Chapter 3: Curbside Clarity

Everyone else left. Only I was left alone by the curb. The restaurant was out in the suburbs. It was easy to get an Uber there, but hard to find one back.

The neon OPEN sign flickered behind me, and somewhere a radio played classic rock too loud. A couple stumbled out of the bar, laughing, not even noticing me. The night was brisk, the air smelling of cut grass and gasoline. My breath fogged in the cold, and my phone’s battery hovered at ten percent. The stars looked too bright out here, too indifferent.

Derek refused to drive me home and stopped anyone else from giving me a ride.

The imaginary comments appeared again before my eyes:

[The girlfriend is so silly. If she’d just said a couple of soft words, the guy would’ve kicked the childhood sweetheart aside and rushed to take her home.]

[The guy is just stubborn, still mad about the bar. If the girlfriend had called again, he would’ve gone home. He waited at the bar all night, nearly died of anger. It was the girlfriend’s fault—she should coax him.]

[The guy has actually been wandering nearby, knowing the place is remote, afraid the girlfriend might get into trouble. He still loves her.]

[Help, so annoyed at this girlfriend. Why can’t she just give in? Is it so hard to apologize?]

I took out my phone, wanting to call Derek. I knew if I called, he’d definitely come pick me up right away. But I hesitated, then put the phone down.

I couldn’t help it and squatted down by the curb, crying. I didn’t know what I’d done wrong.

The cold from the concrete seeped into my bones as I hugged my knees, trying to muffle my sobs so no one passing by would hear. The tears came harder than I expected. I wrapped my arms around my knees, the rough concrete biting through my jeans. Somewhere down the block, a stray cat darted under a parked pickup. Even out here, I felt watched—by strangers’ headlights, by those imaginary comments, by the version of myself that still wanted to fight for us.

Derek was always like this—using silent standoffs to force me to give in, over and over again. I used to think it was just his personality. But it wasn’t. I’d seen him coaxing Natalie in a gentle voice more than once. He had patience and tenderness, just not for me.

Every time he got angry, he’d use the word "break up" to provoke me. Because I always gave in. But this time, he guessed wrong.

I walked for an hour before finally catching a cab. Even though I was so tired I could barely stand, I never called Derek.

My feet ached by the time the cab finally came. The driver, a middle-aged woman with a Saints air freshener and a Louisiana drawl, gave me a sympathetic look but didn’t ask questions. I stared out the window at endless strip malls, letting the darkness swallow up the urge to call Derek one last time.