He Never Chose Me Until I Stopped Waiting

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After coming home from my exchange program, the trivia board I drew at the party was Francis Matthews.

Everyone jeered and laughed as they asked me:

Beryl Swanson, tell us Francis's height, weight, hobbies... measurements... and how long he lasts?

I answered every one, exactly right.

Six-one, one hundred fifty-nine pounds, basketball, eight inches, and how long he lasts is...

I paused, then finished it calmly: "Eighty-six minutes."

Fifty questions about Francis. I got a perfect score.

Kathleen Barnes propped her chin on her hand. "Don't tell me you're actually Francis's girlfriend?"

Someone jumped in at once:

"Probably, right? Wasn't she the one who got jealous over the study-abroad placement in England, and stormed off to do two years of exchange out of spite?"

"And back then, that deciding vote? Francis cast it for Kathleen!"

"Chased him for five years, and in the end couldn't even earn a title!"

Francis leaned back into the couch, his tone flat. "No. Just neighbors."

I took a light sip of my juice. "And never will be, either."

Francis suddenly smiled, his voice sneering:

"What, done chasing?"

I looked at him, and to my surprise, I didn't hurt at all.

Because it hit me all at once that I hadn't lost to anyone.

I had simply, finally, stopped loving Francis.

...

The party wore on, and the talk didn't stop.

Someone asked with a grin, "Beryl, these two years abroad, did you really not follow any news back home?"

"Not much," I said mildly.

"Then do you not know Francis and Kathleen have been together nearly every day these two years?"

"Together in the lab, together at meals, they even went to school events together."

Someone drew out the words,

"On the forums they've been the number one sweetest couple, solid as can be! You're telling me that's not together?"

Kathleen sat beside Francis, her cheeks tinting faintly pink.

"Don't go saying things that aren't true."

That was what she said, but she didn't push away the hand Francis had resting at her waist.

Laughter rippled through the private room.

"Just friends, with a hand on the waist?"

"Oh~ friends with lips, is that it?"

Francis didn't deny it. His palm gave a light squeeze at Kathleen's side.

I lowered my eyes, my chest as calm as a pool of dead water.

Two years ago, I would have lain awake all night just because they'd shared a single meal.

I would have gone through Francis's messages over and over, wondering why he picked her up himself, why he shielded her in front of everyone, yet would never once admit I was his girlfriend.

Looking at it now, it was nothing after all.

Kathleen suddenly stood, carrying a glass over to me.

"Beryl, let me toast you. About the study placement back then, I really never meant to take your spot..."

I stared at the plain silver band on her ring finger, and all at once I remembered the summer after the SATs.

Francis took me to a jewelry shop and bent over the work for a long time, his knuckles rubbed red.

I asked what he was making.

He said a couple's ring.

"Who said I'd wear a couple's ring with you?"

"Then forget it."

That was what he said, but when he finished, he slid one of them onto my finger.

The size was exactly right.

That was the first time he ever took my hand on his own, and the first time he ever admitted we were together.

Later, during our last fight, I pulled the ring off and threw it at him.

I thought he'd toss it, or keep it.

I never imagined he'd turn around and give it to Kathleen.

The people around us started egging me on.

"Beryl, drink up! Sweet little Kathleen came all the way over to toast you."

"Don't tell me one trip abroad and you're too scared to even drink now?"

I lifted my own juice and clinked it lightly against hers.

"I don't drink."

The smile on Kathleen's face cooled a little. "You're still exactly the same as before, Beryl."

She lowered her eyes and added, "Same as ever. Always ruining the mood."

Someone laughed out loud right away.

A second later, a glass of liquor came down hard in front of me.

"Come on, a toast to the doormat."

The guy's voice was loud.

"Five years of groveling, groveling until you had nothing left, and you even played nursemaid to send off his precious girl!"

"Beryl, I'll give you this much, at least you saw your groveling through to the end!"

The next moment, Francis lifted his glass and clinked it against the man's.

"Well said."

The glasses met with a crisp little ring.

Watching that, I suddenly remembered our last fight before I left.

I had asked him, "Francis, all I want is for you to admit me in front of everyone. Is that too much to ask?"

