Chapter 23
EBBA
I can’t believe I forgot about the crib.
It was something I ordered soon after I found out I was pregnant.
Almost immediately I had begun imagining and designing a nursery.
I’d seen the crib online one night and hit order without a second thought.
It had been waiting for me when I got home to Miami but by then I was no longer pregnant, and Fisher and I had broken up.
In a fit of emotional rage I’d packed up anything that reminded me of him, which as it turns out, was everything.
The chipped yellow mug with suns doodled all over it that was his preferred mug to drink his coffee out of. The dishtowel with little dogs wearing birthday hats that he would toss over his shoulder while cooking. The coffee table he liked to rest his feet on. The blanket he always covered up with.
Every single thing had a Fisher related memory attached and I wanted it gone.
If my family thought I’d lost my mind when I packed everything up and moved to a brand-new condo, they certainly didn’t say anything. Though now, I suppose Elias knew.
Fisher finally climbs into the truck after putting all the boxes away. I’m sorry I didn’t help him, but I needed to get away.
He drapes his arm over the steering wheel, leaning my way. “Are you okay?”
I loathe that question. Is anyone ever truly okay? Don’t we all have a variety of things plaguing us at any given time?
“No.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” he presses, worry etching the corners of his lips.
“Also, no.”
He nods like he expected this answer. “If you want to talk about it, you can.” He adds even softer, “Any time. I mean it.”
I don’t reply because I don’t want to continue this conversation.
I don’t want to think about the crib box gathering dust in a hot storage unit for a baby that never was.
I can’t believe I ever forgot about it in the first place.
I’m not sure what possessed me to keep it, but I couldn’t bear to part with it.
It felt like the last tangible proof I had of my child that once was.
Clearing his throat, Fisher says, “Do you mind asking your brother to help me get this thing in your place?”
I’m happy to have a task to do, so I don’t protest at his request.
Instead of texting, I decide to call my brother instead.
He picks up on the third ring and I put the phone on speaker.
“Do I need to help you hide Fisher’s body?
Actually, don’t answer that. I can’t be your alibi if I help move the body.
What you’re going to do is go to the store and buy a shit ton of cleaning chemicals and …
no scratch that, because that’ll look suspicious.
Unless you use cash and a disguise. Then it might work,” he muses, trailing off.
I press my lips together in an attempt to hold in my laughter.
Leave it to my brother to completely distract my mind without even trying.
Fisher clears his throat. “I hate to break it to you, but I’m very much alive.”
“He’s been watching too much Criminal Minds and Bones lately,” I explain to Fisher.
Elias says, “Whimsy has me addicted to them. I’m just annoyed she’s already watched them before me.”
“I didn’t know you then!” I hear her yell from somewhere in the distance.
My brother scoffs. “You should have subconsciously known that the love of your life was coming to find you and waited.”
“You’re crazy,” she says, her voice closer this time.
Before this can spiral into some sort of weird rant from my brother, I say, “We need your help getting my old couch into the apartment and the other one out.”
Elias is silent for a moment and then he screams, “Yes!” Calming, he adds, “That couch you have right now is quite possibly the most uncomfortable thing I’ve ever sat on.”
“It’s truly horrendous,” Fisher agrees. “Try sleeping on it.”
Elias snickers. “She’s making you sleep on the couch?”
“Of course I am,” I grouse. “Anyway, are you going to help or not?”
“Sure. I’ll be there in about thirty or forty minutes if that’s okay? I have to stop for coffee on my way. You guys want something?”
“Always,” I reply.
“I’m good. And thanks for the help, man.”
“Yeah, no problem. See you guys soon.”
He hangs up and silence fills the cab of the truck. We make it another block before Fisher says, “Did he really think you might’ve killed me?”
“No,” I laugh, but quickly sober at the memory of my ex. The way he attacked Whimsy and me in Paris just this past year. “If I should’ve killed anyone it should’ve been him,” I whisper.
I know Fisher will understand and know I’m not talking about my brother.
