30. Carly
CHAPTER 30
CARLY
A fter the last month and a half that I’ve had, the two-hour drive home from New York feels like spitting distance. Time has melted and merged into one chaotic entity since I got back. I’ve barely had time to rest from my journey, let alone process anything that’s been happening.
Ellen and Nicholas are away at a business meeting this weekend. I know they want me back at their beck and call bright and early on Monday morning, but I’ve decided to take the weekend to relax and recover and go home.
My head is so full of flowers and venues and dresses that I’ve barely had time to think of anything else.
In that way, it’s been a good distraction. Now, as I step through my front door, all the thoughts I’ve been trying not to think about Gabe come flooding back to me: his strong arms, that cheeky smile that I only saw a handful of times but that made me swoon.
I wonder how he is.
I should call him. I should put aside all this petty anxiety I’ve been having and just call as a friend. It’s what friends do, isn’t it?
Before I can follow this line of thought any further, my stomach turns over and I have to rush to the bathroom to be sick.
“Great,” I mutter as I rinse out my mouth and wash my face. “Just great.”
All week I’ve been feeling kind of sick, but I put that down to the stress. This proves I must have a bug or something. Explains why I feel so tired and miserable.
Then a cold chill freezes my blood as I think about Gabe.
No. It can’t be. It would be ridiculous to imagine, right? I’m on birth control.
I know that doesn’t mean it’s impossible, though, and my mind starts racing as I realize that my period’s late.
Between the vomiting, the tiredness, and the amount of sex we had, it’s not completely impossible that I’m pregnant.
Now that I’ve had the thought of it, I’m not going to be able to rest until I know for certain. I throw my bag on the couch, slide my sneakers back on, and walk out to my nearest pharmacy.
This is something I missed in Mullen Falls. Walking. Gabe had to drive me everywhere while I was there. The city is so much more convenient. You can get anything you want, anytime.
But since I’ve been back, it’s lost its shine a little. I put it down to being in New York, where everything is busy and chaotic all the time, but even now, being home, the endless concrete and relentless noise isn’t bringing me that comfortable belonging it always used to.
I grab the first pregnancy test I see in the store and head to the self-service checkout. I’m glad I don’t have to speak to a person, but it doesn’t stop my mind drifting to Gabe, who knows the name of every shopkeeper in town.
I realize that I don’t know the name of a single person in this town. Not at the coffee shop, not at the grocery store, nowhere. I’m completely anonymous. Is that really better than everyone knowing your name?
I head up to my apartment and rip the box open. I know that if I put this off, I’m never going to do it. It’ll be a big terrifying thing hanging over my head until I have my next period and realize that it was all a product of my overactive imagination.
Ellen and Nicholas are giving me enough to stress about without anything else on top. At least if I’m just sick from work, I know how to deal with that.
Tea and a bath. That’s what I’m going to have after this, no matter what this test says. A strong lemon tea and a long, hot bath.
The process of taking a pregnancy test is inelegant, and I spend the next five minutes pacing the floor while waiting for the timer to go off. I wish I had someone else with me. I wish Gabe was here. Or Ruth.
For the first time in years, I think of my high school best friend Jessica and the way we were inseparable. I have no idea what she’s even doing today.
The alarm on my phone goes off, and I jump before rushing back into the bathroom. My steps slow as I approach the sink. I close my eyes, fumbling for the test.
It’s nothing. I’m being dramatic. I’m overthinking things.
I crack open my eyes and almost drop the test in shock.
Two lines. Positive.
These things hardly ever give you a false negative.
I’m pregnant.
I’m pregnant with Gabe’s baby.
With that revelation, I fold in half and retch over the toilet again. I barely have time to think though, because seconds later, my work phone rings.
I wipe my mouth, try to steady my racing heart and drag myself into the living room. I pick up, and immediately, Ellen starts yelling. “Where the hell have you been? This is the third time I’ve called you in the last half hour.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I had to run some errands. How can I help you?”
“The venue you’ve chosen. It’s no good. It won’t do at all.”
“But there’s a lake, and we can easily get horses there,” I say, in no mood to deal with her demands.
“I don’t want horses,” she sniffs as if I’m the one who’s stupid. “I need to be wearing red. I need it to be striking. Stunning. I need it to be candlelit, maybe in a barn.”
“We decided on the venue, and I’ve already called them,” I say as firmly as I can. “We’ve decided on a plan.”
“I don’t want that plan anymore,” Ellen huffs. “I want you to do what you’re told.”
“What I’m told,” I repeat slowly.
Again, I think of Ruth and John, the way they smiled, the way that they loved everything I suggested. The way they worked with me through difficulties. The way they loved each other.
I think of Gabe and his stupid insistence that he didn’t need anyone else, the way that he told me that I was the one bringing him out of his shell. That I was the one helping him become the person he was supposed to be.
Was he trying to tell me something deeper? Something I was too stupid to have seen?
Like a tsunami, it comes crashing down around me. What I’m doing right now isn’t making a dream come true. It isn’t helping anyone.
It’s bragging and showing off, and I don’t want anything to do with it anymore. The city is suffocating, full of people who push you out of the way and don’t care if you fall. Small-town life took some adjusting to, but the weeks I spent in Mullen Falls were the happiest of my life.
That wedding was what passion looked like. That’s what I want to do — help people get everything that they dreamed of, not be captive to the whims of rich people who think it’s their right to boss you around.
“You know what,” I say, my hands shaking. “I’m not doing what I’m told. We either stick with the plan or you’re going to have to find someone else.”
“I’m going to what?” screeches Ellen.
What I’m doing right here is an absolute career-tanking move. I know that if I tell Ellen to get lost, I am ruining the reputation I had as someone who gets it done. No one’s ever going to call me again. That vast sum that I ask for is going to be wildly out of reach because no one’s going to come near me.
But as the words come out of my mouth, my resolve gets stronger. I’m having Gabe’s baby. Even if he doesn’t want us, I at least have to tell him. I have to go and tell him in person.
If he rejects me, I’ll figure something else out. But if he wants this family, I can’t deny it from him.
I can’t deny how I feel about him any longer.
I can’t keep living in a lonely city like this.
“You’re supposed to be doing what you’re told!” Ellen is screaming into the phone now, and I can just see her pretty face, blotchy and red, apoplectic with rage. Somehow that image fills me with calm.
This is a stressor I don’t need in my life. I don’t want it.
I want something real.
“I’m sorry, Miss Sinclair,” I say. “I think this is the end of our partnership. I don’t think I can give you what you want.”
“If you cancel on me,” she threatens, “I will make sure you never work another day in your life. I will see to it that every single person who ever thought of hiring will think again.”
“So be it. Goodbye.” I hang up before I can listen to her yell more.
No doubt she’s furious and means every word she said.
This is the end of my career.
No matter what happens next, it looks like I’m taking the small-town wedding gig professional, whether I want to or not.
I should be upset, but instead it feels like a great weight falls off my shoulders, like my heart is rising.
Like a new life is opening up in front of me.
The next thing I have to do is tell Gabe. But this time, I’m stopping on the way there.