Just got back home from a trip to la Ville de Lumière. :D

Bawling: crying your eyes out
Balling: Forming into balls, playing ball, ballin'

It's "should've," not "should of," "must've," not "must of," and so on for would and could. They're contractions of the first word and "have."

Writing tip: Vary your sentence structures. Pay attention to the rhythm and cadence of your writing, and use it in alignment with the pace of the story.

Scott can't seem to decide whether to search my face or turn away, whether to speak or keep silent, whether to cry or to turn into stone. The waitress returns with sparkling water before he's even begun to make up his mind. I take my eyes away from him just long enough to order two meals: a salad for me and a surprise for Scott, since he's still struggling with his thoughts.

"What is it?"

"I'm not sure how to say it," he answers hesitantly. "We were arguing, and now you're saying all these nice things, and—please don't take it the wrong way—I don't really believe you."

He didn't trust me before, but I broke something. I broke it on purpose, because I thought if it was gone, he would be too. "I guess that's my fault."

"I—I wouldn't leave. It's my fault. You warned me it would be my fault."

I'm not sure what right I really had to blame him, but he should have listened. "You were out of line. Why didn't you go?"

"I was stupid. You broke up, and I just... You were alone."

"So you thought you'd step up and help out by being my boyfriend? Seriously?"

"No!" he exclaims. I glare at him over the brim of my glass. He won't get away with lying or changing the subject, not while I'm watching. "That's not—It wasn't—I mean—" He struggles to find the right words. He fails, and blurts out instead, "No homo, bro!"

I'm pretty sure I'm dying. Note to self: do not ever snort San Pellegrino out of your nose in a classy restaurant. Painful, embarrassing, painfully embarrassing, 0/10, would not recommend. Okay, maybe 2/10 for being hilarious. I can feel my ears turning pink as I hastily pat my face dry with a cloth napkin. The entire room is staring at me, I'm sure.

"You kissed me!" I counter. I'm keeping my voice down, but it comes out a bit squeaky.

"You started it!" He has a point. "I mean, if someone had told me you were going to kiss me, I probably would have cancelled tour on the spot to come back. That was... you're a really good actor." So he liked it. I mean, I could tell as much, but he admits he liked it. He's really missing the point, though. "The point is—" Okay, maybe not missing the point so much. "—I did come because you broke up—" Unacceptable. Beyond insensitive. "—but it was really because, I just, I mean, after you came to my house, it felt like maybe we could—I had a question too, but I already know the answer..."

"Spit it out."

"It felt like I should be there for you."

Oh. That's sweet. That's really sweet.

"I know I'm not really comforting," he continues, "but... I don't know."

"Go on."

"I should have gone when you warned me. You were just so upset, and I didn't listen, and I made it worse, but you said... "

"I felt warm."

"You didn't, though."

"I did. I felt like I was going to make it, like I'd be okay. It felt like it would last last forever, but then you hugged me, and it felt better. Temporary. Surmountable."

"Don't. Stop lying."

"Why would I lie, Scott?"

"You know better than I do. For the same reasons as before, I'm assuming."

Before, I was giving him everything he wanted and taking it back. This is completely different. What does it matter how I felt? It was an attack on Scott, and he has no reason to care what it did to me.

What if he does care? What if that's really why he came? "You want to be the one to make me feel better?"

"I want you to be happy. Don't lie about that, please. I'll listen this time."

He thinks I've finally figured out what he really wants—for me to feel better—and that now I'm using that against him too. "I'm telling the truth." He did help. One hug wasn't nearly enough, but he helped.

He still looks worried. What more can I say? "I'll warn you, okay? I warned you last time. I'll always warn you." It's not much, but it's better than asking him to trust me again. At least there's some precedent to lean on. It seems to help a little.

When the food arrives, I exchange the flatbread accompanying my salad for the asparagus garnishing his tortellini. He's making a face. "The stuff on top is prosciutto," I explain. "It's like bacon, but less fatty and more savory. You definitely wanna try it." I'm omitting the fact that it's uncooked. He can thank me later. "Do you just live on peanut butter and pizza without me?"

