Mr. Commitment by Mike Gayle Page B

single word I’ve said, have you?” Out of the corner of my eye I noted that the stout couple had been joined by a matching jumpered couple and a short couple with their baby. I was now the recipient of an increasing number of sympathetic glances from the men and condemnatory glares from the women, as if Mel and I were the sex war writ large. I tried to remind myself I was twenty-eight and not ten. That I was a man not an errant schoolboy. But I couldn’t help feeling small. And wrong.
    I tuned back to my dressing-down, ignoring the flourishing crowds of people no longer struggling to hear what Mel was saying because she was now “talking” with such volume that eavesdroppers could’ve easily swapped their position in the eaves for somewhere more comfortable, like Sweden, and still have heard every word. “Look, Mel. I understand that you’re upset, but do you have to be so loud? Can’t you just . . .” I made the mistake of issuing a small shushing noise.
    “Are you shushing me?” she retorted.
    “No.”
    “You are, aren’t you?”
    “No.”
    “Don’t you shush me!”
    “He is shushing,” spat the woman from the stout couple menacingly. “I know a shush when I hear one!”
    “I’m not shushing!” I exclaimed in her direction.
    Mel sighed heavily, and the exhaled air seemed to take her volume with it. “You’re not being fair, Duffy. It’s time you grew up and realized you’re not a kid anymore. You can’t keep on acting like you’re a teenager.”
    “Listen, Mel, I’m sorry. Okay? I’m sorry.”
    “It’s too late, Duffy. It’s over.”
    Suddenly the world and everything in it seemed to slow down, as if we’d all been submerged under water. “What?” I said, rubbing the back of my neck nervously. “What are you talking about?”
    “This isn’t working, is it?” she said quietly. She refused to look at me. “You don’t really want to get married, Duff. I know you don’t. You want your life to carry on just the same.” She began crying, her teardrops exploding on the glass tabletop like miniature water bombs. “It’s not your fault, it’s just the way you are—it’s part of the reason I love you. I love you because you are so carefree. I love you because you take things as they come. But I need more. I deserve more and you can’t give it to me.”
    I could barely believe what I was hearing. It was like Mel was having a conversation with me without my uttering a single word. The world had gone all wrong. Wrong and weird.
I have to make everything all right again.
“What’s going on here, babe? What’s brought this on? Everything’s fine.” I reached out and held her hand. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
    “Duffy, I know everything about you,” she said accusingly.
    “What are you talking about?” I protested. “Things are getting out of hand. Let’s just calm down and everything will be all right.”
    She looked up at me at last. “Look me in the eyes and answer this question: do you really, well and truly with your whole heart, want to get married?”
    I met her gaze briefly and looked away.
    “There’s my answer,” she said, sniffing back her tears. “I’d guessed there was something wrong but I wasn’t sure until now.”
    I wanted desperately to be able to lie. To say, “Yes, I do want to get married,” but I couldn’t. My newly installed conscience wouldn’t let me. I loved her. I wanted to be with her. But I did not want to be married. At least not now. Not yet.
    “We’ll be all right, Mel,” I said, still holding her hand. “We’re going to be okay.” She didn’t speak. We sat in silence while her unspoken reply made its way to my brain. It didn’t quite get there. “We’re going to be all right, Mel. We can get over this.”
    Silence.
    “We don’t need to split up,” I said desperately. “We don’t. I can learn.” I was grasping at straws now. “I’ll buy you the wardrobe.”
    Still crying, she gently rotated her engagement