Page 2 of Bigfoot Threw Rocks at Me

"You are important to me, Mark.”

Mark's frustration is clear as he steps back, putting physical distance between us.

"Am I? We've been together three years, Emily. And sometimes it feels like you’re somewhere else, with your thoughts, your plans... Always looking for the next clue, the next expedition."

Come on Emily. Don’t lose your temper. Don’t lose your temper. Just take a deep breath.

"Mark, we moved in together. Isn't that serious enough? Doesn't that say something about how much I care?"

He gives me a small, sad smile.

"Moving in is one thing, Em, but how often do we actually see each other? How many evenings do you spend out there instead of here with me?"

His voice carries a weariness that tugs at my heart. Maybe he’s right, maybe I have been neglecting him. When did we last have sex? I don’t remember. Jeez. Has it been that long?

I think back to the day we met. I crashed into his department at the university like a hurricane. Picture this: me, wildly gesticulating with a cooler in hand, inside of which was what I solemnly declared to be Bigfoot scat. I was all fired up, practically demanding someone analyze it immediately. Mark was the lone brave soul who didn’t eye the door when I started my rant. Instead of calling security, which let’s be honest, would have been reasonable, he just raised an eyebrow and said, Slow down. I'll look at your sample, but you owe me a coffee if I'm touching that thing. And just like that, he became my unexpected anchor in a sea of academic skeptics. He actually did analyze the sample. It turned out to be a weird bear-deer poop cocktail. Go figure.

Mark exhales heavily. Some of the tension leaves his face. Maybe the argument is over.

"Can we just not argue tonight? Can't we just try to enjoy what's left of our anniversary?" he asks, gesturing to the carefully laid table.

Fuck. I just realized I haven’t told him I’m leaving tonight for the expedition. The argument is not over, it’s only just begun.

Mark’s expression shifts as he watches me, a crease forming between his brows. He can always tell when something's on my mind.

"What is it, Emily? What are you not telling me?"

I pause, steeling myself against the war I’m about to unleash.

"I... I have to go away for the weekend."

The confession hangs in the air, too heavy, too harsh for the soft candlelight. His face falls immediately, and the small flicker of hope that maybe we could salvage the evening extinguishes.

"Away? Now? But you just got in."

"It's the footprints," I rush to explain, my words tumbling out in a desperate flurry. "It's this big opportunity to gather evidence, and I can't miss it. I have to leave tonight."

Mark clenches his fists and for a moment I think he’s going to punch something.

"Tonight? You're leaving tonight, on our anniversary, after all this?" he asks incredulously. He motions around to the romantic setup now tinged with irony.

I flinch, realizing how selfish my plans must seem.

"I'm sorry, Mark. I didn't plan for it to happen like this—"

"But it always does, doesn't it?" His words are sharp. They slice through the tense air. "It always does, Emily. There's always something more important."

I stand there, unable to find the words to soothe or explain further. I can see the pain etched in his eyes and yet, I’m not changing my mind. I’m leaving tonight.

Mark's frustration boils over, his voice rising to fill the space between us,

"You're chasing a fairytale, Emily! And all the while your prince charming is right here!"

I literally cannot stop myself from laughing. What a stupid statement.

"Stop being such a wet blanket, Mark! Prince Charming, my ass."

He reels back as if I've slapped him, his eyes flashing with hurt.

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