Stupid

“Why did you ask me to meet here, of all places?” Tom asked, sitting down in the red-lined booth across from Margot. She gave him no answer, but a blank look. “Ah, well.” Tom continues, “My French lady’s favorite French diner. Makes enough sense.” Margot’s expression turned from blank to a face one makes when eating chocolate that’s too bitter. Tom settles in, the cheap plastic upholstery of the booth groans fruitlessly against his weight. “So sweetheart, you wanted to talk, let’s talk.”

Margot shifted herself. She didn’t want to take her coat off when she came in, fearing that would indicate a desire to stay for longer than she wanted, so instead she allowed her body to roast a little. “I think you know why we’re here, Thomas.” Tom gave her a small sheepish smile, something he knew was guaranteed to warm her heart. Little did he know, she was already sweating, and more warmth was not something she hungered for. “It’s because you kicked me out a couple days ago.”

“Clever man.” Margot said, refusing to take her eyes off of his. “Look. I wanted to say I was sorry. I know I promised not to get… Like that again. But it was only once and I--” “I’m not interested Tom. You made me a promise. You broke it. And besides, it’s not just that. That I could have forgiven.”

“Why are you being so vague Marg? I don’t get it.”

“Oh please.” Margot crosses her arms and keeps her anger caged behind a grimace. Tom eyes shift unpredictably, between pitiful and the kind of hostile seen in men who have been cornered. She decided to continue, “You are a harsh, cruel man.” Tom seems to ignore the comment, injecting his own, “Come on! At least give me a hint at what’s wrong. Please? Just one hint.” He lets that diminutive toothy smile peek out from under his lips, his eyes in their pitiful state. “Fuck, Thomas. Don’t push me.”

His eyes changed back, cruel and little, “Cryptic hints as always Marg. I ask you to communicate with me and you swear at me. Is that the way a relationship works? I really don't think it is.”

Margot’s eyebrows crease at the comment, “What do you know about how relationships work Thomas? You know what the problem is.”

“Why do you keep saying that?” His voice grew in timbre and force. Margot bared her teeth, as Tom continued, “What do you know about what it is that I know and don’t know? How can you presume to be privy to what I do and don’t know?”

“You’re avoiding the subject.”

“I’m not avoiding shit. If I was, I wouldn’t have come here. To get talked down to.”

“Christ Thomas!  Everything is just an unjustified personal assault to you, isn’t it? I want you to say it. I want you to tell me what’s wrong, what has been wrong, what I have more than certainly communicated to you as wrong.”

“I’m not stupid Margot, if I could tell what was wrong by that pouty little face you’re giving me all the time, I’d gladly come up front and say it, but unfortunately that expression doesn’t communicate a whole fucking lot.”

Margot clenched her jaw and shot a glance to her right, taking respite from looking at Tom. Her stare pierces a young, tired waitress, who feels a sense of terror at the sight of the angry woman, and chooses not to approach the table quite yet.

Tom pushed, “Come on. Nothing to say? What’s my problem Margot? What do you think is so wrong with me?” He leaned forward, imposing his shadow onto hers. Margot grows suddenly calm and finally lets her gaze drift downwards, saying, “What’s wrong with you.”

“Is that supposed to be a question?”

“No.”

“Then what sweetness? You’re frustrating me.” His eyes were suddenly pitiful again, though he didn’t dare to smile.

“You fight to win, Tom.”

“Of course I do. So do you. So does everyone! That’s why it’s called fighting. There’s a winner at the end.”

“And a loser.”

“Well, I suppose so. Though I don’t think that matters as much.” Tom leans back again, resting against the back of the cheap diner booth chair. “I don’t fight to win. I fight because I want you to see that you hurt me.”

“How do you not fight to win? That’s bullshit, you’re just as vicious as you think I am. And you’re talking like all I do is hurt you. You hurt me too.”

“I know that Tom, but you ignored something.”
 
“What?”

“I’ll repeat it. I fight because I want you to see that you hurt me.”

“Yeah I heard you.”

Margot let her look drift back up to Tom, “But you didn’t.”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

“I know. Oddly enough that’s why I think I can forgive you.”

“You forgive me?” Tom’s mouth slowly grew into a smile, thinking he was winning.

“Yes, I suppose I do. You can’t help it. It’s just the way you are and I can’t do anything to change it.” Margot sighs, resigned. “Bye Tom.”

As she gets up to leave, Tom’s look goes from triumphant to childishly confused, “Wait Marg, what? Where are you going? What do you mean?”

“I’m going.”

“Are we not having lunch together?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“But I thought… What?”

“You’re not stupid Tom. Figure it out. Call me when you do, if you want. Or don’t. Doesn’t matter. Goodbye.”

With that, Margot left the diner just as efficiently as she planned, as she did not take off her coat when she sat down at that red booth.