He said, "There's no point."

Thinking about it now, all those answers I chased after in tears, tangling myself up over and over, really were pointless.

I just didn't understand it back then. I had to hit the wall before I'd turn around.

By the time the party broke up, it had started to rain outside.

Francis stood at the bottom of the steps. "I'll take you back to your dorm."

"No need."

"Beryl."

His tone dropped. "You went overseas for two years in a fit of temper. What are you still hiding from now? Afraid you can't keep up the act?"

My face stayed blank as I reached out and flagged down a cab.

The window rolled slowly up, sealing that familiar face of his behind the curtain of rain.

He didn't come after me.

Just like he hadn't for so many years.

He would only stand there and wait for me to turn back on my own.

But this time, I didn't.

At eleven that night, the acute gastroenteritis hit fast and hard.

I gritted my teeth and went to the hospital. When the nurse pushed the needle into the back of my hand, I shut my eyes on instinct.

For a hazy moment I was back in the campus clinic the year I was seventeen, a hand resting over my eyelids.

"If you don't look, it won't scare you."

I opened my eyes, and I actually saw Francis.

He stood a short distance away, his expression tight.

His name slipped out before I could stop it. "Francis."

The next second, my voice was drowned out.

"Francis, I'm fine, I'm just a little cold."

Kathleen sat in a chair, her voice soft and coaxing.

Francis peeled off his coat at once and wrapped it around her.

"Put this on first."

He bent his head to fold her collar closed, the motion natural, practiced.

It hit me all at once. The man standing there had long ago stopped being the seventeen-year-old Francis who covered my eyes so I wouldn't hurt.

Something bitter rose in my throat, too thick to swallow, too stuck to spit out.

"Why are you here?"

Francis's gaze swept over me by chance, and he frowned.

I didn't answer.

He glanced at the IV bag, then at my bloodless face.

"You're sick? Or are you putting on some act again?"

I found it almost funny.

"People come to the hospital because they're sick, obviously."

I was long past being the Beryl who'd taken a cold shower in the dead of winter to run herself into a fever just so he'd come and sit with her.

"Francis."

Kathleen called to him softly from behind. "I'm a little cold."

His eyes held on my face for one second, then he turned away.

That one second was so short it might have been a trick of the mind.

As he passed me, a faint woody scent trailed after him.

Two years ago, it was my favorite smell.

Now it only felt like a stranger's.

Francis waited until Kathleen's IV was out, then walked over.

"Lend me your umbrella."

"Why should I?"

He lifted his eyes to me, impatience in his face. "Kathleen has a cold, she can't get rained on again. She needs this umbrella more than you do."

Francis stared at me for a few seconds, then simply took the umbrella out of my hand.

The pressure was so hard a tiny bead of blood welled up where the needle had gone in.

He opened the umbrella and shepherded Kathleen out into the rain.

I watched his back grow smaller and smaller.

It was the same as always.

He was always so final about it.

The last time we fought, it had been the same.

That day, the lab held a vote for the research placement.

The last vote belonged to Francis.

He cast it for Kathleen.

I waited until everyone else had gone before I asked him: "Why?"

"You know exactly how long I prepared for this. You know I'm more capable than she is!"

Francis laughed.

"Beryl, you really are ridiculous. The decision was mine to make, not yours."

I held back my tears. "Either we go public now, or we're done. Pick one."

Francis looked at me like I was a stranger throwing a tantrum.

"If you want to keep trapping yourself in this relationship, that's your problem."

"Don't act like you're the injured party."

That night, Kathleen boarded a flight to England.

And I got the call that my mother was critically ill.

I dialed Francis's number again and again. Fifty calls, every one of them hung up.

When someone finally picked up, it was Kathleen's voice on the line.

She asked softly, "Beryl, is something wrong?"

I gripped the phone, cold to the bone.

There was a faint rustle of fabric on the other end, then Francis's low, rough voice.

"Who is it?"

"Beryl."

"Hang up."

The call cut off.

That week, I lost my mother, and I lost Francis for good.

The sound of the rain dragged me out of the memory.

