Chapter 29
CHAPTER 29
DIXIE
M y workshop felt like a pressure cooker. The lights were too bright, and the smell of wood polish felt suffocating. I’d been sanding the same dresser for hours, trying to lose myself in the rhythm, but my mind wouldn’t shut up. It kept circling back to Hayes and the emptiness that had taken up permanent residence in my chest.
I was never going to get the look on his face out of my head. He’d been sad and then resigned. I didn’t know what I was expecting him to do. I supposed part of me was kind of hoping he would put up a bit more of a fight. Nothing dramatic but maybe more than what I got.
I shook it off. He was gone. Frankie wanted me to break it off with him, and I did. All was right with the world. Frankie had her Mr. Wonderful and would probably marry him. She was going to keep getting promoted and would make a bunch of money. She’d be married to a great dude and have perfect children and live in a big ass house.
And me? I’d be alone.
I would be the aunt that lived in a tiny apartment with the fifteen cats she inherited from her neighbor after she passed away.
Alone.
I gritted my teeth and pushed harder on the sandpaper, too hard. The coarse grit dug into the wood, gouging it in a way that would take hours to fix.
“Damn it!” I hissed, throwing the sandpaper down. My gloves hit the floor next, and before I could stop myself, a frustrated yell ripped from my throat.
The sound echoed through the workshop, cutting through the quiet. I wanted to stomp my feet and scream at the furniture innocently standing by. I wanted to take my hammer and start beating the shit out of every bit of wood I could find. I wanted everything around me to feel the same pain I was feeling.
I heard the door open and was about to tell whoever dared intrude on my temper tantrum that we were closed. But it was Frankie. She was standing there in a perfectly tailored outfit, her designer handbag hanging off one arm. Her hair and makeup were perfect. Just like she was. It was exactly what I expected. She was all put together and I was a hot mess.
As always.
Her face pinched into a wince. “Bad time?”
“Bad week,” I shot back, wiping my hands on my jeans.
“PMS?”
I rolled my eyes, too tired to humor her. “No.”
“Really? Usually we’re so synced.”
Her lighthearted comment hit me like a slap, a reminder of how far apart we felt despite our bond.
“I broke up with him,” I said flatly, meeting her eyes.
Frankie froze, her polished exterior faltering. “Oh.” She placed her bag carefully on the nearest workbench, like it might shatter if she moved too quickly. “I… I’m sorry, Dixie. But thank you. That means a lot to me. I spent time trying to accept it, and I wanted to call you and tell you it was fine, but…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “I couldn’t bring myself to do it.”
Her words should have been comforting. Instead, they twisted the knife in my chest.
“It’s fine,” I lied.
But it wasn’t fine. It hurt like hell. This week had been torture. Every second without Hayes felt like dragging shards of glass over raw skin. The worst part was knowing he could make it better. If I called him, he’d be here in a heartbeat. But that wasn’t an option.
It was even worse knowing Frankie was not going to feel any pain. She didn’t feel bad about what she asked me to do. It made her feel better and that’s all that mattered in her world. She still had everything. So what if I was miserable? It was hard not to be angry with her. Not to feel bitter.
Frankie shifted uncomfortably. She glanced around the messy shop and gestured vaguely at the tools. “What can I do to help? Girl’s night in with snacks? Drinks out somewhere? Dinner at your favorite restaurant, on me? I’ve got the corporate card. We can have steak and lobster and all the drinks you want. I’ll just tell them it was a business meeting.”
I shook my head, my frustration bubbling over. “I just need time and space, Frankie.”
“Or a rebound,” she said, trying to lighten the mood. “What about the actual Paul guy? Maybe a night out with him would do you some good?”
My temper snapped. “I don’t want to talk about this,” I said, my voice sharp enough to cut. “I broke my own heart for you, okay? I’m not interested in a rebound, and a pint of ice cream and a shitty Hallmark movie isn’t going to make me feel better. I just want to be alone, alright?”
Frankie’s face fell, her usual confidence crumbling under my words. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, picking up her bag. “And… thank you. I mean it.”
I didn’t respond.
She hesitated in the doorway, looking back one last time before leaving. The shop felt colder once she was gone, the air heavy with everything unsaid. I should have the balls to tell her how she made me feel. I just couldn’t bring myself to say it.
I sank to the floor, leaning against the damaged dresser as tears spilled down my face. I stayed there for what felt like hours, my back pressed against the rough wood. My heart shattered all over again. The tears kept falling. The shop grew dark as the sun set. I didn’t bother to turn on any lights. The darkness matched the hollow feeling inside me.
