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A Perfect Fit

By Christine Schimpf

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1

Buffalo, New York, September

Hannah Lockhart stood barefoot in her kitchen. She pushed the skillet of Alfredo sauce off the burner and openly stared at the man she intended to marry. She’d expected to be wearing an engagement ring by now. She placed her hands on the cool marble counter and steadied her trembling hands. She’d picked up the nervous thread in Tim’s voice when he’d called earlier to tell her there was something he wanted to talk to her about. She suspected what he was up to, and it didn’t take her long to begin preparations for the night she’d remember forever.
She’d cleaned her apartment, bought flowers at the farmer’s market, and stopped at the grocery store in order to make Tim’s favorite dinner. After a couple of rocky months, they’d come to a good place in their relationship and reconciled. Tim couldn’t help that he was attractive and women’s eyes followed him. His job as a district sales associate for easy reader books placed him in constant contact with women of all ages in schools across the state. On most occasions when they went out, he always seemed to bump into an attractive woman he’d met on the job. In the end, Hannah convinced herself that she was too sensitive. She would learn to ignore the attention that he was often the recipient of and consider herself lucky to be the woman on his arm. When the doorbell rang, she checked her image in the mirror one last time and smoothed the flyaway ends of her auburn hair with the flat of her hands. Finally, her prayers would be answered with a husband all her own to love and cherish from this night forward. She swung open the door to find him empty-handed, dressed in jeans and a plain red shirt she’d recognized. So much for dressing for the occasion. She shrugged the negative vibe from her mind. This night was special regardless of what Tim wore. He gave her a quick peck on the cheek, walked into the living room, and seated himself on the couch. A wave of cologne followed his steps. Uncertain of his mood, Hannah assumed he had a bad case of nerves. She’d listened to the stories about the big moment enough from her sister, Andrea, a literary agent in Manhattan to understand the signs before a man proposed. There were enough reasons for him to be out of sorts, as her mother would call it. She entered the kitchen and opened her refrigerator. ‚Would you like something to drink?‛ she asked hoping to break the ice between them. ‚No. Come in here a minute, I’d like to talk with you.‛
Hannah’s hands slowed in response to the flat tone in Tim’s voice. That was a bad sign. He was either angry again over something his father said or an incident that happened at work. He’d admitted to her on several occasions how difficult it was for him bonding with the other men at the district office. He much preferred the company of women he encountered on the road. Over the years, Hannah developed a sixth sense to Tim’s moods. She closed the refrigerator door and joined him in the living room willing herself not to be disappointed. He was staring at the woolen rug beneath his feet. ‚I’m not sure how to start.‛ A voice inside of her cautioned her to be patient. He got to his feet, but instead of walking toward Hannah, he turned for the patio door. Hannah ached to make this easier for him. Didn’t he understand that? ‚I’m not sure I love you.‛ He said it as easily as if he was repeating the weather forecast. Hannah’s breath caught in her throat. Breathe! His words echoed in her head, rattling around like a trapped bird in a cage. If only she were a bird. She’d fly away from this apartment right now. That’s what she usually did in moments of panic. Run. Before responding, she took a few deep breaths, slowing down her thumping heart. ‚What are you talking about?‛ They’d come so far, tackled so many hurdles together to make their relationship work. Even though he’d never said the words, she assumed he loved her. He’d surprised her with flowers and presented them in a hammered copper vase on the anniversary of their first date. Surely that meant he loved her. He began pacing the room like an exotic tiger on display. Hannah recognized his anxiousness in the balled fists and flexed muscles in his forearms. ‚I’m not sure about us anymore. We should take a break.‛ He spat out the words with a tone of
resignation, as if he’d lost a bet with a friend. ‚You said you didn’t need any more breaks, remember?‛ The undercurrent of desperation in her voice sounded like a different person not the confident high school English teacher she’d become. It came from that pathetic, weak place inside of her. The part that waited for him to love her. Why did he make everything so hard? Hannah walked toward him breathing in the scent of a pumpkin spiced candle, hoping it would relax her. She placed a hand on his thick shoulder and caressed it desperately wanting to wrap her arms around him. He shifted his shoulders away forming a cavern between them. Her cheeks filled with the heat of humiliation. She slipped the top button of her blouse beneath her thumbnail and waited. He turned to face her with that boyish grin she’d grown to love. Yes, she loved Tim, but the blank slate in his eyes spoke a truth she wanted to deny. He didn’t love her back. She understood that now as well as she understood where a comma belonged in a sentence. ‚What about our plans?‛ She hoped the question would convince him to admit what he felt for her, to persuade him to stay. His full lips drew pencil-line straight. ‚I’m not sure. Let’s consider them on hold.‛ The pain from his words hit her with such a force, that she almost stumbled. All the conversations about getting married in Hawaii were nothing more than fluff. She released her hold on the button and the fairy tale she’d conjured up all on her own—a husband, a home, children. A future with Tim she was foolish enough to let herself dream about. Her eyes stung with unshed tears, as her dreams drifted out an open window like a pesky scent. His gaze flew to his wristwatch as if he were pressed for time. ‚Come on, Hannah, you get me. Everything’s going to be OK, if you let go, and give me some breathing room.‛ Hannah walked to the island that separated the living room from the kitchen. She needed something solid to grab onto. Some breathing room? He’d pulled this once before right after the holidays. She was all too familiar with what would happen next. He’d disappear from her life, possibly take up with someone new. When it was over with the new girl, he’d show up at her doorstep with flowers or jewelry or a trip to the Caribbean. She’d bought it the last time and had taken him back. Did he imagine she’d do it again? Stay calm. Fueled with an unfamiliar energy, she uttered the words she never thought she’d say to him for lack of courage. ‚I’ll tell you what, Tim. You want a break? OK, let’s do it for real this time. I don’t want things from you. I want a relationship and the future we talked about. The one you promised me. If you walk out that door, don’t bother coming back.‛ Her stomach clenched hoping she’d pushed him far enough to change his mind. Tim cocked his blond ruffled head, a habit she’d believed she’d never tire of. Today, it drew the opposite effect. He strutted to the door. She swallowed down the tears that wanted to flood over her like a torrential rainstorm. Lord, help me be strong. He reached for the doorknob but stopped midstride.
Hannah’s spirits soared. He changed his mind. ‚Give me a little time, hon, that’s all I’m asking.‛ His words shattered Hannah’s respect for him right along with her hopes and dreams for the future she believed they both wanted. The door closed behind him without a second glance in her direction. The silence was deafening. As if on remote, she followed his footsteps to the door and wrapped her fingers around the knob. It was still warm from his touch. Oh, Tim, come back. The second hand ticked on the clock. Let go. Hannah released her hold on the handle. ‚Goodbye, Tim,‛ she whispered, allowing the tears to fall down her face while her world faded away around her.

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