Nineteen
Taylor’s first instinct when Gia invited her to spend Sunday lounging at the pool was to answer with a definitive no.
She’d spent yesterday miserable and slept terribly on top of it. It was hard to achieve REM in between crying jags. She woke today grouchy and tired, and sad. So incredibly sad. The sadness reminded her of when her father passed away. It wasn’t the same kind of grief, but it had the same depth. It choked the joy from her soul.
She’d thought of a million different ways she could’ve reacted other than standing on her front stoop gaping as Royce’s car drove away from her. She should’ve screamed at him, told him that he was too practical for his own good. She should have grabbed him by that bow tie and kissed him, reminding him what he was giving up. But of course, she hadn’t done any of that. What she had done was carry the stupid lily-free bouquet into the house and feed the flowers one by one into her garbage disposal while crying. Like a bouquet was supposed to make up for him shattering her heart?
Did he have any idea how much he’d meant to her? But she knew the answer.
No. He didn’t. She’d never told him. She couldn’t decide if that made her smart or infinitely stupid. After she’d rid herself of the flowers she curled up with a blanket on the couch and watched TV, desperate for distraction. She cried then, too.
Gia’s house looked enormous from the street, but seemed even bigger from the side of the pool where Taylor lounged in a sun chair. It was warm for April—nearly eighty—and the pool was heated. Taylor didn’t plan on getting wet, though. It took all her effort to sit here and not seem miserable.
“Spiked lemonade. Perfect for today,” Gia announced, swishing outside in a long white cover-up, her bikini revealing each of her enviable curves. “Veggies and hummus?”
“Sure.” Taylor forced a smile.
“Okay. Let me traverse through my enormous kitchen and see what I can find.” Gia had jokingly referred to this house as her “mansion” when she and Jayson bought it. After they divorced, Gia stayed in the house. She’d kept everything, or, more accurately, Cooper hadn’t taken anything when he left. Taylor thought of her own situation and frowned. If she’d been married to Royce and then he’d left her, she’d have sold their shared house in a blink. How could Gia be happy in the house she’d bought with her ex-husband?
Despite the sunny day, clouds hovered over Taylor’s mood. Her mind on—who else? Royce.
The jackass.
Tears threatened but she swallowed them down.
They’d been blessed with a bright sunshiny day, sparkling blue water, and she now had a pink cocktail with fruit floating in it. She would force a good mood today if she had to. She sipped her spiked pink lemonade, glad for the token amount of alcohol to numb her feelings. Not that a few ounces of vodka in the slim glass would come close to achieving “numb,” but every little bit helped.
Gia returned from the house, a plate of vegetables and hummus in one hand. “You know, I wanted to do this last week, but I was so crampy and bloated and pissy, I decided the only company I should keep was my own.” She capped that statement with a smile, and Taylor was surprised to hear herself chuckle in response.
“Don’t worry, we only have to deal with Mother Nature’s ultimate prank for another twenty or twenty-five years,” Taylor said.
In her own lounger, Gia leaned her head back. “Don’t remind me. It’s not like I’m anywhere near wanting kids now anyway. Why must I have to endure that joyous monthly reminder that I haven’t had any yet?”
And isn’t that exactly what Taylor had told Royce? She wasn’t ready yet. But according to him he wasn’t ready ever. Maybe she should have talked to him about what he wanted in the future—before he’d come to tell her they didn’t have one. Maybe she should’ve told him she loved him as soon as she knew it herself.
Though, if she’d done that, the breakup would’ve happened sooner. And while we were naked. Hopefully one day she’d look back and understand why they didn’t work out, and that him breaking up with her was for the best. But today was not that day.
“Oh! Remind me before you leave to show you the print advertising concepts for the T13. They are amazing!” Gia described the ads with a flourish and Taylor tried to listen, but another thought had crawled around to the front of her consciousness.
The thought was a question.
When was her last period?
And because she couldn’t recall right away how long ago it’d been, or the last time she’d bought a box of tampons, a frisson of panic laced itself around her ribs.
Royce and Taylor had been careful. Very careful. He’d been the one to remember the protection. She’d usually been hovering around cloud nine after an orgasm, though, which meant something could have been overlooked. Condoms weren’t 100 percent effective, either—now, were they?
God.
How long had it been? She’d been so busy. So distracted...
Gia sat up from her lounger and removed her sunglasses, tucking them into the messy bun on top of her head. “Are you ready to talk?”
“Am I—About what?”
“You’re so sad I can feel it like I can feel this sunshine, sweetheart. I was stalling to see if you wanted to bring it up.”
“That’s not like you.” But now that Gia offered to talk about it, Taylor wasn’t going to lie about what had happened.