Jackson congratulating me on my engagement was the straw that broke the camel's back. I smiled to his face, but as soon as he turned his back, I was off like a shot and wiping my tears as I hurried through the hall.
Before twenty minutes ago, I'd never broken up with anyone. Never before, not once in my life. I've only been in one other relationship and he broke it off with me after I got braces.
That's the level of cruel that I felt when I ripped the rug out from under Matthew by rescinding my 'yes' to his proposal. It wasn't a pleasant conversation. I cried more than I didn't, and he looked at me with a stony, emotionless face the entire time I spoke.
He couldn't understand why I said yes in the first place if what I really wanted to say was no. No matter how I explained it, it just wasn't getting through to him that the public nature of the proposal is what shoved me into the answer I gave. It wasn't genuine.
It took me about five seconds after the fact to realize it, too. I don't think people who are satisfied with their engagements throw up in the bathroom as soon as the crowd disperses.
I feel sick now, too, as I power walk to my car. Things improve a bit once I get inside and lock the doors, then turn Spotify as loud as it will go.
'Broken Wing' by Martina McBride plays - a song I always cry to. And I don't make any moves to shut it off. In fact, I lean into it with my forehead resting on the steering wheel and expel loud, heaving sobs instead of just a few quiet tears.
The song is only about halfway done when there's a tentative knock on the window beside my head. I sit up with a start, heart pounding, and see Jackson's face inches from my own.
I wipe my eyes hastily, turn the stereo off, then roll down my window. "Hey," I say, still sounding waterlogged and teary.
"You alright?" Jackson asks, giving me one of his classic, quizzical looks.
"Fine," I say, then force a smile that probably looks scary instead of happy. "Why?"
"Well... I could hear Martina McBride halfway across the parking lot," he says. "That was my first hint. Second, you have mascara running down your face."
I swipe at my cheeks, then flip down the visor mirror to see that I look like a raccoon after a long night out. That's honestly what I feel like right now, too.
"Great," I say, then let my shoulders deflate.
"So... not alright?" Jackson asks.
I shake my head no, but I don't look at him. I keep my eyes directed out the windshield instead.
"What are you upset about?" he asks. "You just got engaged! Shouldn't we be partying?"
"No," I grumble. "And no, I didn't."
I can feel his confusion without having to look over. "What do you mean? Are you kidding? We all watched it go down."
"Yeah, and I can't wait to explain to all those people that I'm not actually getting married," I say, pressing back against the seat and covering my face with my hands. "This is awful. Finally, someone who isn't a weirdo wanted me and I broke up with him after saying yes to his public marriage proposal."
Jackson goes quiet. So quiet that I take my hands off my eyes and glance over - I find him wearing a pensive frown, his lips pressed together in an irritated expression.
"What?" I say.
He clears his throat and says, "Can I get in? I feel kinda stupid having this conversation standing outside your window."
I tell him that he can, then unlock the door. When he sits down beside me, I smell his familiar and subtle cologne and his aftershave, too. The same as always; those were my two favorite smells for a long time. After our meetups, my scrubs would always hold onto the scents and I'd avoid washing those specific pairs.
Gross, yes. But being in love is gross in a lot of ways.
So far, Jackson hasn't said anything. He's staring ahead with his eyes on the dashboard and his hands flat on his thighs, chewing the inside of his lower lip.
Finally, I say, "What?"
He turns towards me. In this close proximity, I see the thousands of colors that his eyes hold - and the thousands of feelings, too.
"Finally someone wanted you who isn't a weirdo," he says. "So, what does that make me?" He doesn't give me time to answer. "A weirdo, I guess."
"Jackson, no," I say. "That's not what I meant."
"That's what it sounded like," he says. "Also, not to add insult to injury, but if you think Matthew wasn't a weirdo... well..."
I roll my eyes and don't give anything in the way of a response. There's too much going on in my head to do that quite yet.
So, we sit in silence for a while. I let his words sink in and I'm not sure what he's doing, but it seems like he's deep in thought, too.
When I finally speak, I do so quietly, "You aren't a weirdo," I say. "But you also didn't want me like Matthew wanted me. You wanted... a relationship, sure. But marriage?" I shake my head.
The air in the car changes and becomes more tense as Jackson sits up straighter. "I don't like it when you put words in my mouth and tell me how I feel," he says.
I swallow hard. "I'm not," I say. "But don't be silly, Jackson. We were having a lot of sex, but we stopped communicating like we used to do when we were just friends. You can't get marriage out of that."
"You apparently can't get marriage out of two people with the same exact backgrounds and beliefs, either," he says.
That stings. It's true, but it still stings.
"I'm sorry," he mutters.
I shake my head. "No need," I say. "You aren't wrong."
"Well, it's a little soon after the fact not to be wrong," he says, then smiles.
"Yeah," I say, then sniffle.
He opens his mouth, then shuts it to think over his words some more. It takes a few moments, but he finally says, "I never used to be a marriage kind of guy," he says. "My mom and dad split when I was young; you know that. It warped my whole view. But then... I don't know. I don't think like that anymore."
"What changed?" I ask.
He lifts his eyes and meets mine. Without looking away, he says, "I met you."
...
Per Jackson's advice, I don't spread the news immediately that I actually turned down Matthew's proposal. He suggested giving it a day, so I decide to give it a day.
We rode home from the hospital together and headed to my place. Not to have wild, urgent, eager sex, but to just be with each other and talk some more.
After dinner, we head to the couch and I lie down with my head on his thigh. He switches the TV to some basketball game, mutes it, then strokes my hair off of my forehead.
"Someday..." I say, reaching up to hold the side of his face. "What if we did?"
He doesn't need me to clarify what I mean - I can tell by the look on his face. "Then we'll probably have a wedding in a field with butterflies," Jackson says, "if I'm remembering that right."
My face warms and I'm smiling hard when I say, "You are."
"Would you want that?" he asks. "Someday, would you?"
I nod as my smile dwindles into a more serious expression. I caress his beard with my thumb, then say, "Yes. Someday."
He bends in half and presses a slow kiss to my forehead. "I'd love you better than he ever could," he says.
I wrap my arms around him and rub the back of his neck, then sit up so I can give him a proper hug. With my cheek resting on his shoulder and his arms looped around my lower back, I say, "You already do."