"Valentine, do you even know what today is?"
Silence.
"November seventeenth."
Still nothing.
"The Flower Vendor day we got together was November seventeenth," I said. "Ten years ago."
The wind picked up, stinging my eyes. I blinked hard and kept walking.
"I bought hangover tea. I wanted you to take it easy on the drinking. I got to the door and saw the whole group, so I figured I'd wait a minute before going in. Then I heard them egging her on. Heard her climb onto your lap. Heard you laughing with her."
"She really was just—"
"You didn't push her off." My voice was flat. "You saw me. You frowned for half a second. And then you looked away."
Silence.
"In that moment, I thought," I said, "what if it were me? Sitting on another man's lap. What would you do?"
He didn't answer.
"You'd leave. You'd turn around without a word and walk out. Then you'd wait for me to chase after you, wait for me to beg you not to go, wait for me to cry and swear I'd never do it again."
I laughed. I didn't even know what was funny.
"But I can't do that. All I can do is stand there holding a cup of stone-cold tea, waiting for whenever you decide to glance my way."
"I never asked you to wait." His voice was muffled, tight.