The Night Before I Left Him

1: 1

The night before we were to file for our marriage license, I was working late on my boyfriend's laptop when I clicked into his AI app by accident.

I went to close it, but my eyes drifted to the chat box on the screen.

In a single day, Morris Henson had asked more than a dozen questions.

Being with my girlfriend feels boring to me. Why is that?

"I've already put off filing for the marriage license more than ten times. Are there any other good excuses to stall?"

"My girlfriend says all the wedding arrangements are booked. How do I get out of going without it seeming unreasonable? I've made plans with someone else during that time."

From the front door came the sound of the fingerprint lock clicking open.

I looked up. Morris's childhood friend, Savannah Gilbert, came running toward the sleeping man, her eyes red:

"Morris, my cramps are back! My stomach hurts so much."

His eyes still shut, he put his hand to Savannah's belly on instinct, the other arm loosely around her:

"It's okay. I'm here."

And this was just one of the countless scenes I'd lived through in seven years with Morris.

My eyes went back to the screen. The last question was posted half an hour ago:

"What do you do for a girl's cramps? Does she need to see a doctor? What's good to eat during this time? What can I do to make her feel better?"

My fingernails dug into my flesh.

Slowly, I typed a question onto the screen:

"The night before filing for a marriage license, I found out my boyfriend is unfaithful. What should I do?"

"Cut your losses in time."

What a coincidence.

That was exactly what I'd been thinking.

Morris rubbed his eyes and looked up at me, his gaze landing on the laptop in front of me:

"It's so late. Why are you still working?"

"Aren't you tired? I'll go warm up a glass of milk for you."

And as he said this.

His hand never stopped rubbing Savannah's belly.

"Lie still for a bit. I'll go downstairs."

Morris tucked the blanket completely around Savannah, then got up off the bed, his movements as practiced as if he'd repeated them a thousand times.

He walked into the kitchen.

Savannah curled up under the covers, holding Morris's phone as she called toward the kitchen:

"Phone password."

"Your birthday."

"Why would your phone password be my birthday?"

"Just set it without thinking."

"Aren't you afraid your Lottie Winfield will get upset?" Savannah teased with a laugh.

Morris came out of the kitchen carrying a cup and walked straight over to Savannah where she lay in bed:

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Lottie's not like you. She's sensible and knows how to keep her head. Why would she get upset over something this silly?"

"Come on, get up and drink this warm milk with brown sugar. I looked it up. Online they say this works best for cramps."

"Fine, fine, you're such a nag. Lottie, you really should rein in your Morris. He nags like an old man."

I looked up at Morris and said softly:

"Morris, where's my milk?"

He froze.

Clearly, he'd forgotten.

Morris scratched his head and explained to me, embarrassed:

"There was only one carton of milk left in the house. I used it to make the brown-sugar milk for Savannah. It's just milk. I'll buy you more tomorrow."

Same as always.

Seven years together.

A promise made one second was tossed out of his head the next, the moment anything about Savannah came up.

He promised to celebrate my birthday, but by the time I hurried over, I found my birthday celebration had turned into a party for Savannah's new job.

He promised to cook for me himself, but every dish on the table was loaded with chili peppers.

And I have a serious respiratory condition. I can't touch even a little spice.

He promised to propose to me on our seventh anniversary together, but the proposal I'd looked forward to for so long turned out to be for the thirtieth anniversary of him and Savannah knowing each other.

That day.

I got up early, did my makeup perfectly, put on my prettiest outfit, and headed to the location Morris had sent me, my heart racing.

But when I pushed open the door.

My boyfriend was down on one knee, a ring held up in his hand, and standing in front of him was Savannah, so moved she couldn't stop wiping away tears.

"Savannah, today marks thirty years since we first met. I'm so lucky I got to meet you. Let's keep walking through life together like this."

All around me were the cheers of Morris's buddies.

The flowers I'd bought for Morris slipped from my hands to the floor. I turned to leave on instinct, but Morris caught sight of me at once.

He slid the ring onto Savannah's finger first.

Then he came hurrying toward me, urgency all through his voice:

"Lottie, where are you going?"

"I'm waiting for you. Everyone's waiting for you."

Bang.

Before I could even get a word out, Morris's buddies set off the petal cannon.

When I looked up again.

Morris was already down on one knee in front of me, a ring held up in his hand, his eyes full of sincerity:

"Lottie, marry me. Will you?"

In the middle of the cheering.

I went blank for a moment, and my body reacted before anything else. By the time I came to, I'd already nodded.

As Morris got up and pulled me into his arms, Savannah walked over laughing and gave him a pat:

"I'll give you this much, your taste is actually pretty good."

"The rings you picked for me and Lottie are both gorgeous."

Savannah held out her hand in front of me, and my eyes fell on the ring on her ring finger.

2: 2

Big and bright.

The very ring I'd wanted for so long.

I glanced down at my ring finger without thinking. Only a plain band sat there.

A full size too big.

I had to keep my fist half-clenched just to stop it from slipping off.

He must have picked up on how I felt.

