The One Who Didn't Come

The rain outside grew heavier and heavier; large drops hammered against the glass curtain wall outside the company building with a steady pattering. I stood by the lobby door, clutching my phone tightly, the screen still showing the message I sent to George Zimmerman half an hour ago: "It's pouring today; I'm waiting for you outside the company building." Normally, by this time, George would have already pulled up in that white car. We'd been together for seven years, from graduating college to settling into stable jobs; the daily pick-ups and drop-offs had become an unbreakable routine. I looked down at my phone again; the signal was full, but George's message was still marked read and unanswered. The wind drove the rain inside, and I couldn't help but shiver, tightening my jacket around me. Colleagues nearby left together under their umbrellas; as they passed me, someone smiled and asked, "Kathy Sue, hasn't George come to pick you up yet?" I forced a smile, nodded, and said, "Maybe there's traffic." Only I knew the unease inside me was quietly spreading, little by little. After waiting another ten minutes or so, with no sign of the rain letting up, I decided to find shelter and gave George a call while I was at it. Just as I stepped under the awning of a nearby convenience store, my phone suddenly showed a new friend circle update notification—from one of George's new colleagues. I instinctively clicked on it, and a photo immediately flashed before my eyes. In the photo, George Zimmerman sat in the driver's seat, holding a box of finely wrapped chestnut cake, while the female colleague in the passenger seat smiled at him. The caption read: "Thanks, George, for going out of your way to buy the chestnut cake. It's absolutely delicious!" Seeing the words "chestnut cake" made my heart drop. That box of chestnut cake was something I'd been mentioning to George I wanted for over two weeks. Back then, he even smiled and said, "When I have time this weekend, I'll take you to that old shop to buy some." But over the past two weeks, he either said he was busy with work or that he forgot. I thought he genuinely didn't have time. I never expected he'd go out of his way to buy something for a new colleague, while completely ignoring what I wanted. A surge of grievance welled up inside me, and my fingers unconsciously typed a comment under that friend circle post: "I've been craving this chestnut cake for half a month." Less than two minutes after I posted, my phone rang, the caller ID showing George Zimmerman. I took a deep breath and pressed the answer button. On the other end came George's impatient voice: "Kathy Sue, what's your meaning in posting that comment on the friend circle? How do you expect others to see me?" I hesitated for a moment, the grievance I wanted to voice was immediately cut off by his accusing tone: "I only said I'd been nagging for half a month. Did I say something wrong?" "You didn't keep your promise to me, yet you bought something for a colleague. So now I'm not allowed to say anything?" "That was out of workplace goodwill—I just bought it on a whim! Can you stop making such a fuss about it?" George Zimmerman's voice grew louder and more insistent. "Wait downstairs outside the company building for a bit longer. I've got some things to handle, but I'll come as soon as I'm done."