Failed the Test

Listen, its a bit awkward to admit, I said, tapping my fingers on the table with a sheepish grin. I left my wallet at home, all the cards are in there. Could you pay for us? Im really sorry

Eleanor held back a sigh of surprise, reached for her handbag, and pulled out a few notes. Sixty pounds for dinner for two wasnt a pleasure, but it wasnt a disaster either. Shed been earning enough for years to not flinch at that sort of sum.

Of course, no problem, she replied.

The waiter brought the card terminal, and Eleanor swiped her card. The screen flashed green, confirming the charge. I nodded gratefully and helped her to her feet, steadying her by the elbow.

Outside, a chilly wind slipped right through to the bones. Eleanor pulled her scarf tighter around her neck. I walked beside her in silence, as if mulling something over. We stopped beneath a streetlamp, and I turned to her.

Actually, theres something I need to tell you, I began, my voice taking on an odd tone. The wallet was with me all along. So were the cards.

Eleanor froze. A cold shiver crawled up her legs like a poisonous snake.

What do you mean? she asked.

It was a test, I said, fishing a black leather cardholder from my jacket pocket and twirling it. I wanted to be sure you werent with me for the money. Do you see? Now I know youre not mercenary, that youre independent.

Eleanor exhaled slowly. Inside, something tightened into a knot. A laugh lodged somewhere between her throat and chest, but she forced a smile onto her face.

Im glad I passed your little test, she said as softly as she could.

I laughed with relief, clamping an arm around her shoulders. She pressed her cheek to my chest, hiding her face so I wouldnt see the tension in her jaw. Inside, everything turned upside down. It felt humiliating, petty. I was a grown man, and Id been treating her like a schoolgirl.

The weeks that followed fell into the usual rhythm. Then, one evening, I got down on one knee and asked her to marry me. Everything was beautiful, romantic, and Eleanor said yes.

Planning the wedding began almost at once. Eleanor bought a creamcoloured dress with lace sleeves from a boutique in Chelsea. We booked a restaurant for forty guests and sent out the invitations.

My mother, Margaret, visited every weekend, fawning over me like a market vendor hawking his wares.

David is such a responsible lad, she chirped, pouring tea into delicate, almost translucent cups. He always helps, never forgets his mother. Be happy, dear, that David chose you.

Eleanor nodded and smiled, though Margarets words slid past her mind without sticking. She learned to tune herself out whenever my mother launched into another monologue.

Two weeks before the wedding, I suggested Eleanor move in with me a new flat on the fifteenth floor of a sleek development overlooking the Thames. She agreed, though a part of her resisted. She began packing, boxes multiplying and filling her tiny onebedroom flat.

On moving day, Eleanor carried the first box, filled with decorative cushions and photo frames. I met her at the lift and helped haul the load upstairs.

The flat smelled of fresh paint and new furniture. Eleanor set the box down in the hallway, straightened herself, rubbing her sore lower back.

I took her hand and led her toward the balcony.

Come on, I want to show you the view, I said.

We stepped out onto a narrow balcony. A gust tossed Eleanors hair, and she shut her eyes against the bright sun. The river below glittered, reflecting the sky, while the city stretched out to the horizon.

Then I asked, Hand me your phone. Id like a picture of you with this backdrop.

She fished her phone from her jeans pocket and handed me the black smartphone. I looked at the screen, then, without warning, I spun around and tossed the phone over the railing.

Eleanor stood frozen. Time seemed to stop. She stared down at the tiny speck disappearing among the bushes by the buildings entrance. A cold calm settled inside her.

What now, love? I grinned, crossing my arms over my chest.

She shifted her gaze from the ground back to me, her face an expression of detached composure.

Youre going to go down and bring me a SIM card, she said evenly, almost dispassionately.

I howled with laughter, snatching the phone from my jeans pocket and waving it in front of her like a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat.

Surprise, I said, savoring the moment. I see you dont mind. Here you go. I was just testing your reaction my old phone took flight.

Eleanor took her phone, noted a scratch on the screen protector, and ran a finger across the display. A wave of irritation rose inside her, dark and heavy. She lifted her eyes to meet mine.

Im not a gadget for your experiments, she whispered.

I stopped laughing. My face stretched, eyebrows climbing.

Come on, it was just a joke, I tried to smooth things over. Dont be angry. I love you.

She slipped a gold ring, a tiny diamond set, off her finger and placed it in my hand.

What are you doing? I recoiled, as if shed offered me a snake.

Im returning it, she said, laying the ring gently on my palm. Your little tests bruise my selfrespect. I wont marry someone so childish and petty.

Eleanor, seriously? Over a joke? I pleaded, a hint of whine in my voice.

She turned and walked back into the flat. The boxes sat untouched in the hallway. She felt a small triumph that she hadnt even started unpacking. She grabbed the car keys, her bag, the lone remaining box, and headed for the door.

Eleanor! Wait! I chased after her down the corridor. Lets talk!

Theres nothing to discuss, she called over her shoulder. But I can explain it in your language. David, you didnt pass the test.

She loaded the box back into the car, slipped into the drivers seat, and started the engine. I stood by the entrance, watching her disappearance with a vacant stare. She drove off toward home.

The house smelled familiar coffee, old books, lavender freshener. Eleanor kicked off her shoes, walked into the kitchen, and put the kettle on. Her phone buzzed. It was me. She let it ring, then a text arrived: Sorry, I was wrong. Lets meet and talk. She deleted the message. Another came, and another. She blocked my number and silenced the ringtone.

In the days that followed, I called from strangers numbers, slid into her DMs, begged mutual friends to tell her I was sorry and truly remorseful.

She ignored everything. The money spent on the wedding, the restaurant reservation, the invitations none of it mattered. What mattered was she wouldnt be humiliated for anyones sense of superiority.

Her cream dress lay in the wardrobe, wrapped in a protective cover. She took it out, smoothed the lace sleeves. Her niece, Katie, had recently asked for help picking a prom outfit. This dress would suit her better than the one meant for a bride who would never walk down an aisle.

Eleanor sat on the sofa, hugging her knees, watching the sunset darken the sky. The city buzzed below, indifferent to personal dramas. Somewhere, I was probably in my new flat, puzzled why she cut everything off so abruptly, not grasping that tests were demeaning, that love and trust arent measured by experiments.

The phone buzzed again. An unknown number. She didnt answer. She turned on some music, tucked herself under a blanket, and closed her eyes. Inside there was a calm, an emptiness that felt like a heavy backpack finally set down after a long trek.

Two days later Katie burst in, shrieking with excitement at the sight of the dress.

Is this really for me? she pressed the lace to her chest, twirling before the mirror.

Its yours, Eleanor said, watching the joy light up her nieces face.

Dont you need it?

No. I have other plans.

Katie threw her arms around Eleanor, the scent of floral shampoo and youth filling the room. Eleanor returned the hug, running a hand along her nieces back. It was good the dress wasnt wasted. Good shed stopped in time. Good that she felt no regret, only a light sorrow for the time and hopes spent.

But that chapter was over. She was free, and that mattered far more than any test anyone could devise.