After Eight Years, I Walked Away

At the party, someone started up a round of Never Have I Ever.

One of the guys had had too much to drink, and he grinned as he said it:

I've secretly gone on a trip alone with my girlfriend's best friend behind her back.

Everyone at the table cursed him for being scum, and they all folded down a finger.

Everyone except my boyfriend, Desmond Gilbert.

Across the table, Beverly Matthews' eyes went red.

"Ramona Dickerson, don't get the wrong idea."

"I'd just gone through a breakup back then. He was only keeping me company."

The next turn came around to Desmond.

As if to prove he had nothing to hide, he reached over and pulled Beverly's hand toward him.

"I've bought a ring for my girlfriend's best friend."

On Beverly's pinky sat a plain band.

Last month, out shopping, I'd tried that exact ring on.

Desmond had slipped it off my finger and handed it back to the clerk.

"A ring isn't the kind of thing you give someone lightly."

And now it was on my best friend's hand.

Beverly hurried to pull her hand back.

"Desmond, stop."

But he didn't let go.

"It's just a birthday present."

"Don't read into it."

I looked at their joined hands, then slowly looked down at my own.

Five fingers, and somewhere along the way, only one of them was still standing.

This round of the game, this relationship. It seemed like the one losing was me either way.

...

Someone in the private room let out a couple of awkward laughs.

"Des, you... gave a ring as a birthday present?"

Beverly's eyes reddened further, and she scrambled to pull her hand back again.

"Ramona, don't overthink it."

"It's just a plain birthday present, I swear."

Desmond frowned, and instead of letting go, he only gripped Beverly's hand tighter.

"You don't need to explain anything to her."

"That's just how Ramona is. She blows everything up into a federal case."

He turned to me, an edge of impatience in his voice.

"The reason I didn't buy you one back then is that I knew a ring wasn't what you wanted."

"What you wanted was a promise."

"Beverly's different."

"She's just happy to get a gift. She doesn't back me into a corner over it."

Beverly gave his sleeve a light tug.

"Desmond, stop it..."

But he only let out a low laugh.

"What's the big deal? Why can't I say it?"

"Always nagging about marriage. It's so much pressure."

I looked at the ring on Beverly's pinky.

And suddenly I remembered her birthday.

It was the seventeenth.

The same day Desmond had promised to come meet my parents.

That day, my parents had taken a three-hour train to see him.

We waited from noon until dusk.

All we got, in the end, was one message from Desmond.

Something came up at work. Let's do it another time.

I looked at Desmond.

"So that day, when you stood us up and skipped meeting my parents, you were off celebrating her birthday?"

Beverly ducked her head and started working the ring off.

"I honestly didn't know that day was when you two were meeting the parents."

"Ramona, if it bothers you, I'll give it back to you."

Desmond's face darkened, and he grabbed Beverly's hand.

"It was a gift for you. Keep it. There's nothing to give back."

He turned to me with a look of pure disappointment.

"Ramona, I know you're in a hurry to get married, but meeting the parents doesn't have to be that one day."

"You didn't have time to celebrate Beverly's birthday, so I did it for you. And you're still not happy?"

I looked down at my own hand.

Five fingers, and only the last one was still up.

Slowly, I curled it back into my palm.

Five fingers, all folded down.

"No need to give it back. I don't want it."

Desmond frowned.

"Ramona, what's that supposed to mean?"

I picked up my bag and stood.

"Nothing. I just don't want it anymore."

I'd barely reached the elevator when I heard footsteps behind me.

Desmond had chased me out. He grabbed my wrist.

"Go back inside and apologize to Beverly."

"Did you really have to embarrass her like that, in front of everyone?"

"You made it look like she was the one who came between us. What are people supposed to think?"

His grip on my wrist hurt.

"So you chased me out here to make me apologize to her?"

His face stiffened, then slid straight back into irritation.

"Is it really that big a deal?"

"You just went looking for a fight, trying to force some kind of reaction out of me."

"I never said I wouldn't marry you. Can you please stop pressuring me?"

For a moment I couldn't speak.

Pressuring him.

So eight years of waiting came down to that one word.

I stayed with him from twenty-three to thirty-one.

One by one, our friends got married, had kids.

And Desmond always said,

"Let's wait a little longer."

"Now's not the right time. I'm under a lot of pressure."

