried to think of how to say it so she would hear him. She didn't want to hear it, not anymore. She didn't want to hear that it was time they do this another way.

"What if I'm ready?"

"To stop fighting?" she said.

"Cory…"

"Then you can come for a drink."