They were at the make or break point of their relationship. Would they stay together or would they split? He felt sick. Another failure. He wanted to blame her; he did blame her. She never said what she meant. She couldn't tell him what she wanted, needed, and he suspected it was because she, herself, did not know, but unfairly expected him to guess and get it right.
They'd agreed to take a week off from each other, to think. Her idea, obviously.
He couldn't stop thinking about her. Her smile, when she was happy, but she hadn't been happy lately. The wild auburn curls of her fly-away hair, though it had been subdued by scarves lately. Her milky skin, peppered with freckles across her nose, across her shoulders and arms, but so clean and perfect and white everywhere else. She was beautiful, he couldn't deny it, but she was also sad. She was putting on weight and using it as an excuse to cover up all her creamy skin. She was like a fading flower in a way, withering under the cold skies of their relationship.
They each worked full time. They each had to make time for each other, and lately they just hadn't.
He'd call her on Saturday and end it. Why postpone it any longer?
Instead, Saturday morning, awoken from a brutal hangover, his phone buzzed. She'd texted him.
***
'I have an idea.'
He blinked the sleep from his eyes, splashed cold water on his face, collapsed on the couch and fat fingered his response.
'For wht?'
When her reply didn't come right away, he repaired myself with some coffee and toast. He'd lost his appetite for the most part. How long would he let this thing between them shrivel and die before he put it out of its misery?
His phone vibrated on the counter. Another text.
'For us.'
He accidentally smeared butter on his phone as he replied.
'What idea?'
It took another minute or so. He crunched the last of his toast, brushing the crumbs from his hands until his phone vibrated again.
'Call me.'
He sagged in the chair. That was the last thing he wanted to do.
* * *
Her hair was loose again, wild and seductive. If she had gained weight since they'd been together, he'd gained more. She still had her perfect legs and perfect little white belly, it just had a little roll when she sat down that she hated. Her breasts weren't the taut perky things they'd once been, but he made do.
But there was something about her, a new life, a new spark in her eyes, and he could've sworn he saw a smirk on her lips. He saw a hint of fear, too, though. She wasn't certain about what she was doing.
There they sat. On the patio of their favorite restaurant. Ella and Jim. Jim and Ella. Failed lovers.
"We haven't been good lately," she said.
He nodded, sick to his stomach. "I know."
"Are we going to break up?" she asked. Her hands trembled as she spoke. She sniffled and he saw tears in her eyes.
"I don't know."
"Well," she swallowed, choked off her sentence and reached for the water, "before we do, I have an idea."
He nodded and sighed. "I know. You said."
She waited, looked idly away. "So . . . do you want to know what it is?"
He laughed and nodded. "I'm here, aren't I?"
She smiled. It lightened their moods. "Yes, you are. That's good, I guess. You know . . . makes me think there's still some hope."
He took a big long breath. "I hope there is, Ella. I really do, but I know you haven't been happy lately."
"Neither have you."
He made sure her green eyes were on him."Only because you've been so unhappy."
She blanched. "So, it's my fault."
He winced. "I didn't say that. I didn't mean that. Shit, I don't know, but I do know I want you to be happy. I just don't know how to make that happen."
She nodded, made a path through the condensation on the side of her glass with a finger. "I know, I know. Sorry."
They sat quietly and the moment seemed to stretch on forever.
"So," he tapped the table idly, "what's this big idea of yours?"
She sat back and crossed her arms. "I'm not sure. I mean . . . you're probably not gonna go for it."
He chuckled. "Well, I can't unless I know what it is."
"Okay," she said, and her eyes had that hopeful look again, "there's something we could try. I found this website."
"O-kay," he replied, "what thing? What website?"
"It's, um, called–" She licked her lips, dropped her eyes, whispered, "It's called 'Divine Tantra'."
He tried to replay her words, but they didn't make sense. He needed a dictionary. "Divine Tantra? Like a cult or something?"
She laughed. "No, but maybe a philosophy."
"Isn't tantra like a religion or yoga or something?"
"Well, it's a lot of breathing and chakras and all that, but that's not what this really is."
"Yeah," he frowned, "you know I'm not a big believer–"
"I know," she said quickly. "It's not like that. I thought you could read the website and tell me what you thought."
He thought about it. They were just postponing the end, but he didn't want it to end just yet. "Okay." How long would he let this go on?
"Promise me," she said, and made sure his eyes met hers. "Promise me you'll keep an open mind."
He smiled and lied. "I promise."
* * *
His phone buzzed. He expected a text, but she was calling. He smiled. She hadn't really been calling him recently. He thought, in a way, they'd both been avoiding each other in order to delay the breakup. It was easier to be too busy to talk right now than it was to finally fight it out.
"Hey." He smiled. It really was nice; she seemed interested in him again.
"Hey." She could hear his smile. It was almost too good to be true. "Did you look at the site?"
He collapsed on to the couch. "Yep. Last night. I couldn't read it on his phone, so I looked it up on the computer."