So I waited, and waited, until all that was left was that word. Pressuring him.

Seeing that I said nothing, his tone softened a little.

"Ramona, that's not what I meant."

"I just don't think we need to make this ugly."

"Go back inside, okay?"

"Everyone's still in there."

I pulled my hand free and said quietly,

"I'm tired. I'm going home."

I stepped into the elevator and didn't look at him again.

The cab was pulling away from the club when my mother called.

"Mom."

There was a beat of silence on the other end.

"Ramona, are you really not going to think about coming home?"

"That position at the city hospital, if you don't confirm by tomorrow morning, it goes to someone else."

I gripped the phone and didn't answer.

As if afraid of pushing me, she quickly added,

"I'm not rushing you."

"I just want to ask, this Desmond of yours... what does he actually want?"

"If he really wanted to marry you, he wouldn't have dragged it out this long."

"All these years, how many times have your dad and I asked to meet him?"

"Not once. He never came."

The tears came all at once.

On the other end, my mother's voice broke too.

"Ramona."

"It's okay if you don't get married."

"Your dad and I can take care of you."

"Don't do this to yourself over a man who won't give you an answer."

Outside the window, the streetlights slid past one by one.

And it hit me that these eight years had been one long dream.

It was finally time to wake up.

I wiped my eyes and said softly,

"Mom."

"Hold that position for me."

"I'm coming home tomorrow to sign."

My father's voice came through the phone.

"Ramona's coming home?"

My mother laughed through her tears.

"Yes. She says she's coming home."

I closed my eyes.

"Mom."

"I'm coming home."

After I finished the paperwork to resign from the hospital and went back to the apartment Desmond and I had rented for five years, I started packing.

We'd taken this place together the year we graduated.

Back then he held my hand and said that once we saved up enough for a down payment, we'd buy a home that was truly ours.

The living room would have the white couch I loved, the balcony would grow mint and cherry tomatoes, the study would have one whole wall of photos.

He said that when we were old, we'd flip through them one by one and show our kids.

While clearing the bookshelf, I came across a thick kraft-paper photo album.

Desmond had made it for me by hand, the year we graduated from college.

On the title page, he'd written in ink:

To Ramona our youth is only just beginning.

I lowered my eyes and turned to the photos.

Graduation trip, group dinners, New Year's fireworks, birthday get-togethers.

I turned through them one page at a time, and it hit me that every single photo Desmond had glued in with his own hands had Beverly in it.

And tucked into the last page was a solo shot of Beverly.

She stood at the edge of the field, the wind lifting her white dress, glancing back at the camera with a smile.

On the back, in Desmond's handwriting:

June 18, 2018. Beverly's graduation. She looks beautiful today.

I closed the album and put it back.

I wasn't going to take this one with me.

Because what it preserved had never been my story.

I drew my hand back and went on sorting the rest.

That was when I heard the lock turn at the front door.

Desmond came over and pressed his hand down over mine as I was folding clothes.

"That's enough, stop packing. You're really running away from home?"

"If Beverly hadn't kept talking me into it, I honestly wouldn't have wanted to come back tonight."

"Beverly's been thinking about you this whole time. How can you be so selfish?"

I brushed his hand off, ignored him, and turned to get the clothes out of the closet.

Desmond held out a paper bag and sighed.

"Haven't you always wanted to get married?"

"There are wedding plans in here. I had someone draft a few versions. After the new year, we'll set a date."

The hand holding my clothes stopped dead in midair.

I'd imagined the scene of him proposing to me countless times, sure I'd be moved to tears.

But now, when he'd finally said it out loud.

I opened the bag.

Inside were venue brochures, a bridal gown catalog, and a few photos of reception sites.

On the booking form, the line for the bride's name was blank.

Desmond stepped closer and pulled me into his arms.

"Stop holding it against Beverly."

"She cried for a long time today too, and she kept telling me we can't keep stringing you along."

"I'm even giving you a wedding. You should be a little more reasonable."

I looked down at the planning sheets.

Before I could say anything, another confirmation slip slid out of the bag.

It was a booking for the Iceland aurora resort.

A double suite, thirty nights.

On the line for travelers, it read: Desmond Gilbert and Beverly Matthews.

I knew that resort.

Three years ago, I'd stayed up night after night putting together honeymoon plans, and it was the first one I'd bookmarked.

