At three in the afternoon.
In front of him are the remaining wedding invitations that need to be addressed and sent out. Stacks of prepared ones rest off to the side in envelopes with addresses printed across them in a mixture of our handwriting.
“Jamie told me to tell you hello and congratulations on the new job,” I say when he doesn’t make a move to speak. I settle onto the stool and watch him. “I hand delivered her invitation. She said she’d be there. Both of our parents also reached out.”
Again, nothing.
“Parker?”
A heavy breath escapes his lips, not really a sigh, but something heavier. “I’m sorry.”
Two words.
Two final words.
I swallow. “For what?”
His head tilts. “You know what.”
I do.
“You’re always so busy with your writing, promoting, Jamie has you travelling…” He keeps going but I don’t listen to all the reasons why this is ending. This. Us. Another relationship that I have to say goodbye to.
Except this is different.
My eyes go down to the ring on my finger, which I twirl for a moment before pulling it off. It feels strange to see the slightest difference in skin tone from where the silver band rested for all this time. And when I put it on the counter and see the slightest reflection of light against the diamond, I find myself not doing anything more.
Not talking.
Not frowning.
Not crying.
I just feel empty as I slide it toward him.
“You keep it,” he whispers, gripping the beer a little tighter. His voice is raspy, like he really is sorry. I’m not sure why. “It’s yours, Kinley. Do what you want with it.”
“I really don’t—”
“It’s yours,” he repeats.
But do I want the memory of him around like I do the small plastic tote of other memories that I store under the spare bed across the hall from our room? Do I want to add it to the origami birds, notebooks, and bows? The more I think about the time capsule of rejection, the more I want to cry.
I don’t though.
“I’m sorry,” he says again.
Maybe he is.
But not for the same reason I am.
Because for some reason as I stare at him, and all I can think about is silver eyes, dark hair, and a cocky grin. None of those things should cross my mind when my fiancé is breaking off what could have been forever.
So, I close my eyes and try to summon the emotion that makes sense for the moment. The tears. The sadness. The anger. But the only thing I come up with is emptiness, and the hole in my heart that Parker mended a long time ago begins to reopen from the stitches he pulls out as he apologizes again before squeezing my hand.
He’s sorry. I am too. For trying but not hard enough. For caring but not hard enough. And for loving him but not as much as he deserves.
I watch him leave.