Six

Erin

The morning after Christmas used to feel anticlimactic, with all the excitement of the holiday over (if you didn’t count the after-Christmas sales that my parents treated like a call to battle) and too much time to kill until we went back to school.

But this December 26 I’m barely a week away from finally turning the dream I’ve been dreaming all these years into reality. Once I walk down the aisle at the historic Primrose Cottage to become Mrs. Joshua Stevens, Josh and I will finally get to eat, sleep, and live together. This beautiful condo that we chose and decorated will become our home.

I pull the covers up around us and snuggle in against the heat that Josh always generates. Happiness floods through me. He’s the only guy I’ve ever loved. The only one I’ve slept with.

I finger the delicate rose-gold necklace with its graffiti-style heart and arrow Josh gave me for Christmas and that I slept in and that I never plan to take off. It’s the only thing I’m wearing, and each time it moves against my bare skin, I actually feel like the sex goddess Josh calls me.

I rub my face against his chest, and its cover of dark hair tickles my nose. His scent is both heady and comforting. The way he moves, his reactions, are as familiar as my own. I don’t know whether humans imprint the same way animals do, but everything about him feels exactly right.

I keep my eyes closed because once I open them it’ll really be morning and I’ll feel like I have to get out of bed and do something, when all I want to do is lie here next to Josh. Maybe Sleeping Beauty wasn’t really poisoned but just sleeping in until Prince Charming arrived. Feeling wicked and bold, I climb on top of him and let the necklace and my breasts brush against him.

He moans softly and hardens beneath me. He may be the only person I’ve ever slept with, but I’ve learned the things he likes, and I know how to tell just how much he likes it. But this time when I start to move against him, he puts his hands on my waist to stop me.

“Hold on.”

I laugh because I know he has to be kidding. He’s always wanting me to be bolder, to take the initiative. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” His eyes are open now, and he looks way too serious for someone who talked me into all those wicked things last night. “But I . . .” He lifts me off him and sets me gently on the bed. “I, uh, I need to pee. Be right back.”

I pillow my head in my hands and look up into the tray ceiling, letting myself imagine him waiting for me, looking lovingly up the aisle as I make my way toward him. When he comes back, he’s wearing sweatpants that hang low on his hips. “Here.” He hands me one of his T-shirts. “Put this on.”

I sit up, confused. He has never, ever asked me to put clothes on. I’m not very experienced, but I know it’s not good when a man, especially your fiancé, asks you to get dressed. “Okay, now you’re starting to freak me out. What’s going on?”

“Please. Just . . . sit up. Here.” He takes the T-shirt back and yanks it down over my head, holding it there until I push my arms through the short sleeves, which hang to my wrists.

“Okay.” He swallows. “I um, let’s . . . maybe we should go in the kitchen. You’d probably like a cup of coffee, right?”

Before I can answer, he reaches for my hand and pulls me out of bed. In the kitchen, he leads me to a barstool, then puts a K-Cup in the machine. When he sets the steaming mug in front of me, he stays on the other side of the counter and doesn’t meet my eye. I shiver, but not because I’m only wearing his T-shirt.

“There’s something I’ve been wanting . . . that I need to tell you.”

Butterflies start kickboxing in my stomach. I don’t want to hear whatever put that hitch in his voice.

Now he meets my eyes, and his are filled with panic, which is something a big-league pitcher never shows.

If he’s about to confess he cheated on me, I don’t want to hear it. Not today. Maybe not ever. Confession might be good for the soul, but I don’t think it’s good for a relationship. And it’s definitely not good for a bride to hear from her groom one week before their wedding.

“No.” I put out a hand to stop him. “Don’t.” I shake my head. “Because once you say it . . . you’ll never be able to take it back. And I’ll never be able to unhear it.”

When he clasps my hands between his, I tell myself it’s okay. That we all make mistakes. Though I’m pretty sure cheating is technically more of a sin than a mistake.

“I’m sorrier than I can ever say.” His voice shakes with emotion. “But . . .”

“Oh, God.” I close my eyes and tell myself that it doesn’t matter who she was. I don’t need details. And I don’t want to know her name. All I have to do is listen to his apology so that I can forgive him. And at some point, I’ll find a way to get over it. Unless it’s someone I know. Or a close friend. Or . . .