Desmond reached out and slid the booking slip away.

"Since we're having a wedding now, there's so much to prepare, so let's skip the honeymoon trip."

"Beverly's been in a bad place lately anyway, so I'm planning to take her to Iceland."

"We'll have plenty of chances to get away later. Missing this one is no big deal."

At that point, as if he thought he'd already given up enough, he added:

"She grew up in a single-parent home, and she's never even been out of the state. Ramona, I know you can understand that."

The moment I heard those words, something seized my heart hard.

I suddenly remembered last winter, the three of us eating a late-night meal at a curbside spot.

Heavy snow had come down that day, and Beverly, a little drunk, went red around the eyes talking about her childhood.

She said that in winter her family couldn't even afford coal, that all she could do was tuck her hands into her worn-out coat, her fingers covered in chilblains, and that back then her biggest dream was to watch the snow come down from inside a heated room.

That day, Desmond, who always kept his feelings in check, listened and listened until his own eyes went red.

I looked at Desmond's face, and the fire that had churned in my chest for eight years went out completely.

I slid my hand out of his, finger by finger.

"Okay."

Desmond blinked, then reached out to pull me in again.

"That's my girl, Ramona. I always knew you were the understanding one."

I stepped back, out of his reach.

Desmond went to shower.

I sat on the edge of the bed, opened the dashcam app, and got ready to unlink the device.

Tomorrow I was going home.

Some things needed to be cleared out.

I must have tapped something, because a cloud recording started playing on its own.

And then Beverly's voice came through.

"Des, could you stop being so good to me from now on?"

"You found me a job, you covered my rent, you even went with my mom to all her hospital checkups."

"If you keep doing this, I'm really going to get the wrong idea."

Desmond's voice was low.

"Beverly, don't overthink it."

"I just know it's hard for you on your own."

Beverly gave a small laugh.

"Are you this good to everyone who's having a hard time?"

The car went quiet for a few seconds.

Desmond didn't answer.

Beverly asked again:

"Then have you ever, even a little, liked me?"

Desmond was silent for a long time.

"Beverly, stop asking."

"There's no chance for us I can't do wrong by Ramona."

Beverly said, muffled:

"Just answer my last question. Would you regret it?"

"Regret not meeting me sooner."

Desmond didn't speak for a long while.

Finally, he said:

"Yes."

I sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at the unlink button at the bottom of the screen.

I had heard it all now. I lowered my eyes and pressed it.

Desmond came out of the shower and wrapped his arms around me from behind, the way he always did.

"Ramona, I've been thinking."

"Tomorrow let's go put down the deposit on the place."

"That unit in Southgate. You always loved the floor-to-ceiling windows there, didn't you?"

Before, a few lines like that probably would have brought tears to my eyes.

Eight years. I'd waited for him too long.

He paused, as if choosing his words.

"Oh, and I was thinking we'd keep one of the rooms for Beverly to stay in."

"You know how it is with her family. It's not like she has a real home to go back to."

"That way you'd have company too, and she wouldn't waste money on rent. Once she gets married, she can move out."

"Let's hold off on the photo wall, too. Beverly says a full wall of cabinets is more practical."

"She's actually worried you'd mind."

"I told her, Ramona's the most generous person there is."

I watched the moonlight leaking through the gap in the curtains, and suddenly I smiled.

I lifted his arm off my waist.

"Sure."

Desmond let out a breath of relief.

Before long, his even breathing settled behind me.

At three in the morning, I dragged my suitcase out the door.

By the time Desmond woke, it was nine.

He reached toward the space beside him and found only cold sheets.

Half the closet was empty.

No breakfast in the kitchen.

On the shoe cabinet, only a spare key was left.

That was when the panic hit him. He called me at once.

Phone off.

His texts all bounced back with red exclamation marks.

His fingers shaking, Desmond called the head nurse of my department.

"Nurse Vaughn, did Ramona come in today? She had a little spat with me"

The head nurse sounded more surprised than he did.

"A spat?"

"Ramona finished her exit paperwork last night."

Desmond's voice went tight. "Quit? And gone where?"

"Back home, to the city hospital there."

The head nurse paused.

"She said she probably won't be coming back to this city."

"Aren't you her boyfriend?"

"She really didn't tell you any of this?"