The timer in the kitchen goes off just as I finish adjusting the setting on the table. Everything is perfect. I've spread candles around our small dining room—which is basically our living room with a table in it—and I've made sure that the dinner is cooked to perfection. Christian's favorites. I want to have a conversation with him, and I want to show him how much I love him while I do it.

I don't know what it was about today, but suddenly I realize that this is it for me. He is it for me. I want everything with him: a future, house, children. And I want to know if he wants that too. I mean, I know he does, but we've never talked about it.

Running into the kitchen, I take the lemon chicken off of the stove, put green beans in a bowl, and arrange a dish heaping with mashed potatoes. Quickly, because Christian should be home any second, I put all the food on the table. I enjoy cooking, and we have an inside joke that I would've made a good 50s housewife, so I've leaned into that tonight. I'm wearing a vintage style dress and pearls with the high heels.

I know he'll get a kick out of this dress, and after we eat dinner, I know he'll get just as much of a kick taking it off me. I can't say that I'm not looking forward to that part. In fact, if our conversation goes well, we might even be trying to make something more than love.

I hear keys in the lock, and I go and stand near the door so that the first thing Christian sees is me in this outfit. When he comes through the door, he doesn’t look happy. His face is downcast and his posture bent, like he’s exhausted. But he stops when he sees me, and his reaction is exactly what I was hoping for. He freezes, his eyes travel up and down my body before he breaks into a smile.

"What have we here?"

"The 1950s housewife of your dreams."

His smile slides into the sexy smirk that I love so much. "And what did I do to deserve this?"

"Nothing. You get it for just being you."

Christian drops his bag on the floor, and reaches out to me, tucking me against his body. "Come here." He kisses me, hands slowly exploring my body through the dress. "I like this," he says against my lips.

I laugh softly. “I thought you might say that. But you have to wait until after dinner."

There’s a sound in his throat that's almost a whine. "Why?"

"First, I made you dinner and I want you to enjoy it. Second, I want to be able to tell you that I'm wearing something very special under this dress and for you to have to squirm a little bit before you get to it."

He chuckles against my skin. “You're an evil woman."

"I know."

I grab his hand and pull him into the living room where the table is set, and he whistles. “Damn, Audrey. You weren't kidding."

I sit across from him and pass him the first of the dishes, but he doesn't take it. He looks at the table, and then he looks at me, "What is all this about?"

"I wanted to do something nice for you."

"I appreciate that," he says. "But this feels like more than just a nice thing."

I pause for a second, trying to find the right words. "I was at work today, in the lunchroom. And some of the women there were complaining about their spouses, and all I could think about was how I didn't have any of their complaints. We don't have the kind of problems that they have. And I realized… That you're my one."

Christian goes still. He’s staring at me and I'm not sure what that look means so I just keep going.

"I'm not saying anything has to happen right now, but I just… Knew. You're the one I want to be with. And I want to live with you, and have babies with you, and do everything else in the world with you. And after I realized that, I just wanted to do something special. Because I know that we've never talked about it, and I wanted to see how you felt.”

I finish my thought, and silence hangs in the air. There's a piece of chicken on Christian's fork, and he doesn't move to eat it. Instead, he just stares at me. He stares at me for such a long time that dread starts to grow in the pit of my stomach. Did I say something wrong?

"Say something, please."

Christian puts down his fork, and slides his chair back. "I have to go."

“What?”

He's already in the foyer picking up his bag, "I have to go."

"Christian, what's going on?" But he's already out the door, the sound of it slamming cutting off my words.

I don't know what to think right now. But the dread that started to seep in to my stomach is now pouring in full force. Should I not have said anything? Did he want to be the one to bring it up?

Maybe he just needed some time. Maybe I caught him off guard and it wasn't what he was expecting me to say. Maybe he just needed to go for a walk to clear his head.

All these rational things flow through my mind, but deep in my gut I know that that's not the answer.

I need something to do, so I start to clear the table. I put away the food, I make sure that there are leftovers packaged for lunch. I put all the dirty dishes into the dishwasher. I changed out of my dress and my heels and my pearls and put on more comfortable clothes. And when all that is done, and more than an hour has passed, I realize with a sinking sensation that he's not coming back.

Quickly, I think of where he might have gone. Where does Christian go when he needs to be by himself? Where does he go when he needs to think?

I grab my bag and head out the door. It's still early enough in the summer that it's light out even though it's getting late. I walk to the park, because I know he likes to go there. But I can find him. I walk our entire neighborhood, until I think he may have gone somewhere else entirely. The sun is finally setting and I'm about to head home when I remember one last place.

Christian isn't a huge drinker, but there are times when he and his friends go to a local bar to hang out. I hadn't thought he would go there after something like this, but at this point, I'm willing to check anywhere.

Walking up to the bouncer outside the door, he looks at me with recognition. Which is strange, because I'm not here nearly enough to be recognized. He waves me through the door. "He's inside."

"How do you know who I'm looking for?"

"Given the fact that he's been ranting about you and showing off your picture," he says, "I figured you'd show up sooner or later."

Pure terror runs down my spine, and I push past him into the bar. Christian is very much here, and I can see from the doorway just how drunk he is. So drunk that I don't think I've ever seen him this way. Everyone in the bar is looking at him out of the corner of their eyes, trying to make it look like they're not staring even though they are. Christian is speaking loudly enough for everybody in the city to hear. "… And then I sit down, and she tells me about how she wants all the babies. Just so many babies. And I just can't deal with that right now, you know? Like this is the worst possible time for this to happen. Why did it have to be today? It’s not that I never want kids or to get married or whatever, I’m just not ready. At all. After everything, it’s not the time."

That's all I need to hear. I turn and exit the bar, not stopping at the bouncer’s suggestion that I should take him with me. We aren’t on the same page at all. He wishes I'd never brought it up. Everything I wanted is crumbling apart in front of my eyes.

I feel numb, the way you feel when you see something bad happen on the news. It's so bad, that you can't figure out how to handle it. The numbness holds until I get back to the apartment. I walk through the door and just stand there. Only a few hours ago I was so excited about the rest of my life. Now I don't know what to do.

Except that I do. I can't stay here. Suddenly, I have a burst of energy and conviction. I will be gone before he gets back. I’m going to move quickly.

I send a text to Ellen explaining what happened, and within ten minutes she's arrived and helping me pack. I don't know that I've ever done anything so quickly in my life.

It takes less than two hours to remove my entire life from the apartment. We shove all of my things into our cars, and Ellen graciously agrees to follow me out to my parents’ house on Long Island. It's not until I pull onto the highway that I begin to cry.