Morris reached over and patted my head, his voice gentle as he began to explain.

"I promised Savannah that on the thirtieth anniversary of the day we met, I'd make three of her wishes come true. This ring was one of them."

"Give it some time and I'll buy you a better one."

By the time I came back to myself.

Morris had already lain back down, pulling Savannah into his arms as naturally as breathing, the two of them tucked close, talking and laughing.

"Morris."

I heard my own voice come out soft, though there was a stubbornness in it I hadn't even known I had.

"What if I really want that milk tonight?"

He froze.

When he looked up at me again there was a kind of confusion in his eyes, as if he couldn't understand why I, always the obedient, reasonable one, would suddenly act up like this.

Then something seemed to come to him, and Morris picked up the calendar beside him and started flipping through it.

At last.

He seemed to find what he was looking for, and the crease between his brows smoothed out.

Morris got up, walked back to the kitchen, and came out with a cup in his hand again.

This time he held it out to me, a trace of guilt in his voice.

"I've been so busy lately I forgot your period was due right around now."

"Mood swings around your period are normal. Drink some warm milk with brown sugar first and warm yourself up."

My fingernails dug into my palm.

"But I'm allergic to brown sugar."

Morris's patience seemed to be running thin. He lifted his wrist to check the time, and when he spoke again he was keeping his voice level.

"Then don't drink it."

"It's getting late, and you've got work in the morning. Go get some rest."

Every time Savannah came over late at night, I was the one who ended up in the guest room, even though her place was right across the hall.

But some silent understanding seemed to exist between the two of them.

And that strange understanding had even started to shape me.

The first time Savannah stayed the night.

I'd actually fought with Morris over it. Morris, who was always the first to back down in an argument, stiffened his neck that day and stood his ground against me for once.

"Savannah and I grew up together. Things were hard at my grandmother's place, so we slept in the same bed. We've been used to it for years."

"Don't let your mind go somewhere so filthy."

"We've been through a lot together. We're each other's best friend."

Back then, I believed him.

I got up.

Walked to the guest room.

The moment I flicked on the light, my eyes landed on the purple tailored dress lying on the bed.

Beside it lay sketch after sketch, draft after redrawn draft, along with all sorts of tailoring tools.

I stepped closer.

One look and I knew the sketches were Morris's own work.

In the bottom-left corner of every sheet was a small line of writing.

"The ninety-ninth dress made for Savannah."

Morris's grandmother had made her living sewing tailored dresses her whole life.

Morris was a man, but he'd learned her craft, every bit of it.

I only knew he could make them. I'd never once seen him make one for anyone.

It wasn't that I'd never asked.

Just a month ago, I'd mentioned wanting to wear a tailored dress he'd made himself as my toast dress at the wedding.

And what had he said?

"Making one is too much trouble, and it's exhausting. Work already keeps me busy and worn out. If you really want one, I'll transfer you the money and you can go buy it."

And yet.

He'd already made Savannah ninety-nine of them.

Something occurred to me.

I got up and went to the closet with the passcode lock.

I keyed in Savannah's birthday.

The lock clicked open.

3: 3

What met my eyes were dresses, all kinds of them.

Ones picked out with fine embroidery, ones that fell past the knee, ones cut close at the waist with slits, plain ones with no pattern at all. Everything.

I tugged at the corner of my mouth.

Took out my phone and photographed them one by one.

Then closed the closet.

Turned and walked to the couch on the side, and lay down on it without much thought.

The couch was cramped and narrow, and with the two of them laughing on and on next door, I slept badly that night.

The next morning I got up early and changed.

Put on my shoes, ready to head out for my run.

But then Morris came out of the bedroom, still bleary with sleep.

When he saw me.

His hands paused, and a second later he lifted his wrist to check the time.

"How come you didn't wake me for the run today?"

Morris had always kept up his morning runs.

But the me from before never liked them.

Not until an illness three years ago, when the doctor advised me to fix my schedule and get more exercise after I was discharged.

After I came home from the hospital.

Morris started coaxing me into running with him in the mornings.

At first.

I was thoroughly unwilling.

But under his little encouragements, bit by bit, I somehow fell in love with running without even noticing.

Then, from some day I couldn't pin down.

Morris would run half the route with me, then take a call from Savannah, and say to me in a hurried voice:

"Savannah's got something urgent. You go on running by yourself first."

And every time, after my run, on the way home I'd spot him at the breakfast stall, Savannah sitting beside him.

The two of them eating, talking and laughing.

After long enough.

I'd even gotten used to the Morris who turned back halfway through and left.

"I want to run on my own."

The words done.

I reached out to push the door and head outside.

But Morris caught me by the arm, a trace of concern in his voice:

"All these years, I've always run with you. And it's still dark out. I don't feel right about you going alone. Wait for me to change and I'll come with you."

Watching his back as he walked away, for a moment I felt oddly unsteady.

"There, let's go."

Changed now, Morris smiled and held out his hand to me, wanting to hold hands the way we used to.