“I’ve never felt so helpless as I did when your brother told me what happened. I wanted to hunt down that piece of shit myself.”
“I felt so stupid.” I tug on the hem of my old fraying t-shirt I’ve had since college.
“You’re not stupid for trusting your boyfriend.”
The way he says boyfriend I can tell it pains him. He says it like he tastes something bad and wants to spit it out.
Looking out the window, I mutter, “I knew he wasn’t the best guy.” He wasn’t you, I keep to myself.
As far as I know he scurried back to his place in Manhattan and I haven’t heard from him since. I was worried for a while that he might try to weasel his way back into my life, but he disappeared entirely.
The rest of the ride passes in silence and thankfully when we arrive back at my building my brother and Whimsy are already there. I’m grateful to have the buffer of their presence.
Hopping out of the truck, I meet Whimsy around the front, and she passes me a coffee before pulling me into a hug and asking in a hushed whisper, “How’s married life?”
I nearly choke on my own tongue. “Not like married life at all.”
She sips her coffee, humor shining in her blue eyes. “So, you’re not getting laid?”
My mind goes back to the night in Vegas. “No, definitely not.”
She points a manicured finger at me. “You paused.”
“No, I didn’t.”
Her smile grows and she wiggles her pointed finger. “You definitely did.”
“I haven’t slept with him since we’ve been here.”
Her mouth drops open. “But Vegas?”
I look around, finding that my brother and Fisher are distracted at the back of the truck. It sounds like they’re discussing the best way to get the couch up to my place.
“There’s a service elevator around the corner,” I holler. “That’ll be your best bet.”
Fisher says something about moving the truck and Elias agrees. With the two of them occupied, I tug on Whimsy’s hand, so she’ll follow me into the lobby of the building. We might as well head up.
“Ebba,” she pleads. “What about Vegas?”
I groan as we wait for the elevator to arrive. “Yeah, we hooked up.”
“I knew it!”
I glower at her. “Can you scream it any louder?”
“Sorry.” Her cheeks pinken.
“He’s slept on the couch the past two nights, though. I can’t go there with him again. Sex makes things complicated.”
“Is it good sex?”
I cover my face with my hands and mumble, “The best.”
Stepping onto the elevator, I push the button for my floor while Whimsy stirs her coffee. Her nose is scrunched, and I know it’s her thinking face, so I’m not surprised when she says, “What’s the problem with just getting laid?”
Sighing, I lean against the wall and watch the floors pass by. “Because there’s no way I can have sex with Fisher without feelings getting involved.”
Her face softens with sympathy. “I hate to break it to you, but it sounds like feelings already are involved.”
She’s probably right.
Things got all screwy weeks ago when we went to see Sabrina and Noah and Vegas only made it worse. We literally ended up married.
I forgot about all the work Fisher already completed in the apartment, so Whimsy’s gasp when she steps inside has my heart lurching like there’s a burglar waiting inside for us with a stash of my designer purses on his arm.
“There’s color in here.” She spins, taking everything in. “This looks so amazing. You didn’t tell me you were doing all this.”
“Because I didn’t do it. Fisher did.”
I set my coffee, purse, and phone down on the counter. My purse falls over, the contents spilling out. I gather them back up and shove them inside.
“He’s decorating your apartment?” she asks in disbelief. “And you’re letting him?”
“Seemed easier than arguing,” I mumble.
Whimsy spins, taking in every crevice of the small space. “Your apartment has been a plain white block for as long as I’ve known you.”
I pick up my coffee, twirling the straw through the liquid in an attempt to mix some of the caramel into the drink. “We travel so much that I’ve never seen the point in decorating.”
She raises a brow. “But Fisher sees a point in doing it?”
“He knows all white isn’t me. I like color.”
“So why didn’t you ever decorate?” she probes.
I busy myself taking the cushions off my current couch to make it a bit lighter for them to carry out of here. “Didn’t feel like it.”
There’s a bang against the door and a series of expletives.
I rush to the door and swing it open to find Fisher with his glasses askew and my brother flat on the floor struggling to catch his breath. “I thought I was in shape,” he groans. “I’m a professional athlete for God’s sake but that couch got the best of me.”
