Table for Two

by Jennifer Mckenzie

  He heard the rustle of material, glanced back to see her getting to her feet, sheet still clutched to her body, and his heart stopped. Was she going to explain this had all been a misunderstanding? Would they work out what had come between them and move forward together, stronger than ever?

  But she didn’t say anything until he put his hand on the doorknob. “Travis?”

  He stopped, waited for her to say the words he longed to hear. That this fight was all a mistake, that she wanted to start their life together, too, that she wanted him to stay. And he realized his hopes were written on his face, when an answering expression of sympathy flashed across hers. When the words she spoke were most definitely not the ones he wanted to hear.

  “I’m sorry.”

  He swallowed and forced the hurt down. “I’m sorry, too.” Then he opened the door and walked out of her life.

  * * *

  MAL WATCHED TRAVIS GO. The slump to his shoulders almost undid her. She even reached for him, opened her mouth with the words halfway out before she stopped herself. She couldn’t change things—not her own feelings, not the past, not anything.

  If he wasn’t even willing to discuss the fact that he was the issue here—his lack of follow-through with regard to sharing with his family, his desire to still keep their breakup under wraps. Well, she didn’t know what she was supposed to do.

  But she didn’t feel good about it, and as she shut the door behind him, turning the lock with what sounded like a final click, her stomach rolled. A long, sickening roll.

  Mal swallowed the panic. She wasn’t wrong. Not this time. And not last time, either. But her eyes felt prickly and she could feel the tears. No. She shook her head as though it might dry them. She didn’t want to cry. She wouldn’t.

  Her throat grew tight, her lungs ached with the effort to maintain breath control. And when she called Grace, her voice shook. “Hey. Do you think you could come over?”

  Mal was grateful that Grace and Owen lived so close. She put on a comfy pair of yoga pants and a T-shirt and hung on to her self-imposed calm until they arrived, and only then did she finally let it out. In one loud sob, as soon as she opened the door to the pair. “Travis and I are done.”

  “Done?” Owen asked the question while Grace hugged her and made soothing murmurs.

  “Yes.” She struggled for some of that much-vaunted control she had once prized so highly. Sadly, it seemed to have left the building. Along with Travis.

  “How? When? I thought things were good.” Her brother spoke quickly.

  “Owen.” Mal could feel Grace’s glare over her shoulder.

  “What? I’m not supposed to ask?”

  Grace rubbed Mal’s back. “Give her a chance.”

  “She called us,” Owen said. “But fine. I can see I’m outnumbered.” He walked into Mal’s kitchen, as at home there as he was everywhere. “Do you have ice cream?”

  Mal sniffed and looked at Grace who only shrugged. “I don’t know. Are you hungry?”

  Owen stuck his head back into the entry. “Isn’t that what you do when you cry? Eat ice cream?”

  Mal rolled her eyes, which had thankfully stopped leaking. “Have you been watching Lifetime movies again?”

  “Of course. I’m what you call an evolved male.”

  Mal blinked. She could think of many things to call her brother. Had called him many of them in the past. But, until tonight, evolved had never made the list. Of course, he’d never offered ice cream before. She smiled. And it wasn’t even faked.

  “So?” Owen wiggled his eyebrows. “Ice cream?”

  “I think there’s some in the freezer.”

  Owen grinned and disappeared into the kitchen. The rumble of the freezer door opening was followed by his outraged shout. “Mal! How long has this been in here?”

  She had no idea. “A month...maybe two?”

  “It has ice hair.”

  “I’m sure it’s fine,” Grace called. She patted Mal’s shoulder. “Have a taste and make sure.”

  Owen reappeared. “I am not eating that. I wouldn’t feed it to anyone. Well, maybe Donovan, but only because he vetoed my idea to serve brunch at Elephants all day.” He eyeballed Mal. “He said it would take sales away from more traditional lunch and dinner items that had a better profit margin. But I said it meant people would spend more on alcohol because they hadn’t spent their money on food. And we all know the profits are in alcohol sales. Could have used you on my side, Mal.”

