The words had toppled out of Sidney's mouth before she even had the time to register her decision to say them in the first place. The tepid cup of tea before her sat forgotten on the café table as her uncouth observance, for it had really been just that in contrast to the ever popular "declaration", hung in the air, lingering but pleasant. Her smile faded after a few seconds. Enough time had passed without a response from the receiving end of her statement for her to feel ignored and it was with caution that she finally raised her eyes to the gangly man sitting across from her. "Harvey?" She inquired.
She had expected him to be sitting in silent contemplation, smiling even, maybe. But his bespectacled eyes hadn't even lifted from his newspaper. He thoughtlessly ran a hand through his coffee brown hair and finished the sentence he was halfway through before sensing her gaze and looking up, his lazy green eyes expectant. He thought, for a moment. She had said... something...but completely absorbed in an article about a new Vermeer exhibition to be held in New York, the sound of her words, for they were always just sounds when he was engrossed in reading, had blended in with the hum and buzz of the world, ultimately proving themselves as inconsequential as the words being exchanged by the German couple at the next table.
"Did you hear me?" She repeated.
"No. Sorry." He lowered his newspaper enough to indicate he was paying attention, then slowly, like pulling apart velcro, peeled his eyes away from the article before him. She was frowning at this point. "I'm sorry…" he repeated, "What was it?"
Sidney was frustrated, angry that she had opened up only to be ignored, and words that had sounded serene and soothing moments before were delivered with an irritated tone, "I said, I think I might love you." She felt silly repeating herself, for the sincerity with which she had delivered it the first time had ebbed away with a moment's frustration. To be honest with herself, she barely believed the statement herself, but now that she it had been said, she stubbornly stuck with it. This was what couples did. They dated for four months, said they loved each other, and took it from there.
"Oh." he responded quietly. In hindsight, Harvey realized that this had probably been the wrong thing to have said, but her confusing belligerent tone, combined with his very real shock at hearing it, had made it the best he could do.
The cogs of his mind, which--if he thought about it--- were never really stimulated in her presence,started spinning, grinding against one another as he sought out a--a something that could have brought this on. He tried to recall what could have motivated her to take such a weighty step in their relationship, but couldn't pinpoint anything he had done to encourage it. No drawn out moment where he had stared into her eyes, held her hand and given her one of those smiles that insinuated he loved her. Certainly no moment where he had felt truly loved by her. He liked her plenty, but their relationship had been like one of those car rides you barely notice. You go through all the motions of driving: pushing the gas, turning the wheel, slowing down for stop lights, but do all of it with such mechanical apathy that, before you know it, you've reached your destination. In this case, destination "Lovetown". But no… the scenery was off. He had considered their relationship the blurred countryside one admires for the first 20 minutes of a drive, then grows bored of and ignores on his or her journey to something real.
Harvey furrowed his brows. He must have read the map wrong, must have missed the turn towards Exit 9: The Mutual Breakup. Now where the hell am I? He wondered, panicked. Sidney's expression grew livid, "Oh?!" She demanded.
"Erm. Yes. I… I just don't think you really love me."
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