Page 4 of The Last Good Man

She gives me a quiet laugh before drinking tea again.

“You have no idea how many times I said the exact opposite to my clients. There’s alway something wrong. At least, in this office… Truthfully now,” she droneson, placing the tea back on the table. “Nothing is wrong with you. You just have a different set of expectations––“

‘See.Thatis the problem,” I cutheroff. “My expectations. I don’t want to have them. And I try not to have them. I don’t want to disappoint anyone.”

“You’re only responsible for yourself.Theirlife is their business.”

An uncomfortable pause prolongs.

“It’s not only about that…” I say, disheartened. “I’m wasting my time and theirs.” I gesture. “I know, I know… It’s not aboutthem. Whatever. I just want to fix this and move on.”

“You can’t fight fate.”

“Right. I can’t fight fate. Then what am I supposed to do?I’ve tried, haven’t I?”

She nods.

“I almost got married twice.”

She tilts her chin again as I go down my list of failed attempts to build a life with someone.

Maybe I’m doing it all wrong.

Maybe this isn’t what I want.

Perhaps I’m trying to emulate my parents, who are still in love with each other.

They’ve built a familyand cherishedeach other, andthey haven’t evenpressured me into doing the same thing.

In fact, Antonia, my beloved mother, has told me to stop worrying and leave it to fate.

‘It’s all about fate and luck,’she said.

I couldn’t agree more.

But how could luck and fate work in my favor when my taste in men is so twisted?

“Plenty of men looked good on paper,” I say in my defense. “Some had even surpassed my expectations—for a while, at least––before little things started to gnaw at patience and everything unraveled.”

“They weren’t so little,” she argues, and I stay quiet. “I see those things all the time.”

The thing is… I don’t.

And yes, sure. They weren’t––aren’t––so little.

Lack of commitment––the way I understand it–– is a big one for me.

Something is fake about these hookups, and it surfaces rather quickly.

But everything looked good otherwise.

Sure.

And let’s talk about sex.The bedroom activities were likemagazine ready,perfectlylooking cakes with flawless icing and no taste.

I gesture in defeat again.

“I know. I know,” I say.

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