Chapter 3
After Sophie's wedding, Alex drove me home.
Music played in the car, and his fingers tapped lightly on the steering wheel. He seemed to be in a good mood.
"Don't take what happened today to heart," he said suddenly. "As for Julia and the bouquet, I just thought it should be returned to its rightful owner so she wouldn't feel awkward."
I said nothing.
He glanced over at me. "Besides, public proposals are cheesy. You don't actually want that, do you?"
He reached for my hand. "Next time. I'll make it up to you next time."
I pulled my hand away and looked out the window.
"When is next time?" I asked.
He paused, then laughed. "Wow, you're really taking this seriously? Whenever you decide you're ready, we'll go get the marriage license. Deal?"
"I am ready." I said.
He turned to look at me as I watched the streetlights flash past outside. My voice stayed calm. "I said I'm ready. October 28. I've already booked the hotel."
He stared at me for a few seconds, then laughed. "Emma, you're serious?"
"I've been serious from the start." I said.
He frozed for a second. "Come on, this is way too sudden."
His tone turned coaxing, like he was dealing with a child. "Be good. Stop making a scene. You know how busy I am. The project just launched; it's crunch time. Who has time for this?"
"You don't need to do anything," I said. "I'll pick the dress, book the hotel, arrange the banquet. You just have to show up."
He frowned at me as if I were a child acting out. "Emma, can you be a little more mature? Didn't we agree we'd wait until my career was stable—"
"It's been eight years," I cut in.
He stopped.
I turned to him. "Eight years ago you said wait until graduation. Five years ago, wait until you had a job. Three years ago, wait until the promotion. A year ago, wait until you bought a place.
"Alex, I'm twenty-eight. My friends are married. Sophie got married today. I want to get married too. What's wrong with that?"
He went quiet for a while, then sighed. "Fine. Let me think about it."
That night, he didn't come home.
At two in the morning, I got a WhatsApp message from him: [I'm staying at the apartment by the office for a couple of days. We both need to cool off. Once you've calmed down, we'll talk.]
I looked at the message and suddenly found it a little funny.
He thought I was angry.
And he didn't know I wasn't angry anymore.
Anger meant I still wanted something from him. I wasn't angry because I was done wanting.
The next day, I went to a real estate agent.
We'd bought that apartment two years earlier as our future home. Both families split the down payment, and we were paying the mortgage together.
The deed was in my name because Alex had said applying under mine first would be better for his credit.
With the title in my hand, I was the only signature needed to sell.
When the agent asked my price, I told him to list it about 70,000 dollars below market and sell fast.
Three days later, the apartment was gone.
The buyers were a young married couple planning for a baby.
During the viewing, the wife touched the bedroom window seat and said they could put a crib there someday.
I stood by the door, suddenly remembering how, two years ago, I'd stood by that window seat and told Alex we should put a small desk there for our child to do homework.
Back then, Alex had looked down at his phone and said without lifting his head, "Why think that far ahead? Let's finish the renovation first."
I signed the papers and handed the keys to the agent.
As I walked out of the complex, I called a moving company and asked them to come the next day to pack up my things.
I left every last one of his things untouched.