I had just stepped out of the hospital when I saw Francis holding a newly bought umbrella.

"Get in."

"You just finished an IV. You look like death, and you're still trying to tough it out?"

I didn't move.

"Are you still upset about that placement? I gave it to her because she needed the chance more than you did."

"She lost her parents when she was a kid. She had to work just to scrape together tuition. At least you still had your mother. And you had me."

I looked at him and asked quietly, "So all I wanted was for my boyfriend to stand by me, when it didn't cross any lines. Was that wrong?"

Francis let out a scornful snort.

"You always take feelings too seriously."

"And you always treat my feelings like they're worth nothing."

"Beryl, there's no point."

Those same words again.

Suddenly I didn't want to argue anymore.

"Give me back the prayer beads my mom gave you."

My mother had gone to the temple and gotten them herself, after she found out we were together.

All these years, Francis had worn them.

I'd thought they were proof he accepted me, that he accepted us.

Francis's face darkened.

"What? You really want to cut all ties with me?"

I said nothing.

Francis lifted his hand and yanked the beads off his wrist.

The next second, he hurled them at me, hard.

"Beryl, when will this end?!"

The beads struck my collarbone. The pain snatched the breath from me.

Francis turned and walked away.

I crouched in the rain and picked the scattered beads up off the ground, one by one.

The rain washed over the mud.

As if even the last bit of tenderness my mother had left me was being washed away too.

The next day, I went to the lab.

Before I'd gone abroad, I'd left a notebook in my locker, filled with experiment data and records of failures, along with formulas Francis had corrected for me.

When I pushed the door open, Francis was bent over, looking at the test tube in Kathleen's hand.

"The temperature's not high enough. Try again."

"How are you still so slow at this part, Miss Kathleen?"

His tone was patient, gentle.

I walked to the storage lockers and pulled mine open.

Inside, it was empty.

"Looking for this?"

Kathleen picked up the lab notebook off the desk.

"Give it back."

She flipped through a couple of pages, her tone all innocence. "I came in late, so there was a lot I couldn't keep up with. Francis said I could use this one."

The data in the notebook had been circled in red pen, a chaotic mess. Several pages had even been torn out halfway.

"What gives you the right to touch my data?"

I reached for it.

Kathleen stepped back and bumped into Francis's chest.

He steadied her by the shoulder, frowning.

"You scared her. You're leaving the country anyway, so it's no use to you. Don't be so petty."

I looked at him. "You gave my things to someone else, and you didn't even need my permission?"

"Francis, do you think that anything Kathleen wants, I should just hand over to her?"

I stared at him, my chest tight.

He said nothing.

The silence was already the answer.

I took the notebook back and tore it out, page by page.

That first half year in the lab, I couldn't do anything. Every day I trailed after him with this notebook in my arms, asking question after question.

He complained that I was slow, but every single time he'd take it and rework the whole thing from start to finish.

Now, though, there was no point in keeping it.

Francis's face changed. "What are you doing?"

"They're mine. I have the right to decide whether they stay or go."

I tore the last page in two and dropped it in the trash.

Kathleen's eyes went red in an instant.

"Francis, did I do something wrong?"

"This has nothing to do with you." He looked at me, his voice going completely cold.

"Back then you were taking morning-after pills four times a week and never said a word. What are you putting on an act for now?"

I froze where I stood, forcing the tears back down, then turned and walked away.

That night a post floated up to the forum's front page.

The Story of a Girl at Our School Who Threw Herself at a Guy for Five Years and Never Made It Past Mistress

The post named no one, but it spelled out my major and year plainly.

The poster spared no malice:

This girl started throwing herself at him back in high school, followed the guy and applied to the same school, and still thought she was the real girlfriend.

The comments were nothing but ridicule.

Five years and still couldn't lock it down. She should find someone new to grovel to.

The guy's got it rough too, getting hounded by someone like that.

Soon, Francis's buddy replied with a smirking dog emoji.

If you know, you know.

Francis didn't reply, but he liked that comment.

I stared at the screen, my fingers ice-cold.

Then I traced the account that posted it. It was Kathleen.

I posted the screenshots, and the next second, the post was deleted.

