Marshall stumbled on his next words, searching for something, anything, that would change her mind. “I…but…yesterday…please,” he begged.
Sumatra stared back, expressionless. “It’s just not that simple, Marshall. I mean, yeah, I love you too, I guess, but that isn’t enough anymore. I need a man who’s going places.” She shrugged, and signaled the waiter.
The two of them were regular enough patrons that all the waitstaff knew to bring him a gin and tonic, and her a mint julep with an extra shot of bourbon. Sumatra made it clear with a lift of an eyebrow and a slow blink that she was the only one in need of a refresher, and the waiter nodded and spun to fetch her drink.
Marshall dropped his head into his hands and took a deep, shuddering breath, his shoulders heaving with this turn of his world upside down.
“Cool it, Marshall,” she snapped, twisting the mint sprig from her last drink between the first two fingers of her left hand. The scent reminded Marshall of happier days. “We’ve been together for six years, and you haven’t gotten a single promotion. I’ve gotten four. Four, Marshall, and I fought tooth and nail to get them. They weren’t handed to me on a silver platter like your miserable job.”
“I’ve never seen you like this, Sue. What happened? I thought we were happy. I thought we were perfect for each other. I thought we were going places together,” he trailed off, easily reading the bored look on her face.
The waiter returned with her drink, and she dropped the mint spring on the floor. Her long, pianist fingers toyed with the fresh one on her glass.
“You were wrong, Marshall,” she simply said, before knocking back her drink, delicately picking up her Tory Burch clutch and clicking out of the restaurant on her Manolo Blahniks.
Marshall could just make out the edge of the mint leaf she had dropped on the floor. It fluttered briefly in the breeze caused by a swiftly moving patron, then stilled. He raised his glass at the waiter.
“Make it a double this time, buddy.”