Page 62 of Townshipped
I walked into the shop, a few minutes late. Buck stood and pulled my chair out as I draped my coat on the empty seat next to me.
“I ordered you a half-caff and a turkey club.”
“I said coffee date. You didn’t have to get me food.”
“I know. But, knowing you, you haven’t eaten.”
“I haven’t,” I had said, feeling like the underbelly of a toad.
I feel the wave of guilt afresh as if I’m breaking up with Buck all over again—about to smash his nice heart like one of those villain women in a Disney movie. I was Cruella de Vil, Maleficent, and the Queen Stepmother all wrapped up into one. And there I sat, looking across the table at Bambi’s brother—if Bambi had a brother. I picture a deer wearing glasses and teaching chemistry at the local university. That’s Buck. A nerdy, gentle, slightly skittish man.
“So,” Buck had said. “You want to call off the wedding.”
I gasped and sputter-coughed on the sip of coffee I had just taken. How did he know? The only person of the nearly eight billion on the planet who knew my plan to call off the wedding was Gabriela, and she’d never share my secret.
Buck continued. “You said you had big news. The tone was ominous. It had to do with the wedding. I figured venues and colors and which appetizers to serve standing or sitting weren’t important to you. So, I drew the logical conclusion.”
He sat there, cool as a cucumber, as he took a sip of his black coffee.
“Well, yes,” I said. And then I rushed to add, “It’s really not you, Buck. Agh. I just said that. Is there a better sentence to convey the fact that you are sweet and kind and thoughtful and nice looking and you’ve been nothing but good to me and I still don’t think getting married—us getting married—is a good idea?”
“I think you did a great job right there.”
“How are you so calm?” I had asked in an elevated voice.
“I see the logic of your choice.”
“Could you get a little mad?”
I broke off a corner of my sandwich and started chewing. I tasted nothing.
“I could get angry, but would that change anything?” Buck had asked in a level tone.
His eyes were warm and concerned.
“Not really.”
“It sounds like you know your mind and you felt coerced into matrimony, and you now are sparing me a life with an uncertain woman.”
I swallowed my bite and asked him, “Why are you so practical?”
“It’s how I’m wired.”
I leaned back in my chair, studying Buck. “I want you to yell at me or something.”
“Not going to happen. I’m not the yelling type. Besides, I understand your vantage point, and while it disappoints me, I won’t try to change your mind.”
“You’re going to make someone very happy someday,” I had told him. And I meant it.
“And you will too,” he had said, sincerely.
“I think I’d better spare the male species my version of crazy.”
Buck had given me one of his analytical compliments. “Don’t underestimate yourself, Mal. You’re a brilliant woman with a quick sense of humor and a delightfully independent spirit. You’ve got a very fit figure and a pleasantly symmetrical face. Plus, that red hair. It’s only prevalent in one to two percent of the world’s population. Very rare. Someone will be lucky to win your heart one day.”
I chuckled, telling him, “I’ll miss your brand of compliments.”
“You will,” he had said. Then he added, “I loved you, Mallory. I still do.”
