My former beau appeared one Saturday afternoon, arms laden with a grand bouquet of roses, a towering box of chocolates, a bag full of gifts, and that charming smile I hadnt seen for many months. At first I imagined hed come to apologise, to at last talk openly about all those unresolved things lingering between us. It was peculiar, for after our parting he had been as cold and distant as a stranger in a room.
The moment he crossed the threshold, he launched into a hurried speech about how he had done a great deal of thinking, how terribly he’d missed me, that I was the woman of his life, and that he now realised the error of his ways. He spoke with such urgency it sounded memorised, as though rehearsed on his train ride over. I stood silent, listening. I couldnt understand where such tenderness suddenly sprang from after months of icy silence. Then he drew closer and, much to my surprise, embraced me, insisting we ought to reclaim what belongs to us.
As he spoke, he produced a bottle of perfume, a silver bracelet, and a box with a letter tied in ribboneverything positively romantic. He began to explain that we must give ourselves another go, that he was changing, and with me, intended to set things right at last. Yet, as his performance continued, I found myself feeling increasingly uneasy. It was all far too good to be true. Hed never been half so attentive even when we were together.
The truth revealed itself when I invited him to take a seat and asked quite bluntly what it was he truly wanted. It was then he started hesitating, stumbling over his words. He confessed that he had a minor issue with the bank, that he was in need of a loan for a business venture that would benefit us both, and that the only thing missing was a signaturemine.
In that moment, I understood why hed arrived bearing gifts and rehearsed affection.
I told him forthright that I wouldnt be signing anything. The expression on his face turned in an instanthis smile vanished, he tossed the flowers onto the table and began shouting, asking how I could possibly not trust him, that this was the opportunity of a lifetime. He spoke as if I owed him a great debt. He even had the nerve to declare that if I still cared for him, Id do this favour. All the warmth in the room dissipated as quickly as it had come.
Realising I wouldnt yield, he tried a new tack, insisting that hed be ruined without this loan, that if I would help, hed officially come back to me and we could start afresh. He said all this without a hint of shame, mixing feigned reconciliation with blatant financial interest. Thats when it became perfectly clear that the whole charadegifts, flowers, sweet nothingswas nothing more than a façade, a show to coax my signature.
At last, when I affirmed again that Id sign nothing, he hurriedly repacked almost all his gifts: he took the chocolates, reclaimed the perfume, and snatched up the bracelet. The flowers he left strewn upon the floor. He left in a huff, calling me ungrateful, muttering that I shouldnt ever say he hadnt tried to rescue the relationship. He shut the door behind him as though Id somehow wronged him.
And so, their reconciliation lasted scarcely fifteen minutesa brief act, now bright in my memory, that said more than all his words ever could.
