Made in Manhattan

Violet wanted more. She wanted to feel more, even if that sometimes hurt.

Keith set his menu aside, ironically, more focused on her than she’d ever seen him. And concerned. “Are you okay?”

“I ate some bread, Keith. It’s not like I started hearing voices.”

He smiled, and there was a touch of pitying condescension in his expression that rankled. “It’s the Cain thing, huh? It must be wearing on you. I know it has been on me. Did you know he joined a video conference with London today with no tie and his top button undone?”

Her eyes went wide. “No.” Her voice was scandalized. “No tie? What did the FBI say?”

Keith went still, and very slowly set his drink aside. “Okay, Violet. What is going on?”

Violet had played out this conversation with Ashley a handful of times, but sitting across from him now, she ditched the script, skipped all the niceties, and got right down to it.

“I don’t want to do this anymore.”

Keith, waving around his wineglass in an oblivious motion, said, “Take it up with Edith. I told you from the beginning it was a bad idea.”

“I’m not talking about Cain,” Violet said calmly. “I mean this—you and me—it isn’t working.”

He looked more irritated than surprised. “What are you talking about?”

His impatient tone made it easier for Violet to be blunt. “I want to break up, Keith.”

This time he was surprised.

He said nothing as their server returned with the bread and butter. Violet thanked her, then took her time picking the largest slice and slathering it liberally with the magic butter as Keith continued to stare at her.

Finally, he seemed to gather his thoughts enough to speak, though his chosen words only solidified her decision. “You’re breaking up with me,” Keith spat. “For some redneck hick.”

His laugh was grating and harsh. “You know, I almost want to applaud your initiative, Violet. You think you’re going to pull off his transformation, and are betting that he’ll become CEO, not me. And you’ll be there, legs spread, huh?”

“Don’t be disgusting,” she said calmly. “I’m breaking up with you because we’re not in love, Keith. We barely look at each other. We don’t talk about things that matter. We haven’t had sex in forever.”

“Because that’s not the sort of relationship you want.”

She laughed. “Says who?”

“Says you!” he said, impatient. “I thought… I thought this was what you wanted. A companion. I’ve been that. Haven’t I?”

Keith looked utterly befuddled now, and Violet softened her tone.

“To be honest, Keith, I haven’t given much thought to what I wanted until now, but I am grateful for your companionship over the years. I just… I want more, Keith. Don’t you? I think we both deserve it.”

“More what, Vi? This isn’t high school. We can’t be making decisions based on whether or not we give each other butterflies and boners. We care about each other, that’s what matters. We have the same friends, the same goals…”

“I want the butterflies, Keith! And maybe the fact that we’re so same is part of the problem. I mean, when was the last time we came to a restaurant that wasn’t this one?”

“But you’re ordering pasta,” he said a little desperately. “That’s different. You can change things up without having to blow them up.”

He didn’t get it. He would never get it. And that was okay. But it wasn’t enough.

“Keith.” Violet reached out and took his hand. “Are you in love with me?”

He stared at her for a too-long moment before replying. “Of course.”

She smiled because the pause was somehow louder than the words. “No,” she said fondly, patting his hand and releasing it. “You’re not. I’m not your girl.”

Keith’s frustration was palpable. “What the hell does that mean? You want my class ring? A letterman’s jacket?”

“No. No,” she repeated. “I don’t want any of that.”

Not from you.

“What do you want, Violet?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “But that’s what I intend to find out.”

Without meaning to, Violet stood up. Keith’s mouth dropped almost comically. “You’re leaving?”

Apparently, she was.

This hadn’t been part of the plan. She hadn’t meant to leave. But she was acting on instinct, and instinct told her she didn’t want to be here right now. Not at this restaurant, not with this man.

Not a minute longer.

She was tired of it all. Tired of his weary tone, as though talking to her was a chore to be endured even as he tried to make her stay. Tired of the fussy restaurants that all looked the same, with their white rose in the center of the white tablecloth and white plates… Where was the color?

“Enjoy the duck.” She bent to pick up her purse and stood up straight. And wasn’t it just sad that that’s the only thing she could think to say to this man, in this moment.

“Violet—” He looked around the restaurant a bit frantically but made no move to get to his feet. Because he didn’t want to make a scene. She understood. She understood better than anybody, because a month ago she’d have had the exact same reaction.