Moving On

Sitting across from him, she struggled with the words she'd rehearsed in those restless hours of the night. Telling him was going to be decidedly harder than breaking it to the bathroom mirror. She'd considered doing it in a letter, but after eight years and recent circumstances, that seemed ... callous.

It's not you, she'd planned to say. It was true. He'd been wonderful to her. But marriage and a baby in quick succession had changed things, changed her, in ways she hadn't anticipated.

"I can't stay," she blurted.

His eyes searched hers for several seconds. Her cheeks burned, but--desperate to appear resolute--she returned his stare.

"You're leaving us?"

She nodded slowly. "I have to."

"I ... I don't wanna lose you," he said rather dispassionately. "But I can't say I'm surprised."

His nonchalance stung. You're not going to fight for me? Beg me not to go? 

And then it sunk in. He melted into his chair, his face contorted.

"What am I gonna do without you?"

Did his voice crack? She resisted the urge to squeeze his hand.

She'd seen him cry before--a month ago, after his mother died. On his first day back following bereavement leave, they'd gone to lunch. He broke down over steak and bleu cheese salad. They sat in the car while he tried to pull himself together. Her heart ached for him. He was good-enough looking, yet she wasn't attracted to him, not even when she was single. But that day, in a confusion of grief and sympathy, they kissed.

Working one-on-one was torturously awkward now. She felt exposed in department meetings, as if anyone could just look at them and know. At home she rarely mentioned work, fearful her husband would somehow sense her guilt. She'd been thinking about staying home with her daughter for a while. The kiss sealed the deal.

"Well," he conceded. "Would you please write up a formal letter of resignation for your file?"

"Yes, sir," she smiled somberly.

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trifecta weekly challenge: The entry must be 33-333 words and include the word "appear" (defined as to have an outward aspect: seem). Mine is 333 words.

The Agenda

“See? I told you,” Caroline announced as we propped open the heavy double doors. “No amount of sparkly streamers can make up for the fact that our 25-year class reunion is in the elementary school gymnateria.”

She was right. We’d dressed it up, but the room reeked of sweat, stale nachos and frozen brownies. When you decide two months until summer to hold a reunion, you take what you can get. I’d traded on my PTA president status to get this “venue,” in which we would be feasting on a giant sub, chips and generic sodas.

I had an agenda. Between the last reunion and this glorified picnic, I’d gotten divorced. So had my high school crush. I didn’t care if I had to throw him down on a juice-stained table in the same place my kids practice free throws; I was making my move. Yes, reunion hook-ups are pedantic, but they’re great for satisfying decades-old lust.

Rick had RSVP’d with Adam, so he wasn’t bringing a date. Those two have been best friends since middle school. They were both on our football team, enlisted jointly in the Marines and worked at the same tire plant. Adam was Rick’s best man and his son’s godfather. They were always together. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re bromance contributed to the breakup of Rick’s marriage.

The dress code was casual. I was wearing a tight sundress with a plunging neckline. It screamed “middle-aged and desperate,” and I was OK with that. I’d roped a reluctant Caroline into helping with the reunion and being my wingwoman. She was fully prepared to distract Adam with boobies and contraband booze.

We waited by the ball rack, which offered the best view of the entrance. Adam walked in first, and then Rick. I held my breath. Rick looked amazing. Although his hair was thinning, he was tall, tan and fit. He took Adam’s hand; their fingers intertwined.

Caroline and I looked at each other.

"Ah," we said in unison.

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I wrote this short story for the trifecta writing challenge. It's my first time entering--just discovered this weekly competition yesterday. The entry must be 33-333 words and include the word "pedantic" (defined as unimaginative or pedestrian). Mine is 333 words exactly. BOO-YAH!