Endgame

You attempt to start with the Queen's Gambit, just as you always do, moving the fourth squat ivory piece out two spaces from d2 to d4. And why not? It is, after all, a classically excellent game starter. I inhale the bergamot of my usual Earl Grey tea and ask you if you remember the first time we played together.
"Our first date?" You giggle a little. "How could I forget? It was snowing like crazy, so I stopped in here to defrost a little bit. You were in the corner at this very table rolling the white king in your hand and reading My Chess Career. I sat across from you sipping my mint chocolate frappe. Those things were good; I wonder when they stopped selling them." You look down at your steaming mug of black coffee and frown a little before continuing, "Anyway, I sat across from you for ten minutes before you noticed me."
"Capablanca wrote a very good book."
"And I knew it. I'd memorized every move he suggested in it the month before. That's why I sat with you -- to test Capablanca's playbook."
"Oh? It wasn't my dashingly good looks?" I ask as wryly as I can.
"Which dashingly good looks? The shoulder-length greasy black mop? Or the nose that points in two directions?" you ask just a bit more wryly.
You smile as I blush and turn my head. I move my queen's pawn out one space. You nod, because like you I always start out the same way: the Rat Defense -- not far enough out to risk capture but still threatening, and it allows the bishop to get out -- the perfect response to your first move. "It's the same game every week," I say.
"It always has been," you reply. "This is how we started that first game and every one since."
"We're predictable." I like predictability. "But you weren't that first match."
"Oh? I don't recall." You try to look questioningly, furrowing your brow and lifting your shoulders a little.
"You surprised me with every turn. And the endgame...it was marvelous."
"Was it?" You mock forgetfulness again. "I don't even remember who won."
Yes, you do. You can't possibly remember every other detail of the day but forget who won the match. "You captured almost every one of my pieces before checkmate -- left me with just my king and one knight. I was dumbfounded. You were the first person to beat me since my mom first taught me how to play. Between that and your smile, I decided I wanted to marry you."
I smile as you blush and turn your head. It's your turn. Your fingers hover over your third pawn, because despite my rejection of the Queen's Gambit you still like to move as if I had played along. You pick it up and roll it around in your fingers. You will move that pawn out two to c4, and I will counter with my queen's bishop. You will then move out your second pawn to b3 to protect c4, and I will move my queen's pawn out one more to challenge you. You will capture my pawn, and I will capture yours with my bishop. After that we will begin to diverge.
You set the pawn back down, pick up your queen, and move her to d2.
"That was un...unexpected," I manage to sputter.
"After seven years I figured it was time for a change up," you reply coolly.
"Why would you want to change things?" I counter -- king's pawn to e5.
You move your first pawn to a4, and I again wonder what you might be up to. "Why do we play these games?" you ask.
Unsure how to respond I move my king's pawn forward once more to e4. "Because we both enjoy chess. It's how we've spent every Sunday since that first. It's how we fell in love."
You sigh, wrinkling your forehead and looking back down at the board. You pick up your queen, stare at it for a few moments, and set it down on f4. "Are we really in love?"
"Of course we're in love." You're a tricky one, but I can see through your ruse -- trying to throw off my game with these random moves and questions. I move my pawn out to f5 to challenge your queen. You're not going to win that easily. "We've been dating for nearly a decade, haven't we? If we weren't in love we would have ended it long ago."
You stare into my eyes. "Yes...dating..." You move your rightmost pawn out one space without breaking your gaze. "But didn't you just say that even when we first met you wanted to marry me?"
"I did say that, and I do want to marry you." I hold our stare and quietly slide my left bishop in front of my king. "When the time is right."
"It's been seven years. Why is the time still wrong?"
You're definitely trying to throw me now. I laugh a little; I can still read you like I was reading My Chess Career when we met.
"What?" you spit out. "Why are you laughing?" You move your queen back to h2 and the safety of your front line, slamming it down.
"What's wrong, babe?" I'll play your game. You're really getting into this, but I won't let you break me. I move my right bishop up to the space in front of my other one.
"What's wrong is that you've been promising to marry me for the better part of a decade, but I still don't have a ring on my finger." You move your left rook up two to a3, cross your arms, and lean back. Maybe you aren't joking.
"I mean it. We'll get married; it's just there's so much to do before all the pieces are in place. Why do you want to rush things?"
"I don't think its rushing things to want to be married before my thirtieth birthday."
We're both silent. Light jazz mixes with a dozen or so conversations and the quiet roar of the coffee grinders as it floats over us -- you staring at me and me staring at the chessboard. I break our stony silence with the chink of my pawn being placed at c5.
"There's something else I need to tell you." You move your rook across the board and box in your queen, then reach your hand across the table and rest it on my arm.
I don't respond, instead focusing on what my next move should be and sipping more of my tea.
"I'm seeing someone else."
A spray of Earl Grey covers the chess set and your arm. The entire coffee shop watches as I sheepishly slink to the counter for napkins.
"I-I'm sorry," I stammer as I wipe off your arm and clean the board. "What...what was that?"
