Chapter 15
46 hours until the wedding
“Can we stop? I have to pee.”
Jack groans. “You literally just peed fifteen minutes ago.”
“But now I have to pee again,” I tell him, knee bobbing up and down against the seat.
“Well, maybe you should have thought about that before buying a giant energy drink at the petrol station.”
“I’m jet-lagged!”
“You’re not the one who has to drive. Why don’t you get some sleep?” he suggests.
“I can’t sleep! What if you run us off the road and kill us both? I have to stay vigilant.”
Jack snorts, but the barest hint of a grin worms around the corners of his mouth and I like it just a little too much.
I return my attention to the window, where I attempt to concentrate on the expanses of lush greenery and the crumbling exteriors of stone structures forgotten by time. But I’m finding it hard to focus. And not just because my bladder is full.
Jack’s driving with one hand on the steering wheel and the other hand on the back of my seat. I can’t explain why, but this position is disarmingly attractive, as is the still-damp T-shirt clinging to his chest, and I have to physically tear my gaze away when he asks me to check the directions on my phone.
As I reach for my phone, I realize that I haven’t looked at it since yesterday. Usually I’m glued to it, checking to see if Carter’s messaged me or if Allison needs something. But what with missing the train and the veil and, well… Jack , I guess I’ve been distracted.
I expect half a dozen to-do list items from Allison, but there’s only one text. From Carter. Sent eleven hours ago.
My stomach plummets like I’m on that haunted elevator ride at Disneyland and my fingers fly across the screen to open the message.
Carter
I hope you’re having a good time in Ireland. I know we said we wouldn’t discuss our relationship for another two weeks, but can we talk?
I read the message again, combing through each word like it’s an ancient language only I can translate. But the more I read it, the less I understand.
Does this mean he wants to get back together? Or …My throat tightens. Does this mean he wants to break up for good?
My chest swells. My breath comes in small, shallow bursts.
I thought I’d have time to prepare. That we’d meet up in person. Or at least, I’d be given some kind of warning. I didn’t think he’d text me out of the blue and just ask to talk.
“Ada?” Jack’s voice is muffled and distant, like he’s speaking through a homemade tin can phone. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
It should be a simple question, but it’s not.
“I’m fine,” I lie, lips forming a thin line.
But Jack doesn’t believe me because a moment later he’s taking a hard left, pulling the car onto the shoulder.
“What is it?” he asks, voice thick with worry. “Are you feeling okay?”
I shake my head. “It’s nothing.”
“You look like you’re going to be sick.” He leans over the seat and pulls out a bottle of water he bought at the petrol station. “Here. Drink this.”
I take the bottle and chug, grateful for something to do with my face and hands.
When I finish, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “Now I’m definitely going to have to pee again,” I tell him.
His eyes waver across my face. “What just happened?”
I chew on my bottom lip, debating the wisdom of telling him the truth. After all, he’s made it clear he’s no fan of Carter. But Jack’s all I have right now. Besides, he’s a guy. Maybe he can help me decipher Carter’s message.
I hold up my phone, showing him the message. Jack takes it, and I watch out of the corner of my eye as his expression stiffens.
“What do you think this means?” he asks after a minute.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “What do you think?”
Jack looks past me out the window, where a flock of sheep is milling in a pasture adjacent to the highway. After a minute, he says, “I don’t know Carter. I can’t guess what he’s thinking. But whatever it is, it sounds like it can’t wait.”
Something sharp pulses under my ribs.
“Does this mean he wants to get back together, and he can’t wait until I get home to tell me? Or maybe he’s met someone else?” My throat shrinks, breath stuttering to a standstill. Just because my feelings toward Carter are complicated doesn’t mean I’m ready to find out Carter’s with someone else. Not now. Not like this.
After a handful of seconds, Jack’s eyes lift to mine, studying. “Ada, forget about what he wants for a minute. What do you want?”
The question runs a few laps around my mind before finally taking hold. What do I want?
All this time I’ve been focused on Carter. On what Carter wants. On whether Carter will want to get back together with me . But I haven’t stopped to consider what I might want. Or that I, too, have a say in the matter.
Do I want to go back to Carter because I’m afraid of losing the one constant in my life? Because I’m afraid, full stop? Or do I want something else? Something I haven’t allowed myself to consider until now?
As if on instinct, my brain flicks back to last night, to Jack and me eating pizza in bed, laughing until our stomachs hurt, planning trips to Italy we’ll never actually take.
It’s not that I think that—whatever that is—is a realistic depiction of what I could have without Carter. But for so long I’ve convinced myself that life without the architecture of Carter would be terrible. That I’d be lost and rudderless. But if last night had been a tiny glimpse into what life on the other side could be like, then maybe the future might not be so scary.
When I look back at Jack, he’s watching me with a kind of careful consideration, like he can see the heavy whir of thoughts pressing up against the inner walls of my mind.
I try to summon an answer to his question, but I don’t know how to explain everything I’m feeling, all the words I’m still too afraid to admit, even to myself.
That I miss Carter, but that I also feel guilty for not missing Carter enough .
That I don’t know who I am without Carter. But I’m starting to suspect there’s a part of me that wants to find out.
Most of all I don’t know how to explain the other thing, the thing that twists and flails inside me like I’ve swallowed something alive. I don’t know how to explain what it feels like when Jack’s eyes meet mine, or what happens to my stomach when he laughs. I don’t know how to explain the jolt of electricity under my skin when we touch. Or how confusing this all is.
I don’t know how to explain any of it, so I don’t.
“How should I respond?” I ask.
Jack coughs out a strangled laugh. “I can’t tell you what to say, Ada. That’s up to you.”
“I know, but should I text him back? Or should I wait? I wouldn’t want to come off desperate ,” I add, giving Jack a knowing look.
He tilts his head, gaze narrowing in thought. “We’re about an hour outside of Edinburgh. Maybe you should take the rest of the day to think about it. Decide what you want. Besides”—Jack checks the car’s analog clock—“it’s four a.m. back home. I doubt Carter’s in a position to talk right now.”
He’s right. I have no choice but to wait and think.