Humiliation

I hate cappuccinos. I’m sitting in a coffee shop, it’s boiling outside, I’m still wearing my slippers from this morning and I’m drinking a cappuccino. Why? Because I can’t think straight! I’ve been sitting here for two hours trying to think of a way to overcome the physical humiliation I had to endure this morning. There’s nothing quite like turning down a proposal by… throwing up on a man. That is the kind of humiliation that no amount of alcohol is going to cure.
Well, I didn’t quite throw up on him, I have to admit. And nor was he the sole cause of my exhibition. My mother’s breakfast had a lot to do with it.
My first inclination had been to run. So that’s what I did: out of the house with nothing but my handbag and a pack of cigarettes. I drove around in my car for a while, feeling sorry for myself. And feeling angry. Really angry. Who the hell tries to propose to a girl when she has never, ever given any indication she wants to marry him or any other man? In fact, every remark I’d ever made about marriage had been negative. Didn’t he get it?
But just as he hadn’t been the sole cause of my vomitous response to his proposal, so nor had he been totally in control either of the circumstances surrounding his proposal nor, I suspected with grim certainty, of the proposal itself.
Again I detected the grubby fingerprints of my mother all over the place.
I heard the door open and I could tell by the squeak of his newly-bought shoes that Jeffrey had just walked in. I groaned – quite audibly. What in hell’s name was I going to say? I ‘d phoned him an hour ago, so why hadn’t I composed an apology of some sort? Probably because I’d spent most of that time trying to get vomit off my jeans. Ew.
While I might have suffered humiliation, I had to concede at some point that this morning must have been pretty bad for Jeffrey as well. Pathetic as he might have looked this morning, he has spent the last few years buying me dinners and taking me away on exotic holidays. I owe him.
I tried to bury my face in the steam of my badly-made cappuccino and grimaced at the fumes as I heard Jeffrey sit down in front of me.
“Don’t you want me here? I can – I can leave if you don’t want me here, Jay.”
“No, it’s not you, it’s the goddamn capp… oh, never mind. I called, because, well, I wanted to apologise.”
“You know… I don’t know, Jay, I thought… I really thought you’d say… yes.”
“What planet do you live on, Jeffrey? You know what I think of marriage. You remember what I said when Ailsa and Tom got married?”
“Yes, but…” he said.
“No buts. I have strong views on marriage and if you’d listened to anything I’ve said on the subject over the past seven years you’d know!”
“Ailsa and Tom aren’t you and me, Jay,” he said with that little smile he adopted when he thought he was pointing out the obvious.
“And besides,” I went on in full spate, forgetting that I’d intended to apologise to him, “we haven’t ever even mentioned the possibility that you and I might get married! In fact, you haven’t mentioned much beyond how your career is going and what car you want to buy after it does get going!”
And then I remembered.
“I just don’t understand. You know I’m not the marrying type. You have to admit that our relationship isn’t up to scratch. We already make a terrible couple. How do you think marriage would’ve changed that?”
Jeffrey looked away and gave one of his very Jeffrey squints. I hated when he did that. Erg. Concentrate on the task at hand!
“It’s just that, your mom said…”
I knew it!
“My mom said…? Said what? That I was ready? That I wanted the house and the picket fence? That we were perfect for each other? This from a woman who barely knows what I do for a living?”
Apologise be damned! Could Jeffrey get any more pathetic? I realised how shallow our relationship was then. Yes, I hadn’t handled the situation well. And I knew my mother was trying to needle in on our relationship. But the fact that he wasn’t man enough to realise these things just really really pissed me off. I took a deep breath.
“You’re going to see my mom again, right?”
“Yes, probably. She found the ring for me, so I guess I have to give it to her to take back.”
Breathe Jay, breathe. “Okay… when you do see her, can you tell her something for me?” I asked, trying to simulate sincerity and a hint of niceness. Ha! He was buying it.
“Sure.” Jeffrey said. I was so angry with him that I wanted to reach over and shake him, tell him to get a back bone. I struggled to believe that he didn’t know just how twisted the mind was of the woman who’d taken control of his puppet-strings.
“When you see her…” I took a deep breath again. It was important I got this right. “When you see her… why don’t you ask her what makes her imagine she’s the authority on love and marriage when she taught her own daughters that the only way to guarantee the loyalty of a husband is with make-up and a really hearty sirloin of beef?”
I grabbed my bag and threw down money for the stinking cappuccino. “You tell her that for me, Jeffrey. I want you to have a good life. And I’m sorry about this morning. I’m not right for you – deep down inside you know that. ” I looked away. I couldn’t look at him anymore and still try and be nice. “If you want to find love, and you want to be happy, just do one thing for me, okay? Stay away from my mother.”
I looked back at him and saw the surprise on his face. I had never told him how bad my relationship was with my mother. But shouldn’t he have known?
No… that’s not the way things worked. Guys never know. I kissed Jeffrey on his forehead and walked out.