Love You A Hundred Times
Now, I didn't look like I was proposing.?I looked more like someone who had done something terribly wrong and was begging for forgiveness.
I couldn't help but let out a bitter laugh. Only I could turn a romantic, touching proposal into such an embarrassing scene. And I'd been through this 99 times before.
From the age of 23 to 30, Cynthia and I had been in a relationship for seven years. I had proposed 99 times, and today was the 100th.
Each time, she had refused, saying that Eric hadn't gotten married yet.
At one point, I thought that even if Cynthia graded me from 0 to 100, after 100 proposals, I should get a perfect score, and she would finally agree.
So, I deliberately chose my 30th birthday as the day for the 100th proposal, hoping to step into a new chapter of life with her.
I truly believed this time would be different. I thought she would say yes.
But, as expected, she rejected me without hesitation.
I stood up and looked at Cynthia, her face full of impatience. I asked her again, hoping for some closure.
"Cynthia, we've been together for seven years. This is my 100th proposal. Stop kidding around."
She rolled her eyes, her tone dripping with indifference.
"So what? My bond with Eric has lasted over twenty years. Does that not mean more than the seven years we've had?
I've told you 99 times already, and I'm telling you again, this is our promise from childhood. If Eric doesn't get married, neither will I.
Besides, why does our relationship need a marriage certificate to prove anything?"
Just as I was about to speak again, hoping to change her mind, Cynthia grabbed her bag, turned on her heels, and walked away, her high heels clicking sharply against the pavement without even looking back.
Just like the 99 times before, her back was as resolute as ever. She got in her car, slammed the door, and immediately drove off, not sparing me a second glance.
The friends around me sighed in sympathy.
After my fifth failed proposal, no one wanted to show up at any of the events anymore.
This time, I had called all my friends again, hoping they'd witness the happiness between Cynthia and me. I had thought this time would surely work.
But once again, I made a fool of myself in front of them.
At least, I thought, I was glad it was just a proposal and not the wedding. If it had been a wedding, a bride walking out 100 times would have turned into a joke.
I methodically dismantled the decorations, sent each of my friends home, and returned alone to the empty house.
When I checked my phone, the first thing I saw was a new Instagram post from Eric.
[With you by my side, I'm no longer alone.]
The picture was of Cynthia resting her head on his shoulder, her face serene, a smile on her lips.
The Cynthia in the photo looked so different from the one I had just seen, impatient and dismissive at the proposal site.
I?had?always had issues with Eric.
When I first got together with Cynthia, I made sure to ask her directly.?If she liked Eric, she could tell me, and I wouldn't force her to stay with me.
Cynthia would always accuse me of being petty, blaming me for tarnishing the purity of their friendship.
"Can't you stop being so paranoid? There's nothing between me and Eric.
Eric had separation anxiety when he was young because his parents often left him alone at home. He needs someone with him, or he'll get sick. I promised him I'd stay by his side until he got married. How could I leave him?
Can't you be a little more generous about it? You're a man!"
I had heard this excuse more times than I could count.
Every time Cynthia and I were on a date, one call from Eric was enough to pull her away. He'd claim he was sick and needed her company.
Didn't Eric have any other friends or family? Was Cynthia the only person who could make him feel better?
I saw it as nothing more than an excuse for Eric to steal her away from me.
The ridiculous thing was that Cynthia never thought anything was wrong. Time and time again, she chose him over me.
Even today, after my 100th proposal, she still left without a second thought.
I sat in the living room, opening bottle after bottle of the wine I had originally bought to celebrate our engagement, drinking it all down.
Looking at the empty bottles scattered across the table, I snapped a photo and posted it on Instagram.
[Turns out, I've always been alone...]
My friends knew that Cynthia had once again turned me down, and they messaged me to check-in.
[Ryan, you've still got your buddies.]
[There are plenty of fish in the sea.]
A message notification popped up.
I checked it and saw it was from Cynthia.
[What are you being so dramatic about? Acting like a girl?]
I couldn't help but laugh bitterly at her indifferent message. I opened another bottle of wine and drank it down.
Maybe it was the alcohol burning in my stomach, but my eyes couldn't help but tear up a little.
When Eric needed someone, no matter what Cynthia was doing or where she was, she'd always rush to be by his side.
But when it came to me, all I got was being dramatic.
Seven years of love, and it seemed I had never really understood my place in her heart.