"I'm seeing someone else."
I bite my lip and try not to let the screaming inside me break free. "Who?" I finally demand in as hushed a voice as I can muster trying not to attract any more attention to us.
"Someone you don't know," you reply. "Someone from work."
Your coworkers, at least the ones I met at the cookout three summers ago, line up in my mind.
"Is it your boss?" That jerk.
You shake your head.
"Sam?" No it couldn't be Sam.
"No." You avoid my eyes. "It's no one you know."
Fine, don't tell me. "Well, how long have you and the mystery been dating?"
"Three weeks."
I pour about half of what's left of my tea down my throat and try to digest what you've told me. "Where did I go wrong?"
"You mean besides the part where you promised to marry me and still haven't even formally proposed? That part? Where I've waited so long I've started to wonder if you ever really loved me at all or if you're just promising me marriage to keep me around as a perpetual chess partner?"
I melt into my chair. "Yeah, besides that part."
You sit up straight so you can get a better angle to look down on me, and then continue, "Well, do you remember three Christmas's ago when we spent a few weeks at my parents' ranch in Montana?"
"Yes," I reply. "I remember it very well. I trounced your father. Mated him in just four moves -- that match was a personal best. He was incredibly angry that I beat him so fast."
"Yeah, you could have taken it a little easier on him, since he'd never played before."
"It was a friendly game. If he didn't want to play he shouldn't have accepted my offer."
"Your offer? You asked once an hour for two days straight."
"Well, I wanted to play, and you were busy trying to deep fry a turkey."
"That's not even the point. Do you remember that Christmas that we spent at your mom's house in Rochester?"
"No, I don't think I do."
"That's because it never happened. Not a single Christmas, or Easter, or Fourth of July, or even Arbor Day. I've never even met your mother."
You lured me into that one. "Anything else?" I say, rolling my eyes.
"Yes," you state firmly. "I'm sick and tired of your monotony."
"I am not monotonous."
"Really?" You almost start to laugh, but stop yourself with just a chuckle. "What did we do exactly one week ago?"
I don't answer; I just stare down at the table. We played chess, but that's hardly fair; we always play chess on Sundays.
"And what did you drink while we played?"
Earl Grey tea. I only drink it because it's the best.
"And how do you spend every week night?"
Dinner at six, Jeopardy at seven thirty, then reading until the news at eleven. After that I go to bed.
"It's the same thing every week. How can you not call that monotony?"
I like to think of it as something more like perfection.
"You need some change in your life, and I'm going to be the first one." You stand up and start to put on your coat.
Sunday afternoons: taken. Those late night phone calls: taken. The way your hair smells after you shower: taken. Wednesday's together at the movies: taken. The only reason I want to get out of bed: taken. Like a master you've slipped by me and removed most of my pieces. What have you left me with? Chess and Jeopardy? Well, if so much change is coming anyway why not start now?
I jump up and grab your coat sleeve before you can get your second arm into it. "Alright, you want me to prove I love you? Accept change? Fine. Here's my deal: we finish the game and if I win you give me another chance and if we work past my being a complete idiot we get married within a year -- you can even meet my mom; if you win you can leave and date someone else -- do whatever you want."
You stare at me with your mouth so wide open I can see your uvula. "You promise me that you won't play anymore games?" You now look excited. Too excited. "You will marry me if you win? And you'll let me live my life if you lose?"
"No games after we finish this one. Que sera -- I'll live with the consequences whatever they are."
"You know I'll hold you to this, right? There's no turning back."
"I'm the one who said it, aren't I? I understand what I said. You make it sound like a death wish." I can't lose. I won't lose. I stare at the board for a few minutes trying to figure out the best way to go about this. Finally, I move my queen up to a5 and put you in check. Content with myself I lean back and cross my arms.
You hesitate for a moment, then move your queen's knight to d2 to block my check the only way you readily can. I counter and move out one of my bishops to h4. You move one of your pawns forward to f3 -- novice mistake. Now you can't move your rook without going into check.
I move my other bishop down to b3, leaving my king wide open. It's a risk, but I have to take it. I drop the piece and regret it instantaneously. Why didn't I see that pawn? You could take that rook and there's nothing I can do about it. I hide my face behind my tea cup and hope you won't notice my blunder.
You move your fourth pawn out one more space to face off with mine at d5. If you didn't notice the first chance, you're not going to. I leave my bishop still in danger and move my pawn up to e3 to keep your king from escaping or maybe take your knight and put you in check again. You prove me right about you not noticing my bishop again and move the pawn that was threatening it out two spaces to d4 to face off with another of my pawns.
I smile. Your move pretty much cements my win, so I relax a little. I move my sixth pawn up one more space so that on my next turn I can take your rook at g3 and then maybe your queen, or make a handful of other moves that would further lead to victory.
"It's your turn," I say, knowing that whatever you do you can't possibly put me in checkmate.
"No, it's not."
I look at the board and feel light headed.
The endgame surprises me.
Stalemate.