His hands crush mine. My heart is a drum trying to beat its way out of my chest.

“I can’t marry you,” he blurts. “I wish I could, but I can’t.”

“What?” My eyes fly open. I drag a breath of air into my lungs, but with all the blood whooshing in my ears, I must not have heard him right. “What did you say?”

“I said, I can’t go through with the wedding. I’m not ready to get married.”

I rip my hands out of his. My head moves back and forth in denial.

“Think about it, Erin. We’ve been together for so long. Don’t you ever wonder what you’ve missed? What you might miss in the future?” His pleading look is an arrow through the heart. A slap across the face.

“No.” My head is still wagging back and forth. “No, I don’t. Not ever.”

“Well, you should. You’re only twenty-three, and you’ve already spent your entire life with one person.”

The anger is sharp and clean. It’s all that keeps me from collapsing in a heap on the floor. “Don’t you dare act like you’re only thinking of me. You said you loved me and wanted to marry me. You said you wanted to have children, build a family.”

“I do love you. But getting married? Having children right away? That was your dream, not mine. I didn’t want to lose you.”

“And now you can’t wait to be rid of me.”

“That’s not true. But if I’m going to live up to my potential, make the most of the incredible opportunity I’ve been given, I’ve got to focus on my pitching. On development.”

“And what about me? What about what I want?” My voice breaks.

“You should be focused on your own development, too, Erin. You’re smart and driven. You can do anything you set your mind to.” He swallows. “Up until now that’s mostly been me.”

“I know you don’t mean this. You can’t.” My heart is racing so fast I’m afraid it’s going to jump out of my chest. “It’s normal to have cold feet—especially for guys. It’s probably just nerves. I’m sure it’ll pass.”

He’s the one shaking his head now.

“I know. Maybe we just need to give each other some space this week.” I’m pleading now. “Let the anticipation build. We could go talk to Father Ryan.”

His hands retake mine. His eyes are filled with regret, but there’s not a trace of indecision in them. “No. I feel like we’ve been on this runaway train. I need to get off.”

Something warm and wet and salty lands on my tongue. I’m crying. “But a hundred and fifty people are coming to see us get married. You can’t do this.”

“I’m sorry. I know I should have said something sooner. But I didn’t want to ruin Christmas . . .”

The fact that he spent what I thought was such a beautiful holiday working up the courage to have this conversation is its own mushroom cloud of pain. “Are you frickin’ kidding me? You’ve ruined everything!”

I spring to my feet and race out of the kitchen and into the foyer, where I scoop up my purse and car keys and sprint out the front door.

“Erin! Come back! You can’t . . .”

The elevator door closes. I only notice that I’m not wearing shoes or anything but Josh’s shirt when I step out of the elevator into the unheated garage. Worse than the cold air swirling up my bare legs is the moment I press the key fob and Josh’s Maserati beeps in response. Crap. There’s no way I’m going back upstairs, so I slide my bare ass across the cold leather seat. Once I figure out how to move that seat forward far enough to reach the gas pedal, I fire up the engine and back out of the space.

I drive too fast and sob so hard that it’s a miracle I don’t get pulled over or cause a pileup. Somehow, I make it to my parents’ and am desperately grateful that their car isn’t there. I’m even more grateful that my brothers’ aren’t, either.

After turning off the engine with shaky fingers, I lay my forehead on the steering wheel while I try to stop crying, gather my thoughts, and un-hear the things Josh said. Only I can’t manage any of those things. I don’t know how long I sit there before I finally find the strength to get out of the car and make my wobbly way inside.

In my bedroom, I pull off Josh’s T-shirt, stomp on it with my dirty bare feet, and throw it in the trash. Then I pull on my ancient plaid flannel pajamas and crawl into my childhood bed wishing I’d never woken up this morning, that everything that’s happened today was nothing more than a bad dream.

But no matter how far I burrow under the covers, no matter how hard I shake and cry, no matter how much I try to pretend Josh never called off our wedding, every word he said is now seared into my brain. So is the fact that I never, ever imagined that I wouldn’t be enough for Josh when he’s been everything to me.

For such a long-term planner, I have certainly turned out to be exceptionally shortsighted.