That night, for the first time, I didn't sit in the living room waiting for Cynthia to come home.
In the past, I'd always left a light on and waited on the couch for her, worrying she might be scared of coming back to a dark house. Even if I had to wait until morning, I didn't mind, though it had caused me frequent headaches over time.
But tonight, maybe because of the alcohol, I slept soundly.
The next morning, I woke up early. As expected, Cynthia hadn't come home all night.
I didn't call her like usual, demanding to know where she had been. Instead, I made myself breakfast, ate quickly, and got ready to go to work.
Just as I was about to leave, Cynthia returned.
She looked surprised when she saw the empty breakfast table.
"Where's my breakfast?"
Cynthia had a sensitive stomach, and no matter what happened the night before, I always made sure to prepare breakfast for her, fearing she'd feel unwell if she skipped it.
But today, I just kept changing my shoes, replying casually, "I've already eaten. You can order takeout."
Maybe realizing I was upset, Cynthia gently took my hand, shaking it a little. Her tone was much softer than yesterday.
"Ryan, I know it's wrong to keep turning down your proposals, but I can't help but worry about Eric. What if there's no one around him??Don't you want me to marry you without any worries in my heart?
Once Eric finds someone to spend the rest of his life with, I won't have to worry about him being alone when he's sick. Then I can fully be your bride. Isn't that a good thing?
I really don't have anything with Eric. Can you stop being mad at me?"
If Cynthia had explained this patiently to me before, I would have forgiven her already.
But this time, all I felt was irritation.
I was really tired of hearing the same excuse.
"Got it. I'll be late for work. I'm leaving now."
With that, I pulled my hand away and walked out the door.
As soon as I arrived at the office, I got the news that our department needed to send two people abroad for training. Everyone started signing up.
Since I graduated and joined this company, I had three chances to go abroad for training. This was the fourth.
Almost all the people who joined with me had gone. After a year abroad, they came back and got promotions and raises.
But I couldn't bring myself to go and have a long-distance relationship with Cynthia. Every time, I just couldn't sign up, missing out on several great opportunities.
Now that I looked back, I was already 30. My life was a mess, and I was stuck in the middle of my career.
In terms of love, I was always the one giving, chasing after Cynthia for seven years. I'd proposed 100 times, and she'd turned me down every single time. She wouldn't even promise me a vague wedding date. She always said she'd get married when Eric did.
In my career, I achieved nothing. While my peers were all already in management, I was still stuck at the bottom, drifting through life.
I thought it was time for a change.
So, I signed up for the training, too. I'd been working under this manager since I joined, and when he saw me sign up, he seemed a little surprised.
"Ryan, you've finally figured it out. Did you talk it over with your girlfriend?"
I shook my head.
"This is my decision. I want to take my career to the next level."
My manager patted me on the shoulder with approval.
"That's the way to go. A man has to build his career first. I'm sure your girlfriend will understand."
I pressed my lips, not responding.
For the rest of the day, I focused on my work, but surprisingly, I did not think about Cynthia. I didn't even pick up my phone to check if she'd sent me a message.
The moment I decided to sign up for the training abroad, I only cared about whether I would be chosen, not whether it would mean I'd have to be apart from Cynthia.
I thought that, after Cynthia rejected my proposal for the 100th time yesterday, I had finally given up on her.
To my surprise, just before leaving work, I received a message from Cynthia.
[I'll pick you up after work to have dinner and make up for your birthday yesterday.]
I thought for a moment and agreed.
It was the perfect chance to tell Cynthia, once and for all, that whether I went abroad or not, we couldn't continue our relationship.
After work, as soon as I stepped outside, I saw her familiar car. I opened the back door and got in.
Cynthia frowned.
"Why aren't you sitting in the front?"
I didn't answer. My eyes were fixed on the jacket in the front passenger seat.
I had seen Eric wear that jacket before.
Ever since Cynthia bought the car, whenever Eric was around, that seat was always his.
I used to get upset about it, but Cynthia thought I was just being unreasonable. It was just a seat, after all.
Eric had separation anxiety, so being close to her made him feel better. She'd even scolded me for not being more understanding.
After that, I stopped riding in her car to avoid making things awkward.
But now, even though Eric wasn't in the car, his stuff was still there, irritating me.
If this had happened before, I would've felt hurt.
But now, it didn't bother me at all.
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