What was your excuse?

It was a hot night in July and you were drunk. 

“Promise me you will never leave.” You mumbled, voice thick with tears and regret. 

“I won’t ever leave.” Jenna was sitting on my bed and rolled her eyes. She poured me some more wine and I stuck my thumb up to say thanks. I drank the wine.

“I will marry you.” You said, earnestly. “If you stick around for me, after everything, I will marry you.”  I made an affirmative noise and you continued. “No I mean it. I haven’t ever loved anybody like I love you. I will marry you.” 

“You’re already married.” I said, my tone light, trying to inject something into this conversation that wasn’t apologies and sadness and alcoholism. Jenna rolled her eyes and again and said, at a volume which must have been audible to you, 

“Tell him I will murder him if he doesn’t hang the phone up now.” She turned the CD up and then made a face at the terrible quality of the wine and the music. “Are we really listening to Phil Collins?” She turned the CD off and fumbled around on the floor of my bedroom for something else. I smiled and turned my attention back to my mobile. I looked at the clock radio next to the bed. It was two in the morning. 

“I do love you.” You said. I knew you did. I knew you loved me. But it was too hard. And I had said that to you earlier in the night, walking out of my mum and dads road to go and get wine I had seen you and your wife and a friend in the car and I couldn’t face seeing you together or knowing that you were together. It was too terrible. This has been going on for months now. “If you can just stick it out a bit longer. I will marry you.” I sighed,

“I’ve got to go.” 

“Don’t go. I’m not at home. I’m just wandering the streets. Promise this isn’t it, Laura. Promise you won’t leave me. I’ll be on my own. You keep me going.”

“I’ve got to go. It’s after two. I’m worried about waking people up.” There was silence. “I love you.” More silence. I tried again. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” I closed my mobile and picked up my wine.

“You just got proposed to,” Jenna smirked, her wine glass already back to her mouth. 

“By my lover.” I smiled. “By my married lover.” We both laughed. We were such children, we didn’t have a clue. 

What was your excuse?