I posted again, and again it was deleted.

I took my phone and went to find Francis.

"Did you delete my post? What right do you have?"

"She's about to prep for grad school entrance exams. Your post could hurt her reputation and her interview."

"Besides, I already deleted the post she made. In a few days no one will remember."

"So my reputation, being gossiped about, cornered in the bathroom, having notes stuck on my dorm door, none of that matters?"

Something flickered across Francis's face, but it quickly settled back into indifference.

"No one's actually hurting you. Don't blow this up into something ugly."

Francis turned and led Kathleen away, soothing her softly.

"Don't be scared. I'm here."

That was a line he had never once said to me.

Not when everyone was pointing and cursing at me, not when I lost my mother, my home, and him.

He never said it.

I stood there, and all at once I understood something.

It wasn't that I had never won.

It was that every single time, Francis had never stood on my side.

The day before the graduation gala, Francis and I were assigned to co-host as a pair.

Before the gala started, Francis came backstage to find me.

"I need to talk to you."

I didn't even look up. "There's nothing to talk about."

Without warning, Francis grabbed my wrist and hauled me into the empty classroom next door.

"Francis, what are you doing!"

The lock clicked behind us.

I wrenched at the door. It didn't budge.

"I'll let you out when the gala's over."

"Kathleen's wanted to stand on a stage since she was little. I promised her I'd help make that happen."

"Aren't you the best at hosting anyway? Missing one time won't hurt you."

My chest went tight.

"To you, everything's a little thing!"

I pounded on the door.

"The research placement was a little thing. Going public was a little thing. Getting cursed at, getting water thrown on me, that's a little thing too!"

He didn't answer.

He only said, low, before he left,

"Stop making a scene."

His footsteps faded away.

I stood alone in the dark classroom and heard the music start up outside.

A few minutes later Kathleen's sweet, clear voice came over the speakers, followed by Francis's low, gentle voice picking up beside hers.

The applause below rolled in like a tide.

I slid down against the door and the tears came without warning.

I'd been waiting all this time.

Waiting for Francis to take my hand and lead me out in front of everyone.

Waiting for him to say, "This is my girlfriend, Beryl."

But what came instead was Kathleen.

From beginning to end, everyone knew they were closer than any couple.

When the gala ended, the lock finally turned.

Francis stood outside with flowers in his hand, his eyes pausing a moment on my swollen, red eyes.

"Don't cry."

I stepped around him and headed out.

Francis caught my arm, like he wanted to say something, but his phone cut him off.

The screen read: Kathleen.

He barely hesitated before letting go of my hand.

"Hello?"

His expression changed at once.

"Don't cry, I'm coming right over."

After he hung up, he looked at me.

"She's not doing well."

"I've already gotten time off. Your mom's birthday is in a few days. I'll go back with you, we'll celebrate it together, and then we'll go public."

"Stop sulking, okay?"

My fingertips trembled, just barely.

I'd waited four whole years for those words. They only came once I no longer wanted anything at all.

And now that I heard them, all I felt was how absurd it was.

"You still think I went abroad on exchange just to sulk?"

Francis stared at me, a flicker of irritation surfacing in his eyes.

"What else?"

I said quietly,

"Forget it. My mom doesn't need you to celebrate her birthday anymore."

That finally set him off. His voice shot up.

"You were the one who went abroad, who disappeared, who pushed me away! And now you're putting on this victim act for who to see?"

"Beryl, do you even have a heart?!"

His phone rang again.

This time he didn't even glance at me. He turned and left.

"Kathleen, I'm almost there."

That easy, familiar name lodged itself gently in my chest.

But it didn't hurt anymore.

After the defense was over, I packed my bags and decided to head north.

Waiting for my flight, I opened the campus forum and uploaded the photos of Francis and me, one by one.

From seventeen to twenty-two.

From school uniforms to graduation gowns.

The title was just one line:

About Francis and me.

Then I sent the surveillance footage of Francis locking me in the classroom, along with the evidence that he'd condoned the online harassment, to the faculty advisor.

A message came in from Francis:

Where did you go? I'm outside your building.

I killed the screen and boarded the plane.