Page 68 of From Paris, with Butter
“Laurent, I didn’t get into a relationship to keep feeling lonely. You’ve had this job for, what? Two months? And you’re already breaking your promise. You’re already falling back into the habits you swore you had given up.”
“No—” I said, speaking over him when he tried to interrupt. “I don’t want to hear another excuse. I don’t want to hear another apology. They’ve stopped meaning anything to me. Every week, sometimes every day, there’s another reason you can’t make time for me. You’re already missing the gala. Tell me Laurent, where do I fall on your list of priorities? Because for me, you’re at the top. The absolute top. Can you say the same?”
“Margot.” I recoiled at the irritation in his voice. “You’re being unfair. We both knew this would be hard. We both knew I’d be busy. I’m doing my absolute best here, stretching myself in every direction, and you’re not giving me any credit.”
“No,” I said furiously. “You’re not turning this back on me. This isn’t because I’m not understanding enough. I’m not going to grin and bear it like I’ve always done or…or try to look for a silver lining or focus on the positive. This is not fair to me. You made apromise. We set boundaries, and you’re blowing rightpast them.”
I suddenly couldn’t stand another moment of being in bed with this man. Tearing back the sheets, I reached for my shirt and jeans. Once dressed, I looked at Laurent again. He looked absolutely exhausted.
“What do you want me to do, Margot?”
“Choose me!” I cried. “Show me I matter.” Tears streaked down my face. “Don’t leave me alone.”
Laurent crossed his arms and looked away. “You know you matter more to me than anything. But that doesn’t mean I can give up everything else.” His voice was tight and clipped, exactly the way it had been the night we’d met. “I know the timing is bad, but this isoneevening. Just let me work this dinner, then we’ll be back to spending time together.”
“Until the next time.”
Laurent looked at me, then glanced at his bed stand. His phone was there, and I knew he was checking the time, checking to make sure that he wouldn’t be late for work. The knowledge that even now—in the middle of our worst fight—he still couldn’t stop thinking about work, sent anger coursing through me.
Laurent looked away, his gaze focused on some empty corner of his apartment.
He wasn’t reacting enough. I wanted him to hurt as much as he’d hurt me. “If Noelle was still sick, would you abandon her now? Leave her alone all over again?” The words spilled out before I could decide if I’d regret them.
Laurent flinched, his face flushing, then going pale with barely suppressed anger. Finally, I was getting somewhere. He turned away and spoke through a tightly clenched jaw. “Of course not.”
“So it’s just me you’re abandoning?”
Laurent whipped back around. “At least I’m going after my dream! You have one setback and you give yours up forever.”
The force of his words, and the ugliness of them, hit me like a blow.
“I’m sorry you see my mother’s death as just a ‘setback.’” I was trying to sound wronged and angry, someone to be feared, but my voice was too choked with tears to sound anything other than pathetic.
Laurent’s hard expression wavered. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
I felt empty inside, like a dried-out husk. I glanced at the clock. “You don’t want to be late for work.”
Laurent turned, then turned back to me. For a second, something flickered across his face, and I thought I’d gotten through to him, chiseled my way through his icy walls and cruel words to get to the real Laurent. This was just an argument; this wasn’t the end for us. This was the man I wanted to be with forever, who proved that I was good enough. But then the hardness came back into Laurent’s face, and he again turned away from me.
Without another word he got dressed, grabbed his bag, and was out the door. I made no move to stop him.
Alone in Laurent’s miserable, stark apartment, I crawled back into bed and dissolved into tears.
After some time, I felt something soft brush against me. Opening my puffy eyes, I saw Minerva sitting on the edge of the bed. She regarded me as coolly as ever, but when I hesitatingly took her in my arms, she didn’t protest. She only lay a fuzzy paw against my face.
I lay in Laurent’s bed, cuddling his scruffy cat, until I cried myself out. This couldn’t be happening. The one good thing in my life couldn’t be falling apart.
But it was. I lay in bed for another miserable hour, working through what I needed to do.
When Laurent returned, well after midnight, we regarded each other for several long moments. I broke the silence.
“I’m sorry for what I said earlier about Noelle.”
Laurent looked so miserable. “I’m sorry for what I said, too. It wasn’t fair for me to compare our situations.”
“Laurent,” I began, and I saw him tense against my words. “I can’t do this.” It hurt so badly to say it out loud. “You know I love you, but I can’t be in a relationship where I’m continually being let down.”
Laurent was staring at the ground. “I’m sorry you feel that I’m letting you down.” His voice contained absolutely no emotion. He looked like a man defeated.