Reaching out, I adjust Fisher’s glasses for him. He gives me a half smile in return. “Thanks.”
“Seriously, sis, what is this couch made of? Bricks? How the hell did you ever get it in a storage unit?”
“I hired movers.”
“Well.” He heaves another breath. “You should’ve hired them again.”
“I wasn’t the one who wanted the couch.”
Groaning, he points a finger at Fisher. “You should’ve hired movers, dude.”
“Sorry. I’ll remember that for next time.”
My brother sits up and gives himself another minute before he stands. “All right, let’s get this other one out before we bring this one in.”
They drag the vintage couch down the hall a bit so it’s out of their way to get rid of the other one.
“Should’ve thrown this off your balcony,” Elias gripes.
“And possibly killed someone?” I interject in horror.
“I would’ve yelled look out below first,” he mutters.
Whimsy clears her throat. “If it makes you feel any better, baby, seeing you all strong and lifting all this big furniture is really turning me on.”
My brother grins and lifts his arms, showing off his muscles. I roll my eyes at the display.
“You like this, Whim?”
I cover my eyes with my hands. “Please, stop with the foreplay in my presence. Just take care of the couches.”
“Later,” he says to Whimsy, and I shudder in horror.
They eventually manage to get the couch out of the apartment and the other inside. I have to admit there’s a part of me happy to see that old piece of myself in this place. At the time I wanted to lock all my memories away, but maybe I shouldn’t have done that.
While the guys head out with the other couch with plans to drop it off at a nearby donation location, Whimsy and I go out onto my balcony.
“How does it feel being a wife?” she asks, wiping the condensation off her cup.
I groan, shaking my head hard enough to give myself a headache. “Don’t say that word.”
She laughs and sets her cup on the small table between us. “Why not? You are married.”
“I’m trying not to think about that fact,” I defend. “It’s a lot to process—the marriage, Fisher living here, wondering what comes next.”
She pulls her blond hair back into a ponytail and secures it. The light wind we have today stirs a few loose strands around her face. “Are you giving him a chance?”
“It’s been two days, and he’s entirely redecorated my condo. I think that constitutes giving him a chance.”
She shrugs and sips at the dregs of her iced coffee.
The straw makes a slurping sound when there’s no more coffee.
She frowns at the cup like she’s offended that it’s all gone and sets it back down.
“All I mean is, go on some dates with him, have a movie night in, talk shit out from your past—give it a real chance, because I know you Ebba and you might not want to right now, but you’ll regret it if you don’t. ”
I look away from her probing stare. She’s right, but that doesn’t make it an easier pill to swallow.
I never thought I’d get a second chance with Fisher.
I’ve always been drawn to him, even when I hated him, but I firmly put him in the never again category because I thought there would be no way for me to detach my bad memories from him.
But if I’m being honest with myself, I haven’t been dwelling on those things like I thought I would.
Sure, that hurt is still there, but it’s not as prominent as it once was.
“Listen,” Whimsy goes on, reaching for my hand.
“I love you—as a friend, as a future-sister-in-law, just as a person—so I’m always firmly going to be Team Ebba.
I wouldn’t be pestering you about this if it weren’t for the fact that for years, I’ve seen the two of you steal glances at each other.
There’s something there, something powerful, and I don’t want you to miss out on your perfect love because of fear. ”
“We were so young the first time,” I start, and she cuts me off.
“Exactly.” She snaps her fingers. “Young people make mistakes all the time. You’re both older and hopefully wiser now.” She gives my hand a squeeze. “You deserve the world, and he looks at you like you’re more than that. You’re like the whole universe to him or something.”
I lower my head, an achy feeling low in my stomach. I understand what she’s saying and deep down I know if I don’t give this an actual shot, I’ll hate myself for it later.
“I’ll be more open-minded.”
She smiles, clearly pleased with herself that her little pep talk has worked. “Good. I’m glad.”
I hope my heart doesn’t regret this.