I finally managed to pull myself together enough to lock the door and put away the paint and brushes. The brushes were probably ruined now, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. I grabbed my purse and walked out of the shop.
I made my way home, thinking about a night on the couch with a sad movie. If I had a bathtub, I would soak for hours until my skin looked like a shriveled-up grape.
Later that night, I was curled up on my couch in my pajamas, throwing myself a pity party with bad TV and a half-empty bottle of wine. My phone buzzed occasionally, but I ignored it. I wasn’t in the mood for sympathy or platitudes. I didn’t have the energy to talk to anyone. The only person that would be texting me was Frankie and I really didn’t want to talk to her right now. I didn’t want to say something that would completely destroy our relationship.
A knock on the door broke through the haze.
I groaned, dragging myself to my feet. It was probably Margaret from down the hall, needing help with some bizarre favor involving her cat.
Again.
But when I opened the door, it wasn’t Margaret. It was Frankie.
She pushed her way inside, carrying a pint of ice cream in one hand.
“Look,” she said, setting the ice cream on the coffee table. “You can be mad at me, but I love you, and I’m not going to let you cry alone. I know how much this hurts. I loved him too.”
Her words hit me like a gut punch, and I felt tears welling up again.
Frankie sat on the couch and patted the spot beside her. “Sit.”
It was a conflicting feeling—to want her here but also be angry with her. She was the reason for my pain. Kind of. Part of me knew I could have said no. I didn’t have to do anything. I ended things with Hayes because I chose to. I couldn’t put it all on her.
I sat down, wiping my nose with my sleeve.
She reached into her purse and pulled out a Snickers bar and a blister pack of Midol, holding them out like peace offerings.
I frowned. “What’s this for?”
“Cramps and sadness,” she said with a small smile. “Snickers always makes you feel better.”
“I don’t have…” I started to say, but the words died in my throat as realization dawned. My heart began to race.
I should have cramps. I should have my period.
I was late.
Frankie’s eyes widened, her hand frozen mid-air. “No,” she breathed, her voice barely audible.
Panic clawed at my chest. I stared at her, unable to form words. I shook my head trying to deny it. There was just no way.
“It can’t be,” I said.
“Did you have sex?” she asked.
“Yes, but we always used a condom,” I said.
“There’s always a chance, Dixie,” Frankie said gently, her face solemn. “Do you have a test here?”
I shook my head, the room spinning slightly as the reality of the situation pressed down on me. “No, I never thought I’d need one.”
Frankie stood up abruptly. “Stay here. I’m going to the pharmacy. I’ll be right back.”
As she hurried out, leaving me alone with my racing thoughts, I tried to gather myself. The TV continued to blather in the background, some cheesy comedian cracking jokes I couldn’t comprehend anymore. My life seemed to be suddenly veering off course.
This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t be.
I tried to remember every time we had sex. Never once did he say it broke. Never once did he even slip inside me unprotected. It had to be the stress. That was the only explanation. The traveling and then the sadness were screwing up my usual cycle.
That had to be it. There was no way I could be pregnant with his baby. And it would be his baby. There had been no one else.
By the time Frankie returned, clutching a small paper bag in her hand, my nerves were frayed raw. She closed the door softly behind her and handed me the bag without a word.
“I can’t,” I said.
“You have to,” she replied. “You need to know. If you don’t take it, you’re going to drive yourself crazy thinking about it. Take the test and get the answer.”
I took it from her, my hands trembling as I pulled out the pregnancy test box. The instructions seemed to blur before my eyes.
“You won’t be alone through this, whatever the results,” Frankie said. “Just take the test. Pee on the stick. Easy peasy.”
“Emphasis on the pee .” With clumsy fingers, I tore open the box and extracted the test, then hesitated. I looked at Frankie, seeking reassurance in her eyes. She nodded gently.
“It’s okay, Dixie,” she urged softly.
I made my way to the bathroom. Inside, I followed the procedure as outlined on the box: pee on the stick, wait for five agonizing minutes.
Those minutes passed with me sitting on the edge of the bathtub, staring at the test lying on the counter. My mind raced through every possible future, each scenario spinning out wildly different paths for my life.
Frankie knocked on the door. “Are you okay?”
“Just waiting.”
“Open the door, we’ll wait together.”
I opened the door and walked out. “I can’t watch. I don’t want to know. I need a drink.”
“Water for now,” she said gently.
I walked to the kitchen and got a glass of water. I felt nauseated. Was that a symptom of pregnancy or just anxiety? I was freaking myself out.
When Frankie reappeared, her expression was unreadable. She held out the test, and my heart dropped into my stomach.