The Bird and the Worm

“Brian, there’s something I need to tell you, and it would probably be a good idea if you were sitting down.” She wrung her hands together, biting her lip for a moment, glancing at me. I acquiesced, sitting at the table in the kitchen, and held out my hand for her to take hoping to give her some support. She eyed my hand nervously, shaking her head and turning, taking a few steps back before facing me again. “I can’t marry you, Brian.”

I felt a pang of angst stab me right in the chest as she spoke the words. “What? Why?”

She sighed. “I can give you the reason, or I can tell you the name.”

My heart sank. No. Oh no. She wasn’t doing this. Not a month before we were supposed to be married. This was not supposed to happen. She was supposed to love me and only me, but there was some mystery guy jockeying for my position, waiting in line for me to bow out gracefully and give my fiancé over to him. “Michelle, what have you done?” My voice was a cracked whisper, and her eyes met mine. There was no regret in them, only determination to get through this one tense moment. “What have you done?”

“We can’t get married, Brian.”

“But- I love you!” She walked over to me, folding both of her hands over mine. “This is not the way it was suppose to go! What about ‘forever’, huh? What happened to that?”

“Forever died last night at a bar.”

I narrowed my eyes, sliding my hand from beneath hers, stunned. I opened my mouth to say something to her, but then shut it with a huff, not sure what to say about being cheated on and being broken up with in the same twenty-four hour span. She watched me as I processed her words, and then she stepped back about six inches, allowing me room to get up if I wanted to. Slowly, I rose, and it wasn’t until then that I realized she was so much shorter than me, vulnerable, and small.

“We’re supposed to love each other forever,” I finally said, and she glanced up at me, her eyes different. “Why did you have to break this for me?”

“It’s not always about you, Brian,” she said, and then she wrenched her engagement ring from her finger. She held it to my face , pinching it between her fingers, her eyes narrowed. “You never should have given me this.” I felt the first wave of tears leak from my eyes, and she was stunned. I was mortified that she was so willing to end this so easily. “You’re not crying?!”

I was seething and crying at the same time. “Get out,” I breathed, barely controlling my emotions. “You can get your things later but right now, you can get out.”

“You want me gone?”

“Yes, I do. It’s obvious that you don’t love me anymore.”

She laughed shortly. “That’s not true.”

“Just leave.”

I watched her as she turned, and I continued to watch her until she reached the door. “You wasted five years on me, Brian Haner. It was foolish for us to think we could make a life together.” When she looked at me, there was venom in her eyes, and I was so appalled that I barely noticed the ring I’d given her seven months ago hitting my chest. What she’d failed to say was that my love meant nothing.

I sank down and pulled my knees to my chest, resting my arms on them, banging my head on my arms over and over again, letting merciless tears fall from my face. I felt fucked over, abandoned, and trashed.

I felt hated.

“Sir?”

My head snapped up, and I turned my head so that I met the gaze of a woman that looked to be about Heather’s age, and she was wearing the standard green apron over her everyday clothes.

“You spaced out for a moment, sir. Now which flowers did you want?”

I focused my attention on the flowers before me “Oh, um, I don’t know, really.” My lips lifted into a sheepish grin. “They’re for my girlfriend, and I have to admit that it’s been a while since I’ve been to a store like this.”

She smiled at me, touching a bouquet with her fingertips. “In that case, I would suggest these. That is, of course, if her favorite colors include yellow and orange.” She laughed at her own small joke. “But of course, not many prefer those colors anymore.”

I bit my lip, considering the options before turning to her. “She’s actually a black, red, blue, whatever kind of girl. Have any flowers for someone like her?” I had to admit, I felt a little awkward buying flowers for a girl I’d physically spent three and a half days with, but we had technically been together for five months, so it wasn’t as far-reaching as my mind seemed to want to make it.

The girl nodded and pushed back librarian-styled glasses. “We actually do. If you’ll follow me.”

I gave her a small smile before she turned and led me towards a section of flowers that were much more realistic-looking than the ones I’d been admiring, and immediately, the only word I could come up with to describe myself was douche. This proved that I knew nothing about flowers, since I’d hardly ever bought them for Michelle. We’d always been party-and-costume people, not flowers-and-kisses people. There were roses, daffodils, daisies, sunflowers, lilies, lilacs, and any other sort of ‘romantic’ flower one might think of.

“Do any of these look like something she would like?”

I bit my lip, scanning over the selection. Then, my eyes fell upon a selection of deep red roses, and even though it was the most stereotypical thing I had ever done (aside from going all-out on my proposal to Michelle), they made me kinda smile as I thought about what Heather’s reaction would be. I picked them up, and then I turned my attention to the girl that had been helping me. “These will work just fine.”

“Anything else?” I shook my head. “Then if you’ll follow me to the counter, I can get you checked out and all that jazz.” I nodded, and she laughed a little. “You haven’t done this in a while, have you.” I shook my head, laughing a little as well. “Well I’m sure this girlfriend of yours knows that she’s loved.”

She is. I didn’t say it, though I should have.

God I was a freaking sap.

“How will you be paying, sir?”

I pulled out my wallet and plucked out the payment necessary. She nodded as I slid the bills onto the counter.

“She’s a lucky girl.”

“I tend to think of it the other way.” She smiled at me, and she looked amazed that a guy like me (knuckles and arms covered in tattoos didn’t usually walk into a store full of flowers and buy some for their girlfriends and then say shit like this) had that kind of mindset. Her mouth formed a small ‘o’ as she slid my payment into the cash register and punched a few numbers.

A few moments later, she had my change ready. “Have a good day, sir, and I hope your girlfriend appreciates them.”

I flashed a small smile. “So do I.”