He shrugs. I was joking, but maybe it's not far from the truth. I stab a scrap of the cured ham with a tortellini noodle and hold it up to him. "Smell it. It's good." He still doesn't open his mouth. "Scott, listen, I may have destroyed your trust in me in every other way, but do you really think I would stoop as low as ordering you weird food?"

"I, no, it's—"

I take advantage of his stammering to shove my fork into his mouth. "Shhh. Enjoy it. It's delicious, isn't it?" It is, and his eyes are rolling blissfully into the back of his head. While he savors the flavor, I savor the little smile on his face, but he snaps out of it too fast. His lips are pursed again now, and his eyes are fixed on mine. They're intense, but I can hold his gaze as long as I remember mine are too.

"What are you doing, Mitch?"

"Broadening your horizons," I explain with a sweeping gesture. "Forcing you to enjoy yourself, try new things, live a little, carpe diem."

"Why are you acting like this?"

"Like what?"

"Like you're my boyfriend. Ordering for me, feeding me, saying the nicest things. You hate me."

"No! No... not now. Not often. Never long. Hatred is a fragile thing."

"Fragile? In what universe? Hate runs wars."

"Fair point. Fair. It's just not the right environment for it, I guess. You can't raise a palm tree in Alaska." There's a phrase for this. I know there is. "You can't spin cotton candy in Atlantis." That was definitely not it. "You can't make bricks without straw." That's the one!

"Yes you can?"

Oh. Right. Modern technology ruining my metaphors. "You can't light a coral reef on fire." Much better.

"I don't follow."

Of course he doesn't. "I can't hold a grudge to save my life. You need fuel for hate. Desperation, injustice, anger, that kind of thing."

"Don't try to tell me you aren't angry."

"Oh, all the time. It just never lasts, which is why I'm being stupid and talking to you right now."

"It's not stupid."

"It really is. You think I took Alex, and now you're here to help me get over him? No thank you."

"You still love him?"

"And the sky is... well, gray, and the water is brown, and the sun sets in the west, and everybody dies."

"So why did you leave him?"

"What do you want me to say? For you? That I left him because—no. He left me."

"You're—"

"I'm not kidding. He was afraid I'd waste my life on him. Crisis averted, I guess. Now I'm just wasting my life on whoever walks by."

"Hey, you'll find someone."

"I've found at least a dozen," I half-joke. He doesn't laugh.

"I remember thinking, really early on, sometime in grade school, 'Whoever ends up with Mitch will be a very lucky woman.' I had the right idea, anyway."

"I wanted to be your groomsman. It would have been presumptuous to say anything, but I went to my cousin's wedding in fourth or fifth grade, and I learned about groomsmen, and I wanted you to pick me. I thought maybe we'd drift apart after school, though. But then you found Alex, and by then, I wanted to be your best man. I didn't even feel like it was presumptuous anymore. I just assumed. Maybe you're right, and maybe I'll find someone, but Alex is perfect."

"If you think that, you don't know him very well."

That stings. I don't. That doesn't mean Scott is right, though. "Name one thing wrong with him."

"Perfect isn't the same as just not having anything wrong with you, but for starters, he can't carry a tune, and he's not really my type."

"That's it? It's completely superficial."

"He's not the sharpest knife."

"Not the dullest either, and he has a sense of humor."

"If you like terrible puns. He's bad at communication. I could never tell what he was thinking."

"Then ask. You can't expect to read his mind."

"It always worked with you. Besides that, his temper was too short, he didn't understand me, he wasn't patient or empathetic, he was too clingy, he never cared about anything important, and he cared too much about stupid things, like the Wizard of Oz, Taylor Swift, Carrie Underwood, me. He was too bland, he had no sense of ambition, and he talked in his sleep."

"He never cheated on you. He's a good man."

"Are you sure?"

"Seeing as it's me he's supposed to have cheated with, I think I'd know." Scott pokes at his meal and takes another bite. "I'm sure," I say more seriously. "Not with me, and not with anyone." When he makes up his mind, unfortunately, no one can change it. He chose Scott, and I couldn't have taken him if I had tried. "I would never. Not then. Not now. I swear it."

Scott looks up with remorseful eyes and a furrowed brow. He opens his mouth to say something, but closes it and looks down again. He's talking more to his dinner than to me, but his voice carries. "I believe you."