Chapter 42 Could It Be?
Claire
December Eighteenth
Laying in bed, I try to ignore all the sounds coming from outside my window—dogs barking, people shouting, horns honking, and an ambulance siren blaring.
The sunlight pouring through the blinds causes me to squint as I fumble to grab my phone off the nightstand and check the time. It’s not even eight in the morning.
Groaning, I shut my eyes tightly and shift backward in the bed, expecting to nuzzle against my sleeping husband, but I don’t feel him behind me. Flipping over, confusion overtakes me. Instead of Everett, I’m met with a pile of cream and olive blankets and pillows gathered into a messy pile.
Cream and olive. Not pink.
Sitting up, my pulse begins to race as I take in the room I’m in.
I’m on a large king-sized bed with a rattan headboard and black trim.
The neutral colored bedding is gathered around me.
The bed is framed by two large, black, wooden bedside tables.
Each is adorned with a large ceramic lamp.
My alarm clock and a photo of me with my sister sit on the nightstand to my left.
“Everett!” I yell.
Nothing.
This is my apartment in New York, and Everett isn’t here. He’s gone.
Reaching for my phone, I frantically search for his phone number, but it’s not there. My chest aches as I try to think through the night before, and nothing makes sense. Why would he leave?
Swiping through my contacts, I click on my sister’s name. It begins to ring, and a mix of emotions washes over me when I hear her voice.
“Hello,” she says, groggily.
“Andi?”
There’s a pause, and the sound of her moving in bed to sit up to talk to me comes through the phone.
“Uh, yeah, who else would it be?” She ends her question with a yawn.
“I just…I wasn’t expecting you to answer… I’ve missed you so much.” The words spill out frantically as I try to deduce what’s happened.
I should be happy that I woke up in my own bed. I should be relieved to finally talk to my sister, but I’m none of those things. If I can’t have him in this world too, then I don’t want to be here.
“We were literally together less than twelve hours ago. At the hockey game, remember? What are you talking about?”
Pulling the phone away from my ear, I check the date—December eighteenth.
“Oh.”
“You okay, Sis?”
Looking over at the empty side of the bed, reality hits me like a bolt of lightning to the heart. It was all a dream, and he left without saying goodbye because, in this reality, last night was a one-night stand.
He doesn’t love me. He never did.
“Claire? You there?”
Pressure builds behind my eyes, and I do my best to hold it together. It seems so silly to cry about a dream, even if that dream was maybe the best one I’ve ever had.
“Yeah…um…I just had a crazy dream last night. Everett and I hooked up, and I dreamt that we woke up in this…uh, it doesn’t matter.”
“You hooked up in your dream?”
“No, he came home with me last night after the game.”
“What do you mean Everett came home with you last night?” she practically yells through the phone, excitement covering every word.
“Geez, Andi.”
“Forgive me, but I’m trying to wrap my head around this very new information you’re telling me because when I left you last night, you were dating Raph, and now you’re telling me that you hooked up with your hottie ex from back in the day.”
“He’s not my ex.”
He’s my husband. Or, he was my husband.
Sugarplum Park never happened.
“Well you used to sleep with him, and now you’re sleeping with him again. So can you please explain what happened?”
My gaze drops to my hand. There’s no ring on my finger, and my heart aches at the thought that none of it was real.
We aren’t married.
I do my best to recall the night with my sister, but it feels like a lifetime has passed, and I don’t know what to make of this feeling.
“Raph was cheating. I ran into Everett at a bar and brought him home,” I say, holding back tears.
“And? Is he still there? Did he stay over?”
Pinching my eyes shut, I run my hands over my face and then through my hair. “Yeah, with the power out, he stayed, but he’s already gone.” My voice cracks.
“Power out?”
“There wasn’t a blackout last night because of the weather?”
“No.”
A sob bubbles out of my throat.
“Are you okay? You sound so upset and aren’t making sense. I knew I didn’t like Raph. What an asshole. If I ever come face to face with him, he’s going to get a piece of my mind.”
But he’s not the reason I sound like this. Everett is, but how do I explain that to her without sounding crazy?
More tears begin to fall, and I wipe them away with the back of my hand. I try to explain myself but instead just end up sobbing into the phone. Incoherent jumbles of nonsense is all I can form, and once I start, I can’t stop.
“Oh Claire Bear, I’m coming over.”
“No…no…um…” I try to take some calming breaths and swallow down the sadness that’s flooding my head.
This is ridiculous. It was a fantasy concocted by me, not a break up. It’s impossible to lose the love of your life when he only existed inside your head. “I need to get up and get to the studio anyway. I’m okay. Just tired and emotional,” I manage.
A male’s voice says something in the background of the call.
“Who’s that?” I ask.
“Isaac. I went to see him after the game. Remember?” She moves the phone away from her mouth, and her voice becomes muffled as she tells him something I can’t quite make out.
“Right. Well, I’ll let you go.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to come over?”
“Yeah.” I look down at the time. “If I don’t get up, I’ll be late.”
“I thought you didn’t have rehearsals until ten?”
“Yeah, I just want to grab a shower and get some coffee. Don’t want to rush.”
“Okay. Call me if you want to hang out tonight. I can bring over all the breakup snacks, and you can wallow about Raph while we gorge ourselves on wine and ice cream.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
The call drops, and I force myself to crawl out of bed.
Shuffling across the floor, I move to my dresser and open the bottom drawer.
Digging wildly, I don’t stop until I find the old, worn Crowns T-shirt Everett left with me four and a half years ago.
Pulling it on, I breathe it in, but it doesn’t smell like him anymore.
I allow myself to cry for a few moments then inhale deeply, trying to calm down.
Standing, I head to the bathroom, rogue tears continuing to fall.
I should pull myself together. Crying over a man from a dream surely means I need to be committed, but I can’t shake the feeling that it actually happened.
That our love for each other was real, and I’m not crazy, but that’s impossible. If it had happened, he’d be here.
Bending over the sink, I splash some cold water on my face, patting it away gently with a washcloth, and then stare at my reflection.
I try to remember what happened after our kiss, but it’s blurry.
My long black hair is still wavy from the curls I wore last night. Underneath his shirt is the lace bralette and thong that I fell asleep wearing after the game. Did I wear this to bed in Sugarplum Park too? Why can’t I remember?
Everything feels the same, except it’s not.
I’m in my bathroom in New York, and I wish more than anything in the world I was still Everett Nuttall’s wife.
The chain of my necklace is turned, and so I slowly start to flip the clasp to the back, expecting to see my initial move to the front, but I pause when I don’t reveal the C charm I usually wear.
No.
Between my fingers is a small, diamond-encrusted snowflake—just like the one Everett gave me for Christmas. I swallow hard as I run my fingers over the small jewels. My heart rate quickens and my breaths become a little more rapid. If I’m wearing this necklace, then that would mean…
The sound of my front door opening echoes through my apartment, interrupting my thoughts, causing my heart to drop into my stomach.
Could it be?