  “Owen. Really?” Grace gave Mal another hug.

  But Mal was actually okay with the random conversation. It distracted her, which was the reason she’d called Grace, even if she hadn’t expected the bonus addition of Owen. She stared back at him. “Maybe I’d have sided with Donovan.”

  He snorted. “You probably would have. You also probably think this ice cream is edible.”

  It was true. Mal wouldn’t think twice about digging into it. Which was why she marched into the kitchen past Owen, grabbed a spoon from the drawer and scooped up a mouthful. “Mmmmm.”

  Owen shook his head. “Don’t blame me if that makes you sick. Hey.” He looked at his wife who walked by and grabbed her own spoon. “I kiss that mouth, you know.”

  Grace grinned around her spoon. “And you will again.”

  Another head shake. “I do not understand you. Either of you.”

  “And you call yourself evolved.” Mal tossed her hair and scooped up some more ice cream. It was vanilla and had probably been in the freezer closer to six months, but it was delicious.

  “Fine, fine. I can tell when I’m outnumbered, but I’m not eating any of that ice cream.” But he grinned when he said it, and he walked over to sit on the nearby couch.

  Grace looked at her. “Got any wine?”

  Mal pointed to the fridge.

  Grace opened the door and perused the selection, choosing one. “Excellent.” She poured them both a glass and handed one to Mal. “Now, tell me what happened.”

  Mal took a sip of the white wine to fortify herself. It didn’t really go with the sweetness of the ice cream, but she took another sip anyway. Another way to distract herself, she supposed. “He asked me to marry him.”

  Grace’s glass thumped down onto the granite countertop. “Oh.”

  Mal appreciated that she didn’t come after her, asking why or wondering how that had caused a breakup. But Grace was good that way—an excellent advisor, but an even better listener. “I didn’t expect it. Obviously. And I just...” She swallowed, no longer tasting the clash of flavors between vanilla ice cream and crisp wine. All she could focus on was the memory of Travis’s face, the hopeful look that had appeared just before she’d told him she couldn’t.

  The ice cream settled like a lump and she put the spoon down in the sink, no longer hungry. The very idea of downing another mouthful made her ill.

  “But I thought you guys were getting along.” Owen’s brow wrinkled in confusion.

  Grace quieted him with a look. “Mal, did something happen?”

  Mal exhaled and stared at the spoon in the sink. Yes, something had happened. Or not happened. “We didn’t talk about it.” She knew she didn’t need to explain to Grace.

  “Talk about what?” Owen wanted to know.

  Mal kept talking, ignoring her brother’s question. “I didn’t think we needed to. I thought I was okay with it. All of it.” Even though oral sex was still off the menu. “But then he popped the question and I realized I wasn’t.”

  Grace hugged her again.

  Mal shut her eyes, felt tears slide down her face once more. “Everything was great and then suddenly he was asking me to marry him and I panicked, and then he thought it meant I didn’t love him and he left.”

  There was silence for a moment, broken only by Mal’s loud snif
fle. “Do you?” Grace finally asked. “Love him?”

  Mal swallowed and lifted her head from Grace’s shoulder. “I don’t know.”

  “Then you did the right thing,” Owen said.

  “If only it were that simple.” Why couldn’t life be that simple? Why did it have to be so complicated? So confusing? Why was her heart breaking when she was the one who’d refused the proposal? Shouldn’t she be feeling some sort of relief or at least acceptance?

  She picked up her wine glass, but put it back down without taking a sip. Suddenly it wasn’t sitting well with the ice cream.

  “And then we did talk about it. Well, argued about it.” She raised her face to look at them. “He said I was the one who broke up with him. Sure I chose to move back here, but he’s the one who said we had to break up.” She rolled the stem of the wineglass between her thumb and finger. “I guess it doesn’t matter now. Because this breakup isn’t something we’re coming back from.”

