She’s also right. I need to do this – and now.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I call Nicholas and it only rings once before he answers.
‘Hiya,’ he says in that clipped tone of his.
There was a time when I thought it was charming howEnglishhe sounds. Now it propels me into a tailspin and I nearly chicken out. But then I imagine Megan sitting across from me, flapping her hand and telling me to get on with it.
‘Nicholas, we need to talk.’
‘Ooh, that sounds ominous,’ he says, coughing out a wry laugh. ‘Oh, right, I see – you’re not coming to London, are you?’
‘No, I’m not.’
He sighs with frustration. ‘Well, I suppose I could come to LA at some point. Not sure when, though.’
Two years of wanting him to visit me and this is the closest he’s come to offering. Irony can be a real bitch sometimes.
‘Actually, that’s not a good idea,’ I reply.
He laughs again, a whiny sound like fingernails on a chalkboard, making me shiver.
‘Well, like I said, it wouldn’t be any time soon,’ he says. ‘I’ve already wasted a week’s leave on this… this…holiday– if you’d call it that.’
A giant switch flicks in my head, sharpening the edge of my resolve. Nicholas is a total asshole. He probably always has been, but at least I see it now.
‘You’re misunderstanding me. I don’t want you to come to LA – not soon, not ever. This is over.We’reover.’
‘Delaney,’ he says, drowning my name in condescension. ‘You’re just upset. You feel guilty that you got us into this mess. You’re not thinking clearly.’
‘Wow, thanks for explaining that to me, Nicholas. I had no idea what I was feeling.’
‘Hold on – you’re being serious.’
Finally, he gets it.
‘As a heart attack. We’re breaking up.’
There’s a long beat of silence and I draw in a deep breath, exhilaration pumping through my veins. I’ve done it.
‘Well, if that’s what you want. Good luck, Delaney. No doubt you’re going to need it.’
My blood turns to ice and before I can ask what the hell he meant by that, he ends the call.
I take the phone from my ear, my eyes fixed on the water and my mouth hanging open with unspoken retorts.
Good luck?What kind of send-off is that? Did I really give two years of my life to Mr Good Luck?
Yep, Delaney, you did. You moved heaven and earth, pushing shit uphill time and time again for a guy who clearly never gave a fuck about you.
And without another conscious thought, I burst into tears.
I should feel lighter, like I’ve been released from a stranglehold, freed from a relationship that didn’t serve me, but I can’t shake how stupid I’ve been, believing I could make things work with Nicholas. Total moron. Me, that is, not him.
And what did I do when I met a guy who’s decent and thoughtful and funny – one who sees life through a similar lens? I told him to fuck off. And he did.
I cry even harder.
It’s only when the woman from the café rests her hand on my shoulder and sets a pastry in front of me that I return to the here and now.