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“I love you, I’m just not in love with you.”
The words landed in the center of Michelle’s chest, and it felt like she immediately had to throw up. She had known this was coming, had seen it written on Miranda’s face long before the words spilled from her lips, but it didn’t make the impact any softer. As if someone used a bow, took very, explicitly long to aim, and let go of the arrow, watching it as it found its bulls-eye.
She had expected them. They still hurt.
“Michelle, can you please look at me?” Even her voice sounded like she had hurt her physically and she was in fear of Michelle passing out. Maybe she should be, because her stomach really focused on this fucking pain.
“Why?” Michelle asked under her breath, desperately trying to hold on to the little threads that were holding her together, “So you can enjoy my pain?”
“Michelle, I don’t want this. You know that.” Miranda’s tone was resolute, but softened at the edges. She reached out, her hand hovering between them as if it could bridge the distance, “Please, tell me you know that.”
“Well, what do I know?” Was the mocking tone because she was laughing at herself, for being so stupid, so blind? Or was it because god-fucking-damn-it sarcasm was the only way she would be able to get through this talk, “You think you know someone.”
It was a cliché. She knew that. She was a cliché. The woman in love with someone who would never choose her, who had never even truly seen her as anything more than a secret, an indulgence. Straight? Sure. Miranda could call herself whatever she wanted. As if the nights they spent tangled together, Miranda’s breath shuddering in her ear, had been just a phase, just a dalliance before she went back to the perfect picture life. The husband. The child. The house with its warm lighting and the neat little garden out front. Miranda was allowed to walk away from all that they had done, all that they had been. She had never promised Michelle anything, not really . But know right, Michelle was the delusional one, the one who got her hopes up, the one who really, really thought Miranda would leave her fucking husband and they’d grow even older together. And Michelle knew, she knew all the fucking time and still got her hopes up, because the little straws Miranda gave her were enough to make her ignore all the screaming voices in her heart that told her how unlikely it was that Miranda would stay with her.
“Michelle,” Miranda said, her voice pleading, “You know me. You’re the only person who really knows me.”
“Am I?” Michelle’s words came out sharper than she intended, “Shouldn’t that be that very lovable husband of yours?” She could see Miranda’s eyes dart around the room, worried that someone might hear. Always concerned about appearances. Even now.
They were in a small café tucked away from the world, just like always. This place, with its wooden chairs and lace curtains, had been theirs – the spot where they could pretend, if only for a little while. But even here, surrounded by strangers who didn’t know or care who they were, Miranda still glanced around, afraid someone might see too much. As if anyone was paying attention to them. The people in this sleepy village didn’t care. They were old enough, wise enough, to recognize the dull ache of a love falling apart. They had lived through it all before.
They were drinking hot chocolate with a bit of cinnamon in it. That's what they did on their first date. If you want to call it a date, because apparently, according to Miranda, there was never a date and never anything remotely close to that. No, never. Of course not. Because what would that mean? What could it mean? That the perfect life, the house, the husband, the child was not as perfect as it looked for others? Yeah well, that, of course , couldn't be.
But what were they now?
Nothing. A blank page, that someone wrote with a pencil on and rubbered so many times that only some smudged leftovers from both pencil and rubber were on. Great, now she was that desperate that she made bad metaphors already.
Miranda’s voice cut through the silence, and Michelle realized she hadn’t heard what was said
Which was ironic, because what Miranda said was the only fucking thing she paid attention to.
“I really don’t want to lose you as my best friend,” Miranda said, the desperation clear in her voice.
Oh, how Michelle would give everything just to see her happy.
Michelle felt something splinter inside her. “You think I can just pretend none of it happened?” Her voice rose without her meaning to, the pain lashing out. “That I can just… turn it off?”
Sorry I am not that good of an actress.
But you seem to be.
“Don’t you understand?” Miranda’s tone cracked, “I can’t just throw my life away for some nice sex.”
She saw it immediately in her face. How she regretted her own words. Like she didn't just slap Michelle in the face, but herself as well. She was never enough. Not even close.
“Some nice sex,” Michelle repeated, and it wasn’t a question. She almost laughed at her own words. They dripped, dripped of her own bitterness and how fucking desperate she was to her them again. To get slapped again. Again and again till they wouldn't hurt anymore.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Miranda stammered. “You know I didn’t.”
“Yet that’s exactly what you said.” Michelle replied. Her voice was as cold as she could make it, because she was afraid that if she let any warmth through, she would collapse into herself, shatter into a thousand pieces right there in the middle of the café.
Miranda’s lips moved as if she was about to speak, but she stopped. She looked like a hurt deer and Michelle wanted to comfort her, hug her, tell her they’d be fine and that she would just gulp it all down. But that wouldn't help. Nothing that could make this easier or take away the truth of what had been said.
When Michelle went there, she knew. She knew and she still went, hoping that the last time wasn't their last time. She had allowed herself to hope, because how the fuck would she have been able to come here otherwise. he had imagined that maybe, just maybe, Miranda would choose her. That the dreams they had were not just hollow words.
They would buy a ranch, with Avocado trees so they would always have something for their bread in the mornings. They would adopt animals that had no real home, save them from what otherwise might be their destiny. Some horses, so Michelle could learn from Miranda how to ride them. Flowers of every color, oh and near the beach, of course, so they could watch the sunrise from there. Michelle would make the coffee in the morning, Miranda would make dinner in the evening. They would have a room dedicated to all the books Miranda loved, and another one for all the paintings Michelle adored. Harry and Darcey, their children, would visit them, being friends for life. Michelle would lose card games on purpose, because Miranda loved to win them.
They would be them, and that would be enough.
But Michelle wasn't enough.
She was some nice sex.
She had expected it. It still hurt.