By: Ty Boyd
Is this the right time to tell him? All of our friends are already inside. It’s just the two of us out here. This is the first time we’ve been alone with each other all day, and if I don’t tell him now, I’m not going to get another chance until dinner’s over. Will I still have the nerve to do it then? Do I have it now?
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Everything.
He turns to look me in the eyes. As hard as I try to match his gaze, I end up settling for the top button of his jacket. I bought it for him back when we first started dating. I didn’t really know his size at the time, so of course it was too big. When I offered to return it, he insisted he’d grow into it, and sure enough he did, but I could never tell if he really liked it. It doesn’t really mesh with the kind of stuff he normally wears, but he always insists on putting it on anytime we go somewhere special. I think he just does it to make me happy. He’s just that kind of guy.
“I didn’t want to say anything in front of everybody, but you’ve been kind of…distant tonight. Is everything all right?”
I can’t see them, but I can feel those puppy dog eyes staring into the top of my head.
“You know if you’re not feeling dinner, we can bail. I’ll just tell the guys I’ve gotta get up early tomorrow for a work thing.”
“No seriously, it’s nothing.”
Even if I did want to skip dinner, it’s not like I could tell him that. He’d been trying to get everybody together for almost a month now, and it’d be weeks before everyone had the same night free again. It wouldn’t be fair to all of them. It wouldn’t be fair to him. Before I have a chance to properly appreciate the irony of that last bit, he pulls me closer to him. I still can’t bring my eyes up past his shoulder, but I know the look of subdued concern that must be making its way across his face right about now. Should I just tell him now and get it over with?
We stand there a moment, two statues frozen by indecision. As I rehearse my apology for probably the tenth time in as many minutes, he mercifully breaks the silence.
“Alright, I’m not gonna push. But if you change your mind, all you’ve gotta do is tell me. One word and we’re gone.”
I surprise myself, and actually manage to look up to give him a smile. I make it as far as his mouth, one corner turned up in that painfully reassuring grin, before my eyes drop once again, this time all the way to his pocket. Why is he like this? Why can’t he just get frustrated with me? Why can’t he be just the least bit suspicious? Of course, I already know the answer. He trusts me. And, God help me, I trust him. So why can’t I just tell him?
He leans forward, bringing his head to rest on mine. The smell of his cologne mingles with those wafting out from the restaurant forming an unnatural, but not unpleasant, mixture of Italian food and pine needles. He really is going all out for this dinner. The last time he put on cologne was at my sister’s wedding, and even then, I practically had to beg him.
And now, with horror, I suddenly recognize what my guilt-exhausted mind had previously failed to piece together. He’s wearing the jacket I bought him when we first started dating. All of our friends are currently waiting for us in the most expensive restaurant in town. He’s wearing my favorite cologne. And there, where my eyes are now frozen, I can make out the outline of what could definitely be a small box in his pocket. I finally look up to his face, ready to admit everything and start begging for forgiveness. Our eyes meet for the first time all day. I have to tell him now.
“Ready?”
“…Yeah, let’s go eat.”