DISCLAIMER: I'm just playing in the Glee sandbox. If you recognize it from elsewhere, I don't own it.
Every Other Word
They sat like two sentries facing off across an invisible border unsure if their countries made war or peace with each other. The three-by-three table played the map; the royal purple table runner the no man's land; the salt and pepper shakers the boundary. They were safe only in their respective countries of plates and cutlery, so Quinn kept her eyes on her meal.
Just tell him you love him. Just tell him you love him.
She knew if she said it, this cold war would end. They could go back to the way things used to be between them. If only she could bring herself to say those three little words, they could pretend to be perfect together again.
But the words would not come.
They rose up from her chest as a breath, but they clogged in her throat, and she expelled them as only sighs between bites of food and sips of water.
Because why should I have to say it? He should say it to me.
He began to speak, and she perked up with anticipation. Maybe tonight was the night. She had waited for so long to hear him say those three words, to make her feel like the most special girl in the world the way he used to do.
"I really like your new dress. You look so pretty in that color."
She breathed out the three words onto the pasta wrapped around her fork and watched them dissolve into steam. He watched too, but he didn't understand the message in the swirling steam. He turned his eyes back to the safety of his plate.
If I do say it, will he say it back? Will he mean it?
"Thank you. I went shopping for it last week."
"What do you call that color?"
"Cerulean."
She hated that they had been reduced to banal topics. Of all the recent developments she could tell him about, she felt comfortable only sharing the mundane. Because if she couldn't say out loud that she loved him with the bond they were meant to share, she couldn't say anything of importance to him.
Just tell him you love him.
Her own desperate voice trembled inside her head. It issued from a throat raw from expelling silent words all evening. Tears joined the clogged words in her throat, and the voice inside her head began to sob.
"I know how much you like shopping."
His answer crushed her. She didn't like shopping very much at all. After all this time, how could he not know that about her? The voice in her head whimpered. The scratching of metal forks against ceramic plates filled the void.
Just tell him.
"Yes, I really like to shop."
He had no answer. She had no desire to hear one.
The dinner had come to an end too quickly thanks to the prompt service of the Breadstix kitchen and wait staff. They rose from the booth and walked to the door in silence. He bent down to place a quick kiss on her cheek and wrap her in a loose, one-armed hug. She felt disappointment in the pit of her stomach like a lead weight dragging her down.
Just.
She hitched a placid smile onto her lips as they parted to their respective cars. She would see him again next week, but not speak to him until then. If she thought about him during the next six days, always a twinge of resentment would burn in her chest.
"Good night, Daddy."