Chapter 2
Randy stood beside me, his face stormy.
He stepped forward, reaching over the counter, trying to pull me away.
"Nicole, let's talk somewhere else," he said.
I handed him the baggage tag.
"Mr. Miller, other passengers are waiting," I said.
My voice was so steady that it surprised even me.
Randy looked at me, his Adam's apple bobbing, but he said nothing.
Rhea zipped up her suitcase and asked softly, "Are we still going?"
He didn't answer right away.
After a few seconds, he picked up the boarding pass.
As they turned to leave, I noticed Rhea walking slowly.
Randy instinctively slowed his pace, reaching out to block a passing luggage cart for her.
It was such a natural move.
It was so natural that it was like he'd done it all his life.
Before the plane took off, Randy sent me a dozen messages.
[Nicole, it's not what you think.
[Rhea's mom just died. She's not doing well.
[She told me this would be the last time. She won't reach out to me anymore.
[Nothing is going on between us.
[Don't be mad. When I get back, I'll explain everything.]
I read them all, but didn't reply.
I went to the staff lounge and poured myself a cup of lukewarm water. But it tasted cold as soon as I drank it.
My phone screen lit up and then went dark.
Randy sent another message. [You've always been the rational one. Don't let one thing wipe out everything we've built over five years.]
I stared at that line for a long time.
I remembered he would say, "You are always the sensible one.
"You always know how to act right.
"You're never the type to cause trouble."
That was what Randy kept saying about me, over and over, for five years.
At first, I thought he meant it as a compliment.
When he took me to meet his friends, they'd egg him on to share some juicy details about our relationship.
Randy'd laugh and say, "Nicole's awesome. She's not dramatic, and she never makes a fuss."
His friends would all chime in, saying it was rare to find girls like me these days.
I'd laugh along with them.
Back then, I didn't realize that if one was loved for not being a bother, after a while, he started to feel like he shouldn't trouble anyone at all.
At 8:30 PM, I got off work and went back to the apartment we'd set up for our wedding.
It was a rental, but for three months, we'd been arranging it as our home.
In the corner of the living room, there were bags of wedding gift samples. The coffee table held the seating chart, and draped over the sofa arm was the veil I'd tried on three times before choosing it.
On the dining table sat the groom's speech draft.
I'd written it for Randy the night before.
He was not great with words, so when the wedding planner told him to prepare a speech, he handed it off to me.
He said, "You're good with words. Write it, and I'll read it."
I teased him for being lazy.
As I picked up the paper, I saw the first line: [Thank you, Nicole, for being by my side these past five years.]
Staring at those words, I suddenly felt how absurd it all was.
It was like I'd written my own eulogy, waiting for someone else to get up on stage and read it.
The wedding planner called to ask if I wanted background music for the groom's speech.
I held the phone, listening as she walked me through the differences between a few songs.
She asked, "Ms. Robertson, are you looking for something heartwarming, or more moving and emotional?"
I looked out the window.
The streetlights in the neighborhood below were glowing, and a couple strolled hand in hand past the flower bed. The girl slipped her hand into the guy's pocket.
"Let's skip the music for now," I said.
The wedding planner was caught off guard for a second.
I continued, "The wedding might be canceled. I'll confirm with you tomorrow."
There was a brief silence on the other end before she asked cautiously, "Is it a matter of adjusting the date?"
I said, "No, it's not an adjustment. It's a cancellation."
I'd been with Randy for five years.
He wasn't a bad guy in the usual sense.
He didn't smoke or drink. He never ghosted me, and we hardly fought.
On rainy days, he'd come pick me up from work.
When my stomach hurt, he'd remind me to take my meds on time.
He made more than I did, but after we moved in together, he handed me his bank card, saying that once we were married, we'd be family, and we could manage our money together.
Everyone said I was lucky.
I used to think so, too.
But then I started to realize that Randy's kindness was always practical.
He'd buy me medicine, but he wouldn't go to the hospital with me.
He'd pick me up from work, but he wouldn't go out of his way to get me my favorite pancakes.
He'd talk to me about mortgages, parking spots, and renovation budgets, but he never wanted to hear me talk about which song I wanted for the wedding.
The day I went wedding dress shopping, I asked Randy to come with me.
He was buried in project blueprints and didn't even look up from his work.
"Decide for yourself. I trust your taste," Randy said.
The shop assistant saw me alone and smiled, joking, "Is the groom too busy to come?"
I smiled and said, "Yeah, he's swamped with work."
But he wasn't busy at all that day.
When I got home that night, he was lounging on the couch, watching some random sports game.
I walked in wearing the white sneakers the bridal shop gave me. He glanced at me and said, "Pick one you like. Make sure it's not too expensive."
I nodded and quietly put away the photos I'd wanted to show him.
Another time, I had a fever of 102°F in the middle of the night and called him.
He said he was stuck in an emergency meeting at the office, couldn't get away, and had ordered me some soup and medicine. He told me to take a cab to the hospital myself.
I was in the ER, getting an IV drip, until 3 AM.
The next day, he came to pick me up, brought me a cup of juice, and touched my forehead. "Don't push yourself so hard next time."