“All these things,” she says without any disgust or hate or rage. She pours crystals out from the sugar shaker. They spill in a pile on the grimy Formica tabletop. She drags her finger through the pile, like a giant knocking over a mountain. Like she’s scattering my feelings in front of me.
My throat is a knot that my voice barely escapes from. “But…what about us…” I try again after clearing my throat. “What about us?”
She doesn’t even look at me. “What about us?”
Only it isn’t a question and all of a sudden I remember it’s what she’d said to me the day I walked out. She gathers her things.
“I only came here…” She looks around at the tiny corner diner that used to be our place. We liked it for its vintage look and its greasy smells, and its cracked counter top because it was all trapped in time. “I came here to let you know that I don’t have to care anymore. You granted me that when you walked out.”
I thought she avoided looking at me because she’s afraid of liking me again, afraid of falling in love all over again but when her eyes finally settle on me, I know I’m wrong. She stands up, stares at me with hard brittle eyes.
“I dealt with it for a long time and I finally let it go. You don’t get to come back and mess that up for me. This is all yours. All these unfinished things.” In one move, her right hand sweeps through the sugar and scatters it across the table, in to my lap, on the floor. “You deal with it.”
I do not own this picture. It is a nice view of sugar though