Ginger Fox
"I'm sorry, okay?! Damn it! What else do you want me to say, Gim?"
I close my eyes and slowly let out a breath. I let my feet dangle, barely touching the sand with just the tips of my toes, as I sit at the beginning of the pier, listening to Tom's anxious voice. I open my eyes and gaze at the sea. I should have let the call go to voicemail, but I was so distracted after leaving the pharmacy, taking the headache pill, that when the phone rang, I automatically answered it and put it to my ear. The man's agitated voice yelling on the other end wasn't what I had planned.
"We need to work this out! God! Can you stop being so immature?! We can get through this together, love. We just need to give ourselves another chance." I try to recall the last time Tom called me "love," but no matter how hard I try, I can't remember a single instance.
It's strange to know that at this moment, the right thing to do is cry, to feel like my heart is being ripped out of my chest, but I don't. I don't feel sad. It's as if my brain refuses to be depressed or even angry at Tom. Our end is like an old piece of clothing. As much as I had affection and attachment to it, and after everything we've been through, I don't feel so unhappy because it simply wore out. My relationship with Tom was my old shirt—worn out, faded, with a few holes, but I kept wearing it. But the moment it turned to rags, I suffered only at that moment and knew I wouldn't wear it anymore. It's depressing to realize that a ten-year relationship has been reduced to an old shirt comparison.
"Gim, please..."
"How long have you been cheating on me, Tom?" The low sound of his breathing on the other end tells me he's searching for an answer to give me, one that will definitely not be the truth.
"Love, she means nothing to me. It was a mistake, a stupid mistake..." Yep, he's lying. "We'll get things back on track as soon as we return to our apartment. Look, I'll make it up to you..."
"My apartment, Tom!" I cut him off. I lift my fingers and rub my face. "That apartment is mine; I pay for it. There's no going back to that apartment. The only thing you're going to do is take your stuff out, and that's it!"
"And what about our wedding? God! How are you going to tell everyone you canceled the wedding?! How are you going to tell your mother about this crazy decision? I haven't even talked to my mom yet! Gim, she's got a heart condition! If you tell her, it could kill her!" My eyes roll so automatically it's like breathing. That old woman will bury the entire family before she dies!
"Talk to her, Tom. I'm giving you a week to tell your mom the truth—that there won't be any wedding."
"A week?! I'm on the verge of the biggest opportunity of our lives! I'm one step away from getting a permanent position as a journalist! I have to deal with your lack of understanding, and now you're giving me only a week to talk to my mom?!"
"Oh my God! You really are an idiot!" I snap in anger. "You still have the nerve to say I don't understand?! Well, Tom, just so you know, I understand a lot, and one of those things is that I wasted ten years of my life with a coward! Tell your mom the truth and get your stuff out of my apartment, or I swear I'll set your clothes on fire!"
I hang up the phone in anger, putting an end to this hypocrisy. How dare he say I don't understand him when all I've ever done is try to understand and always be by his side?!
"Damn it!" I mutter under my breath, gripping the phone in frustration.
A notification sound goes off, and a message from Tom appears.
"Wait until I talk to my mom, and then we'll tell your parents. I just need time."
"Coward!" I put the phone away and don't even bother to reply.
But deep down, I feel like a coward myself, using Tom's cowardice as a shield to avoid calling my mom and putting an end to her craziness too. I have no idea what my life will be like when I get back. Time is ticking, and in a few weeks, I'll be leaving the island, and I'll have to face reality in Columbia. My eyes drift away. My feet swing, with my pants rolled up to my calves, feeling the warmth of the sand. I rub my face and stand up. I grab the pair of flats next to me and adjust the strap of my bag on the side of my body. I don't want to think about what I'll do or how things will be from now on. Right now, I have so many things on my mind that I'd rather gather the courage to face my mom after the deadline I gave Tom is up and put an end to all of this. I take my phone out of my bag, check the time, and see that it's already nine-thirty in the morning. Lira told me Jon wouldn't be back until after lunch, which leaves me with plenty of time. I even invited Baby to come with me to the pharmacy, but she declined, saying she needed to check on Aunt Charlote. Since I didn't want to stay in the mansion until Jon returned, and I certainly didn't want to face Bob or that crazy Lorane, the only option left was to spend some time on the boardwalk. I opted for a walk. Since I wasn't going on a trip with Jon, there was no need to request a car. Even that, I no longer did. Because of my relationship, I had no time for myself; I didn't go out, was always tied to college, apartment chores, work, and, most importantly, to Tom.
How could I have given up on myself for so long just to mold myself to someone else?
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