  They were all silent.

  Mal exhaled slowly and looked at Grace. Her sister-in-law’s sympathetic smile almost undid her. “I know, you said we should talk about it before. And you were right.” Maybe if they had, they’d have been able to hold a reasonable conversation. One that wouldn’t have ended in tears and closed doors and hearts that felt as if they could never be put back together again.

  “I’m so sorry, Mal.”

  “I know.” Mal felt her shoulders droop. That awful wetness returned to her eyes. She hugged herself, but it didn’t help. “I just felt so unimportant. I needed to come back and he just let me. Waved me off without a fight and then consoled himself with another woman before I’d even caught my flight home.”

  “What?” Owen slapped a hand on the counter. “You didn’t tell me this.”

  Mal sniffled. “It wasn’t exactly something I was proud of. I was hurt and I didn’t think anybody else needed to know.”

  “I’m going to kick his ass.” Owen pushed away from the counter where he’d been leaning.

  “Owen.” Mal’s hand shot out. “Don’t.”

  “Why not? He cheated on you.”

  “Technically, we weren’t together.”

  “Then I’ll give him a technical knockout.”

  Owen’s quick and unquestioned support made Mal realize how much she’d needed it. Maybe they all would have been better off if she’d spilled the whole story way back when. Of course, it was too late to do that now. She wiped at the tears trickling down her cheeks. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. I still have some ass to kick.”

  * * *

  TRAVIS WAS MOPING or wallowing, or whatever you called it when what you really wanted to do was beat up something but had just enough self-control to settle for grinding your teeth and punching the couch. He was pretty sure he’d ground off enough to make his dentist wince when someone knocked at the front door.

  He didn’t move from the couch. He was in no state to speak to anyone right now, especially not whoever was at the door. The TV was quiet and a punch to the couch cushion made no sound, so there was no reason for a neighbor to be knocking. And if it wasn’t a neighbor, then it was someone who shouldn’t be in the building at all.

  Actually, maybe he should tell them that, give them a personal escort out. For the safety of the other residents. He shoved off the couch.

  Another knock was followed by the click of the lock being opened and Owen’s angry voice. “Where are you, you asshat?”

  A pump of adrenaline flooded his system with no place to go. He wanted to punch something, but not Owen, even if he was calling Travis an asshat. He punched the couch instead. “What do you want?”

  “Did you cheat on my sister?” Owen stormed into the living room, hands fisted and cocked.

  Travis blinked and scowled. “No, I asked her to marry me.”

  “Not tonight.” Owen twitched. “Before. In Aruba. Did you cheat on her?”

  Travis ground his teeth again, so as not to unload his fury on Owen—he wasn’t mad at Owen. “A court of law would say no, but yeah. I did.”

  Owen drew back his fist. Then slowly lowered it. “I should punch you.”

  “Probably.”

  “But it’ll hurt and Grace will be mad. For the record, I still think you’re an asshat.”

  “I know.” Travis punched his own thigh. It did about as much to ease his emotions as punching the couch had, which is to say he might as well not have bothered. He looked at Owen. “Is she okay?” He hated the thought that she was hurt and upset, that he couldn’t be there to ease her pain.

  “No.” Owen’s eyes warmed a fraction. They were still as hard as frozen tundra but they were practically tropical compared to how they’d looked when he first walked in. “But I appreciate you asking.”

  “I still love her.”

  “And I still think you’re an asshat.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  They were both quiet for a moment. Travis finally cleared his throat. “Are we okay?”

  Owen exhaled. “No, but we will be. One day.”

  Travis nodded slowly. He hadn’t just lost Mal tonight. But somehow the pain of that realization didn’t mean much. Or maybe there was just so much pain a person could handle at once and Travis was full up. “You want me to move out?” He wouldn’t blame Owen for saying yes.

