Page 125 of Memories By the Shore
Dave and I take the seats on opposite sides.
“Thank you,” I say taking the menu from her.
Dave opens it and closes it quickly. “I guess I’ll be getting pizza.”
I chuckle uncomfortably at his sarcasm. Dave isn’t aninformal guy. He would feel more comfortable sitting in a dress-coded, white table linen establishment.
“I think I’ll start with the salad and then get a personal cheese pizza,” I tell him, making small talk.
He nods silently and doesn’t speak until the server comes over to take our order. When Dave and I are alone, he places his elbows on the table and clasps his hands beneath his chin.
“Okay, let’s get this over with,” he says. “What’s going on now?”
I practiced explaining everything to him at least a dozen times in my bathroom mirror, yet in this moment, I find myself at an utter loss for words. Suddenly, I’m second-guessing how to tell him and if I should say anything.Does it benefit to know more details, or is it better to be straight to the point?
I suck in a heavy breath. “I want you to know, I think you’re a great guy and—”
He jerks his head away, pushing back in his seat. “Oh my god. Where is this going?”
Maybe not the best way to approach this conversation—very cliche, but it’s not like I have much experience with this. Speaking from an honest place is all I can do.
I curb my patience, reminding myself he’ll need time to process what I’m about to say. “Can I finish?”
“Continue.” He waves a hand in my direction.
I take in a breath and start again. “I’ve been thinking lately that I want to take some time for myself.”
“What does that mean?”
He’s going to make me say it.“I don’t think we should get—”
“Are you actually doing this?” He cuts off mythought.
“Look, Dave—”
His palms fly into the air between us. “Save it, Avery.”
“Can you just let me talk?” I snap, sitting straighter.
“I already know what you’re going to say.”
“Well, if you already do, it shouldn’t shock you,” I reply.
He crosses his arms at his chest, taking a defensive posture. “Are you just trying to call off the wedding, or are you breaking up with me?”
Rubbing my lips together, I glance around the room. My eyes darted from one couple in love to the other. It looks like they can’t get enough of each other, with most sitting close and even cuddling in this romantically lit restaurant.
I’ve never felt that way with Dave.
“I think both,” I grimace.
“Both?” He scoffs, arrogance taking over his expression. “My mother was right about you.”
Wait. What?
I can’t engage with her unkind comments. We’ll lose track of what I’m trying to do. “I’m sorry she was right about me,” I offer, trying to keep our conversation civil. “I just—”
“So, what’s wrong? What happened?” he asks more like a statement rather than seeking to understand.
