“Incredible! It’s just …” She turned around and sat on the bed, looking a little pale and dazed. “Sooner than planned. We’re not even married yet.”
“Well, look, you’ve only been pregnant for like, what, two weeks or something? You have time. You said yourself, you could put together a wedding in no time. And Mia said lots of Friday nights are open this fall.”
Emme nodded. “Right.” She put a hand on her stomach and looked at it. “Nate’s gonna die.”
I sat next to her and put my arm around her shoulders. “He’s gonna be thrilled. He’s crazy about you.” An unwelcome knot of envy lodged in my stomach. I’d never have this.
She giggled. “He’s going to have two kids under the age of two.”
I shoved the uncomfortable reality of my jealousy aside and refocused. “So they’ll be close, like you and me. We’re only fifteen months apart. Sure, we fought like cats and dogs growing up, but I loved having a sibling close in age.”
“Me too.” She tipped her head onto my shoulder. “I’m so glad you made me go to that Madam Whoever. I never would have guessed.”
“Me either. At least the visit was helpful for one of us.”
“I’m sorry. Are you feeling any better?”
“Not about myself. But I’m happy about your news. Are you going to call Nate?”
“No, I should tell him in person. But I have to tell someone—let’s call Stella!” She hopped up and grabbed her phone from her purse.
“You’re telling everyone before you tell the dad,” I said. “He might be upset to be the last to know.”
Emme’s eyes were huge as she put the phone to her ear. “I know. That’s why you guys can never tell him.” She held out one pinky finger.
I hooked mine through it, grateful to have the support of my two incredible sisters. They’d always be there for me. “My lips are sealed.”
I didn’t have the nightmare that night, probably because I barely slept. I lay awake for hours listening to Emme’s deep, restful breaths and contemplating my life. Did I need to make a change? Move somewhere new? Start over? I didn’t necessarily want to, but I was clearly vibrating at the wrong frequency and needed to recalibrate. But how?
I could sell the studio. It was doing well enough that I didn’t think that would be a problem. But where would I go? What would I do? I was trying to puzzle it out when my phone buzzed. I reached over and picked it up from the nightstand, and my heart began to pound.
Dallas: Are you awake?
I stared at the screen. What the hell was this? I was still open-mouthed in shock when another message arrived.
Dallas: Probably not. It’s late here, so it’s even later for you. Even if you were, you probably wouldn’t reply. I don’t blame you. Anyway, I just wanted to say once more that I’m sorry about what happened. I never meant to hurt you. I promise I won’t contact you again.
Reading his words, I was angry. How dare he text me in the middle of the fucking night with his lame apology! It didn’t matter that he never meant to hurt me—the damage was done. Part of me was tempted to text back something sarcastic and bitchy, but then I realized there was no point. Sadness overwhelmed me. I didn’t want to fight.
Me: I’m awake. I can’t sleep.
Dallas: The nightmare?
No, you damn fool. It’s you. I’m still in love with you. Do you care? Do you know how many tears I’ve cried for you? Do you know how miserable I am thinking I’ll never see you again? Do you know how terrible I feel about myself? Do you know how worried I am about you?
Me: Yes.
It was just easier that way.
He took a few minutes to reply, and—stupid me—I let myself get a little hopeful that his response might make me happy. Maybe he would admit he lied. Maybe he would say he loved me. Maybe he would tell me he’d scheduled the surgery and wanted me there when he woke up. With every fiber of my being, I willed the words to appear. Give me a choice, Dallas. Give me something.
Dallas: I’m sorry.
Tears blurred my screen, and I set the phone aside, screen down. I didn’t want another apology.
Sorry didn’t mean anything anymore.
The next morning, Emme and I grabbed breakfast at a cute little bakery called Coffee Darling in downtown Traverse City. It was pretty early, barely seven, since Emme was eager to get on the road and home to Nate.
Sitting at the counter sipping herbal tea (Emme wanted to avoid caffeine now), I told my sister about the late night messages.
“See? He still cares.”
“No, he doesn’t,” I said irritably, wondering how badly my stomach was going to protest if I ate another cinnamon roll.