  Owen thought about it. “No.” He ran an eye around the apartment. “But I don’t think I want to see you for a while.”

  “Understood.”

  When Owen stood to go, Travis didn’t stop him. There didn’t really seem to be anything else to say.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  MAL DIDN’T GO in to work for three days. On the fourth, she gathered her strength, took a much-needed shower and stood in front of her bathroom mirror, focusing on her breathing instead of the anxious thoughts flowing through her head.

  She might have stayed home today, too, but she had a charity meeting, and as the event was only weeks away, it wasn’t something she could cancel. Not even knowing that Travis would be there.

  The thought made her chest tighten. She gripped the bathroom counter and inhaled slowly, then released until she no longer felt as though she might pass out. In and out. Slow and steady. She wouldn’t think about anything else. Not the breakup, the look on Travis’s face, or the uncertainty that rolled through her stomach every hour on the hour. She would get through the meeting and only then would she worry about what came next.

  Her fingers curled into the granite counter again, hanging on for support, trying to absorb some of its cool strength. She couldn’t go on like this, not indefinitely. Okay, so it had only been three days since the breakup. Three days and ten hours, if she was counting, which she was. Oh, God. She wasn’t ready. She wasn’t ready to have him walk into her space and sit through the meeting, the two of them acting like professional colleagues, as if their personal relationship hadn’t fallen apart only days ago.

  Her eyes felt sore and puffy, which was to be expected when she’d spent pretty much the preceding eighty-two hours in a state of tears. She’d have thought there would come a point when they’d dry up, when she’d finally be so dehydrated that there would be nothing left to cry. But even as she thought it, she blinked before more tears tracked down her cheeks, taking her newly applied mascara with them.

  They were over. But things between them weren’t. They still had the charity event and they still worked in the same industry in the same city. Owen and Travis were still friends, though Owen had made an offhand comment that things weren’t so peachy there.

  Regardless, there were any number of as-yet-to-be-determined situations where they’d run into each other. Where they’d have to smile and make nice and pretend that they hadn’t once loved each other so hard
that their hearts had been permanently imprinted.

  Mal sucked in a shaky breath. She felt as though she couldn’t do this, but she had to. She would have to do her best to remain above it all, even while she wept inside. She finished putting on her makeup, only needing to reapply her mascara twice.

  She’d dressed for success. Or for protection. Selecting a dress in the shade of gunmetal gray and pairing it with a sharp blazer. In high black heels, her hair tied back into a tidy knot, she didn’t look like the kind of person anyone should mess with.

  Her eyes swept over the bedroom as she walked in. The space was clean, pristine. She’d spent the time she hadn’t been sleeping in cleaning. Clearing out any remaining signs of Travis. New sheets and duvet cover for the bed, the old ones bagged up and stuffed in the back of the closet in a rarely used clothes bag to donate to the homeless once she could look at it without crying. She’d made Grace take home the bottled water Travis had favored. And then she’d cleaned and cleaned, erasing every trace of his scent. Her nose twitched as the smell of the lavender cleaning product hit her in the face. She might have gone a little overboard, but it had given her something to do besides mope.

  Mal flipped open the jewelry box on her dresser. She wouldn’t think about it—about what returning the earrings and ring to Travis meant. She never should have kept the ring in the first place, but maybe she hadn’t been ready to let go back then. Now she was. Even though it crushed the breath from her lungs and made her legs feel heavy to think that she’d never see him again. That all ties between them would be cut. Forever.

  She choked on her next inhale. Mal had never been one to imagine her wedding, the dress, the shoes, the cake and flowers. But she’d always pictured herself married, sharing her life with someone. With Travis.

  She swallowed the sob, blinked away the wetness blurring her vision and looked inside the box. The sapphires gleamed back at her. They weren’t particularly expensive, but their value was sentimental. She reached down to pluck them off the velvet cushion. This would truly be it. The final moment between them, those awkward future encounters excluded. This would be saying goodbye.