It was a warm night in Florida -- aren’t they all warm nights? -- and Xavier, Maya and I were in a car together, right in front of my aunt’s condo. Xavier was driving. He had just used a security card to open the gate of the complex's parking lot when Maya said, “Do you still love her?” She was referring to Xavier’s ex-wife. Xavier, putting the card back in his wallet, said, “Uh, no.”
“How come?" Maya said. "You guys were married for a long time. Didn’t you love her?" (I always marvelled at how Maya had no problem asking people questions I never would.)
“Yeah, I loved her,” Xavier said, “but loved is the key word. Doing what she did, it told me that she didn’t love me. And why the fuck are you gonna love someone who doesn’t love you? I’ve never understood that. If someone tells you that they don’t love you, why the fuck should you love them?”
As hyperbolical as Xavier could be, I honestly believed him. Though I knew there was no way that what he saying was 100 percent true -- there had to be a little more hurt there -- I believed that his love for his ex was greatly diminished if not completely gone because, hey, after all, Why the fuck are you gonna love someone who doesn’t love you?
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