Max didn’t care. He scoffed, sounding annoyed, "What’s the big deal? I’ve waited for you before too. We’re even now. This was just an accident—I’ll take you to meet them next time."
Next time.
I couldn’t help but laugh bitterly.
It’s true, Max had waited for me before. Once, after months of begging him to take me cycling, he finally agreed. I was so excited I jumped for joy and ordered a cute cycling outfit online.
But on the day of the ride, I stopped for ten minutes to grab breakfast and he left without me.
There was always a "next time" with Max.
I wanted to go to Disneyland. He said next time.
I wanted to try a popular escape room game. He said it was too expensive, so we’d do it next time.
I craved crab roe buns from the north side of town. He said we’d get them next time we passed by.
I was always waiting.
And Max was always pushing me aside.
Now, standing in the rain, miles from home, with no umbrella or taxi in sight, I made up my mind.
"Max," I said softly, "let’s break up."
I finished the sentence calmly.
Max, on the other end of the line, wasn’t really listening. He was busy talking to Jane about some movie character. Another conversation going nowhere.