A Difficult Situation

The bar is empty at three o'clock on a Thursday afternoon. The glasses are gleaming, the fridges are stocked, and I can see my reflection in the wooden top of the bar. With nothing left to do to keep myself occupied, I grab a glass of water and lean back on the counter, pulling my phone out of my back pocket. I glance down at the screen hoping for a text message, a missed call, or anything from Garry that might let me know where his mind is at. It's been three days since he walked out of my apartment, and I haven't heard from him. I've been tempted to call him, but there's this stubborn part of me that's furious that he left when I needed him the most. 

Lights gleam off the giant diamond of my engagement ring as I play with it absentmindedly and I can't help but wonder if I'm still going to be walking down the aisle. Even if Garry comes back grovelling for forgiveness over his callous behaviour, can I forgive a man who would just walk away like that? What does this mean for our future? Can I trust him to put me first, to honour vows that pledge for better or worse, in sickness and in health?

With all these thoughts swirling around my head, it takes a couple of moments before I realise that my phone is ringing. My stomach drops when I realise that it's not Garry, but my doctor. With a deep breath, I answer the call. It would seem that today is only going to get worse because, as I hang up from the doctor informing me that my colonoscopy has been scheduled for next week, Garry walks through the door.

My breath hitches as he walks across the room, studiously avoiding my gaze. As he comes to stand in front of me, his expression becomes deliberately blank, a trick I helped him perfect for handling difficult situations at work. Apparently, now I am considered a 'difficult situation'.

My stomach begins to churn, and I can feel bile creeping up my throat as I wait for Garry to talk. I'm determined that I won't be the first to break the uncomfortable silence that has arisen between us.

"Babe," Garry greets me, discomfort flashing across his face.

I can't trust myself to respond so I simply raise an eyebrow in response, urging him to continue.

"Look, babe. You know how busy I am at work…" There it is; no apology, no 'how are you doing?', nada. "I don't think it's a good idea for us to get married at the moment. Like, there is no way I could take time off work to come to your appointments or look after you. They need me at work, you know…"

I want to scream that I need him, that no employer would begrudge a few hours for a sick fiancée or wife. But who am I kidding? Garry has obviously made up his mind. He has decided what his priorities are and clearly, I am not one of them.

Before I can say anything, however, he continues with the speech he has evidently prepared in advance. "Maybe when you are better, we can get back together, yeah? I wouldn't be any help now. You know I hate blood and…and all that stuff. I would only get in the way."

Ah, so this is how he is planning on justifying being the biggest arsehole in the history of the world. Okay, maybe not the biggest because, let's face it, he has never beaten me or stolen from me. But his words are still a blow to my already fragile emotions, and he has just whipped away the beautiful picture of the future I had painted in my head.

I grip the counter as I try to rein in the anger that is currently building inside of me. I refuse to let Garry take anything else; I may be broken, but I still have some semblance of pride left. I won't beg. The sparkle from my ring finger draws my attention, and I realise my knuckles are white. With shaking hands, I pull the ring off and wordlessly slide it across the counter towards Garry.

Finally, I see some flicker of genuine emotion cross his face, the barest hint of contrition as he reaches out and picks up the ring, then slips it into his jacket pocket.

"So, um, take care of yourself, yeah?" Garry clears his throat as he watches me warily. I can tell he's waiting for the explosion, but I'm not going to do anything to justify his fucking awful behaviour.

"Goodbye, Garry," I say quietly. I stand rigidly upright, my chin held high as I attempt to keep myself from breaking down.

"Get well soon, Katie," Garry responds before stuffing his hands in his pockets and scurrying towards the exit. I wait for the door to close before sliding down to the floor and letting go. It's only when a customer appears that I realise I need to pull myself together—I'm in a public place, and tomorrow I may need to start fighting for my life. After all, when you look at it like that, what's a little thing like a broken engagement?

I don't realise I'm even crying until Jackson wipes away the tears. "What a fucking douchebag," he mutters.

A strangled laugh escapes me. "Yeah, he is. He left me to cancel everything and tell people the wedding was off."

"What the fuck?" Jackson growls, adjusting his body so that he can look me in the eyes.

"Yeah, Garry was old-fashioned, so I paid for the majority of the wedding using some of my inheritance, plus what I had managed to save up. I had my colonoscopy and afterwards, my head was a complete mess because I was trying to come to terms with my colitis diagnosis. By the time I was in the right headspace to sort wedding stuff, it ended up being too late in the day for cancellations. The majority refused to issue any refunds so, in the end, Finn went apeshit on my behalf. I still have no idea how he did it, but I managed to get some money back, the bar got fresh flowers delivered weekly for a year, and the food and cake were given to a homeless shelter.

"The hardest part was telling people the wedding was cancelled. I was feeling so rough at that stage with my colitis flare that Sophie handled it. You really learn who you can lean on. Not one of those so-called friends who I had gotten to know in the two years I had been with Garry even reached out to find out if I was okay. It was like I no longer existed. Even now if they pop into the bar, they avoid eye contact and pretend I'm invisible."

"I have no idea what to say right now," Jackson says as he tips my face up to his and places a gentle kiss on my lips.

"You don't have to say anything," I respond with a small smile that I know doesn't reach my eyes. "It was a long time ago. It's in the past." I wriggle down Jackson's body so that I'm lying on his chest, my ear picking up the steady beat of his heart.

I'm not sure how long we lie like that, cocooned in the duvet, but eventually, Jackson's breathing evens out and I smile as he falls asleep. "I think I might be falling in love with you, Jackson," I whisper, thinking that he won't hear my admission. It is too soon for all of that.

But then his breath hitches, and he whispers back sleepily, "I love you too, Kat." He kisses the top of my head and tightens his arms around me like he never wants to let me go. And the truth is that I don't want him to.