Chapter 31 #2
“Why are you staying with Allie?” my mom wants to know. “Aren’t you still in high school, dear?”
Poor Margie looks like she, too, is about to expire on the spot. “I am, but my parents are kind of mad at me right now.”
My mother feels the need to tell her, “That may be, but they’re still your parents. You belong at home.”
“I’m pregnant,” Margie tells them. “They don’t approve, and they don’t want anything to do with me or my baby.”
My mother is completely unaware that the whole world isn’t interested in her opinion, so she demands, “How could they approve? You’re just a child!”
“This is none of your business, Mom,” I tell her. “You need to stay out of it.”
“Not my business?” Her hand flies over her chest so dramatically, you’d think she was starring in an old silent film. “You are my business.”
“I’m an adult,” I tell her firmly.
“You are still my child.” Her posture is one of righteous indignation.
This whole scene is so utterly ridiculous I almost start laughing. Instead, I turn to Finley and ask, “Do you want to meet for coffee tomorrow?”
“I’d love that!” She claps her hands together enthusiastically.
“I want to have coffee tomorrow,” my mom says. “I want to find out what in the world is going on with you!”
“I’ll text you, Mom,” I tell her. “Maybe we can get together for Sunday dinner.” I point at her while making a zigzag pattern through the air. “But you’ll have to wear clothes.”
“Don’t be rude,” she replies before remembering there’s a young girl in the room. Pulling the neckline of her dress up, she tells Margie, “You should join us on Sunday, dear. We’d like to hear more about why you’re staying with our daughter.”
I’m about to save Margie by declining for her, but before I can, she responds, “I’d like that.”
She would? Why? But I don’t ask. Instead, I shoo her out the door while telling Finley, “I’ll text you in the morning.”
Then I look at my parents and beg, “Please stop doing this. Please.”
The looks on their faces say it all. They are not going to stop. My only hope is that they will at least stop allowing Finley to display their pictures. In fact, I’m going to talk to my new friend about that tomorrow.
Meanwhile, Margie and I walk back to my apartment quietly. Once we’re in my kitchen, I ask, “Where’s the delivery?”
She points to a large vase of flowers sitting on the coffee table in the living room. “They were outside the front door, so someone had to bring them up.”
I’m guessing it was Faith or Teddy. Walking over to the gorgeous autumn display of dahlias and mums, I retrieve a small envelope out of the arrangement. No one has sent me flowers in a very long time, so I can’t imagine who would be doing so now.
Pulling out the card, I read:
Allie,
Thinking of you today on what would have been our seventh wedding anniversary. I’m very sorry about the way our marriage ended.
Love Always,
Brett
I rip the card in two, and then two again before opening the window and throwing the remnants into the wind like hostile confetti.
So many questions fly through my head. Questions like, how did I forget today would have been my anniversary?
Why in the world would Brett remember and why did he want to commemorate it? And finally, how did he find me?
It’s not too big of an assumption for him to guess I moved home to Elk Lake, but how did he know I lived above Rosemary’s? I haven’t even been here long enough to get my first electric bill.
“Anything wrong?” Margie asks.
I turn to find her standing behind me with her hands clasped together. There’s a look of deep concern on her face. “Nothing’s wrong,” I tell her.
“Why did you rip up the card and throw it out the window then?”
“The flowers are from my ex-husband,” I tell her. “Today is our wedding anniversary.”
“Isn’t he remarried?”
“Yes, he is. Which I suppose is why I ripped the card up. Today isn’t a day I celebrate anymore.”
“Do you want me to throw the flowers away?” she asks as she hesitantly approaches them.
I have sudden and surprising clarity. I’ve been so caught up trying to move on with my life that I didn’t realize how much I’ve already succeeded in doing so.
While I will never feel kindly toward Brett, and there’s no part of me that loves him, I don’t hate him anymore.
The memory of him has become nothing more than a dark cloud that is quickly dissipating.
“Do you like the flowers?” I ask Margie.
She’s reluctant to answer, but she eventually does. “I do.”
“Then let’s keep them. It isn’t the flowers’ fault that Brett is such a moron.”
“They won’t make you sad?” she asks while walking toward them like a beacon of hope.
“They won’t,” I assure her. “I’m over Brett. I’m ready to move on.”
There’s a twinkle in her eye as she asks, “With Coach Riley?”
“Noah and I are just friends,” I assure her. “But I am ready to get back on track to making my main dream come true.” I tell her, “I’ve decided to look for an adoption agency and fill out paperwork to adopt a baby.”
Margie’s mouth forms an “O” of surprise. “I’m so happy for you, Allie. I wish I’d waited to have a baby until I was ready.”
“Maybe our kids will grow up together,” I tell her. “We can have playdates and raise them like cousins.”
Poor Margie looks like she’s going to crumble to the floor in a boneless heap. “I love you, Allie. There is no way I could have gotten through all of this without you.”
“I love you, too, Margie,” I tell her honestly. In such a short time, this girl has come to mean so much to me. And I know that no matter what, I will always be there for her.