But I drew my hand back without meaning to, and walked outside as if I hadn't seen it.

Sure enough.

Halfway through the run.

Morris's phone rang again.

After he took the call, he turned to look at me, his face anxious:

"Savannah's got something urgent. Go on running by yourself first, I'll come catch up with you in a bit."

The dark stretched out all around.

Panting, I said softly:

"Morris, do you really have to go?"

But all he left me was his back as he turned and hurried off.

I pulled my eyes away.

Kept running.

When the run was over and I was walking home, I caught sight of two familiar figures standing side by side up ahead.

Right then.

Morris and Savannah were standing in front of the woman selling flowers.

Savannah looked through the bunches one at a time, holding each up for Morris beside her to see:

"Morris, which one do you think is prettiest?"

"None of them are as pretty as you."

The sweet line slipped right out of him.

Beside them the woman smiled and pointed to one of the bunches:

"Take this one. It means people in love will stay together forever. May you two young lovebirds be happy always."

I stood where I was.

Watching Morris and Savannah smile at each other, nothing in their eyes but the other.

No explaining, no denying.

As if this was simply how things had always been.

The downpour came all at once.

As if he'd seen it coming, Morris opened the umbrella in his hand and, without thinking, tilted it toward Savannah's side.

The two of them turned to leave, still talking and laughing.

And then their eyes met mine, standing there in the rain.

4: 4

Morris came striding over.

He stopped across from me, holding the umbrella over Savannah.

He reached out and wiped the rain from my face, and there was a flicker of hesitation in his eyes.

Maybe ten seconds passed.

Then I heard Morris say quietly,

"The rain's coming down hard, and this umbrella only fits two. Savannah's on her period, so let me take her back first and then come get you. Go find somewhere to wait out of the rain."

But this was the middle of the morning market strip.

Where exactly was there to shelter from the rain?

The two of them brushed past me.

I waited until they were well ahead, and then I finally called out to Morris, my voice steady with resolve.

"Morris, let's break up."

But of all the timing.

A car drove past just then, its engine noise mixing with the rain and swallowing my voice whole.

Morris looked back at me, blank.

"What did you say?"

"I said"

But before I could finish, Savannah, standing at his side, suddenly grabbed his arm, her voice going weak.

"Morris, my stomach's starting to hurt again..."

"Whatever it is, it can wait. I need to get Savannah home first."

With that, he looked away, took hold of Savannah beside him, and hurried off toward home.

"I said, let's break up."

But the two of them were already long gone. Only the downpour answered me.

I laughed.

And started running through the rain.

For seven years, Morris was always making me wait. In the wind, in the rain.

But not once.

Not once did I ever wait long enough for him to come.

And now.

I wasn't going to wait anymore.

It was just a bit of rain. Really, it was nothing.

When I pushed the door open and stepped inside,

Morris was carefully blow-drying Savannah's hair, murmuring the whole time.

"Your hair has to be dry or you'll catch a cold easily. You were like this as a kid. I just ordered your favorite, the cold-brew yogurt parfait. Have some first. Whatever you want for dinner, I'll make it."

At the sound, the two of them looked up on instinct.

Seeing it was me, Savannah pursed her lips at me, her tone put-upon.

"Lottie, how do you even put up with Morris? He fusses so much. Can't you rein your boyfriend in?"

In the past, if Savannah had said something like that, I would definitely have smiled and answered,

"You're his best friend. He's only doing it for your sake."

And Morris would follow it up with,

"Our Lottie really does understand me best. I wish you could be as considerate as Lottie someday."

But now.

I only tugged the corner of my mouth.

And turned to walk toward the bedroom.

I had a ten o'clock meeting with the wedding coordinator.

After he finished drying Savannah's hair, Morris came into the room, wrapped his arms around me from behind, and studied me in the mirror.

His gaze landed on my very short skirt, and for once he frowned.

"You're going out?"

"Why are you wearing a skirt this short?"

In all the years I'd been with Morris, I'd stuck to long sleeves and long skirts.

All because of one offhand remark of his about feeling insecure.

So I put away all my short skirts, and I even cut off contact with every male friend I had.

I slipped out of his hold on instinct and said flatly,

"I like it. Is that not allowed?"

He froze.

As if something had suddenly dawned on him, Morris sighed, and when he spoke again there was a helpless note in his voice.

"Lottie, are you angry?"

"Just because I was a little late coming to get you? But you're back now, aren't you?"

With that, he reached out to pull me toward him, and there was a coaxing edge in his voice.

"Come on, let's not make a fuss."

"I bought your favorite breakfast dumplings. Come eat breakfast."

But the one who loved breakfast dumplings wasn't me. It was Savannah.

In seven years.

I'd told Morris countless times that I didn't like breakfast dumplings, yet every day after his morning run he'd bring me a portion of them.

"I've got somewhere to be, I'm heading out. You two take your time."

I couldn't even be bothered to argue with him.

I just picked up the bag beside me and walked right past him.

But Morris grabbed hold of me again.

"What do you have to do? I never heard you mention anything."