Don’t Call Me Dear

“And that’s the truth, Dear,” I said.

Mary puffed her lips and folded her arms. “That’s so not the truth!”

“Look, I just don’t love you anymore.”

“But, you can’t be over me. You can’t. It’s like illegal to be over me,” Mary said.

“I’m sorry, Mary. It’s over.”

“It’s not over until I say it’s over.”

“Don’t make me call the police.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time the cops came here because of you.”

“You’re still on probation from the last time you busted out my windows, Dear.”

“Dear?” Mary said. “Don’t you break it off and then call me dear.”

I waved. “This is what I’m talking about, Mary. Everything I say or do is wrong. And it’s just so wrong.”

“I’ll change,” Mary said. “I’ll go to counseling and shit. I’ll take anger management. I’ll do anything; just don’t tell me you don’t love me.”

I gave her a tight-lipped stare.

“Don’t go acting like you have all this self-confidence without me.”

“I think you’d better leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Mary said. “I’m not giving up on us.”

I threw my hands in the air. “God… you’re unbearable.”

“Maybe so. But you still love me.”

I covered a grin.

“There’s that sexy smile of yours peeking through.”

“Damn it, Mary.”

“What? You’re going to break it off after everything we’ve been through?”

“Maybe that’s the point: We’ve been through too much together.”

“And we’re still together,” Mary said. “Our love is strong.”

“Maybe you’re right–“

“Of course I’m right, Dear.”

(From Dusting off Dreams)

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