Jon and I met at one of our, previously, regular haunts. It was an Italian restaurant on the North side with tall burgundy leather booths, dim lighting, and really good fried cheese. I didn’t return his embrace when I entered, my arms hung limp at my sides, and I felt no nostalgia when the heady tomato, wine, and sausage aroma wafted over me. But, I did allow him to lead me to our normal table. We placed our drink orders, I wanted only water but Jon ordered a bottle of expensive Sangiovese and two glasses.
No sooner did our waiter leave did I say: “Why did you cheat on me?”
It wasn’t the question I meant to ask. In fact, I didn’t really care about the answer. I was just stalling before confronting him with Kat’s evidence about his father’s role in my job loss. Also, for some reason, I was craving drama. I wanted to yell at someone.
“Janie…” Jon sighed, his head dropped, his shoulders slumped. “It was a mistake. It was the biggest mistake of my life.”
“Jon, I’d like to know.”
“This is going to sound crazy. You have to-” he reached out like he was going to grab my hands but then seemed to think better of it, “I’ll tell you but you have to promise me that you’ll stay- you’ll stay and talk to me after.”
“I asked, didn’t I? I want to know, I want to talk about it.” I winced at my own lie. I really just wanted to yell at him for being a liar and a manipulator.
“But you might not stay after I tell you why I- just, you just have to promise me you’re not going to shut me out after. I don’t think I could live with that.”
I pursed my lips and scowled, “Fine, I promise. I promise I will continue to talk to you after you tell me. Would you feel better if I attached a timeframe to the promise? Like I promise I’ll stay and speak to you for no less than one hour after you tell me?”
“Honestly, yes. It would make me feel better.” He looked relieved and a little desperate.
I blinked at him, incredulous but promised anyway: “Ok, I promise to stay and talk to you for the period of one hour after you tell me.”
He sighed again, nodding, and looked like he was going to be sick. He swallowed. He affixed his gaze to a spot on the table and began. His voice was so quiet I had to lean forward to hear him; “You have to understand, I’ve loved you from the very first moment I saw you. I just knew you were it for me. Do you remember?” He smiled sadly, still looking at the table, “You were arguing with our professor on the first day about using linear equations as an approximation of non-linear equations. You were so angry-”
“I wasn’t angry.”
He glanced at me, his green eyes, still somewhat sad, glittering with amusement, “Not every equation is solvable. If we didn’t use linear equations as estimates we would be left with chaos.”
I smiled in return and shook my head, “Na-ah. We’re not talking about this now. Besides, I don’t get angry. I was annoyed.”
The shadow of amusement faded from his expression; “But, it’s relevant. What you just said, you just said that you don’t get angry. This is true, you don’t. All these years we’ve been together I’ve never seen you more than one standard deviation from baseline. You’re never excited. I’ve never even seen you embarrassed. Even when you drank too much that one time when we were in the Hamptons, you were so calm. If you hadn’t thrown up I wouldn’t have been able to tell you were drunk.”
“I still don’t see the relevance.”
He cleared his throat, staring at the table again, “I did it to be closer to you.”
I waited for him to continue. When he didn’t I leaned further forward and folded my hands on the table, prompting him, “What? What do you mean you did it to be closer to me?”
He took a deep breath then met my gaze, his olive green eyes were ripe with sadness and regret and a touch of accusation, “I did it to be closer to you. Sometimes you are so-” his hand on the table balled into a fist, “so distant, almost apathetic about me, about us. It’s like you don’t care whether or not I’m there. Do you know how that makes me feel? I love you so- so much. I burn for you. I ache for you.” He reached across the table and gripped my hand, the force of the action startled me, “I just want you to feel something, just one tenth of what I feel. I can’t stop thinking about you and- damn it Janie-”
For the first time in maybe ever, Jon made my heart beat faster. His voice was filled with such raw emotion I imagined I could almost reach out and touch his words. At one point in my life I was convinced this was the person I was going to marry and with which I was going to have a dog and a house and 2.1 babies. I thought he was consistent and safe and reliable.