23. Indie
INDIE
AUGUST
“Dr. Miller!”
Stopping in my tracks before I can rush out into the overcast London morning, I turn toward the voice.
William, the receptionist who checked me in days ago, is waving to get my attention from behind the front desk.
A flash of worry rushes through me, the kind of irrational panic that makes me wonder if something is wrong with my card, or they’re going to kick me out of the hotel for some reason, or I’ve somehow done something without knowing it.
Logically, I know this is all residual anxiety from childhood, from years of feeling like the other in the room, like I don’t belong wherever I’m standing, and someone is moments away from noticing.
Old habits die hard.
But there’s a smile on William’s face.
“This was left for you,” he says, placing a small pink-and-white striped box on the counter. Then he sets a white envelope on top of it. “And this.”
My brow furrows in confusion, and I reach out a hesitant hand to touch the box. “By who?”
“Oh, er—he’s a tall fellow,” William says, gesturing several inches above his own head before holding his hands out wide. The realization strikes me instantly. “Very broad, too.”
Sighing, I smile tightly and take the box from him.
“You do know him?” he asks.
My voice is not working all of a sudden, so I nod.
William sighs in relief.
“Good, I just wanted to be sure. I usually wouldn’t let someone just leave food for a guest, but he seemed alright. He seemed to know you. He was very insistent that I get this to you, but that if you refused it, he said to let it be.”
My throat closes even more at that, for some reason.
The smell that hits me when I lift the lid makes me hum without my permission.
My mouth waters at the sight of the still-warm pastries, each one marked with little edible wafer papers indicating they are gluten-free.
The one that almost makes me smile is the delicious-looking glazed pastry at the top.
A bear claw.
“Teddy,” I mutter, before glancing back up at William. “Thank you, William.”
“Of course, Dr. Miller. Please let me know if there’s anything else you need during your stay.”
I walk outside, still smiling tightly because the emotions coursing through me are dizzying, confusing, and, to my aggravation, warm.
Pulling my hood up on the rain jacket I bought yesterday during my first trip to Harrods with Petra and the girls, I step into the gray morning and try to focus on the sights instead of the warm box in my hands and the envelope on top of it.
I underestimated how gloomy London weather could be. The rain jacket is a beautiful baby blue color that Lupita said complemented my eyes and skin tone, and even though I had the money to buy it myself, Genevieve insisted because she gets a discount through the designer she works for.
These girls have been a complete godsend at the start of this vacation, and I want to be optimistic and believe that these friendships can continue past this trip.
Of course, it comes down to me choosing to continue the friendship.
Today, however, I’m on my own. The girls are attending the wedding at the National Gallery, and we have plans to meet up tomorrow for my final day here.
I’m excited to move on to the next destination, but also sad.
London has treated me wonderfully so far, even with the interruption yesterday from my idiot ex-boyfriend.
A lot of London was planned for two. I wanted to appreciate it with Teddy. While the National Gallery was beautiful, and seeing the art was wonderful, I only truly had fun when Petra was there beside me, laughing.
So, even though it goes against my rigid planning tendencies and makes me feel a little aimless, I’ve been waking up and asking myself what I want to do today.
Because that’s really what this is supposed to be about.
This vacation is about me. Celebrating the end of the hard, brutal, exhausting journey.
I got so tangled up in the excitement of sharing it with Teddy that I forgot this trip was mine first.
I find a place near the Rose Garden at Hyde Park—the name making me smile—overlooking the fountains.
There’s a free bench I quickly snag, sighing when I sit and inhale deeply through my nose. The sweet scent of the flowers wraps around me, comforting me as I hold the box tightly in my lap.
The envelope is still resting on top of it, and I stare at it for a long moment.
I’ve already contacted Dunk by phone and sent back the paperwork for the inheritance Ellie left me.
My eyes nearly bugged out of my head when I saw the amount written down, and then again when he confirmed that it wasn’t a typo.
Ellie left me a life-changing amount of money—money that will wipe out my debt and allow me to breathe.
But I am so incredibly glad she donated two million in my name. I didn’t need that much. I didn’t need the money, period. I’d give it up to have her back.
My fingers press against the ring that hangs around my neck, on the same chain as the moonstone necklace Teddy had bought me.
I was on the plane to New Jersey when I realized I hadn’t given the necklace back.
I had given back the drawings because I wanted to scrub Theodore Williams from my life, but not the necklace.
And I am kind of glad that I didn’t leave it behind.
Because that day was truly good, and the memories that bubble up make me happy.
Teddy and I walked hand in hand at the craft fair, Ellie’s arm looped through his other one to help her walk through the crowded, grassy field.
The sweet scent of funnel cake surrounded us, and while I couldn’t partake in the gluten-filled confectionery, damn it smelled good.
Teddy walked with his chin held high, a bright smile on his face, and with a bounce in his step. It made me beam, and got rid of the mind-to-mouth filter I usually had with everyone but Teddy.
“You look like a peacock,” I told Teddy, giggling when he wiggled his shoulders like he was shaking out his feathers, a faux-smug look on his face.
“I’ve got the two most beautiful women in the world on my arms,” Teddy said, winking at me. “I feel like a king.”
Ellie snorted, her eyes catching on some handmade pottery. “More like the court jester, goofball,” she wiggled her fingers, heading over to the vendor. I laughed at Teddy’s pout, smoothing the line between his furrowed brows with my thumb.
“Well, I think you look like a king, Teddy bear.”
His eyes lit up.
“And you,” he said, lifting my arm and twirling me beneath it before wrapping his big arm around me and pressing me against him. “My queen. Always.”
“Does that mean you’ll kneel for me?” I asked, smirking as I bit my lip.
“Any time,” he murmured, his lips brushing right against my ear, the deep rumble of his voice making me shiver. “Any place.”
He pressed a long kiss to my cheek, and at the time, it felt like sealing a promise.
That was when I still had hope for us. When I was still under the impression that Teddy would choose me because, up until Ellie’s death, he had been a great partner.
Sure, his mother was overbearing, attached to Teddy in a way I deemed unhealthy, and seemed to be in a strange competition with me for Teddy’s affections.
Thinking about that now is confusing because it makes me doubt myself all over again. I tried to gaslight myself for a while, telling myself maybe it was normal, maybe Teddy and his mom were just very close, maybe I was misunderstanding something everyone else seemed to accept.
It wasn’t the end of the world if my boyfriend’s mother didn’t like me, because we wouldn’t have to see her much once we were in New Jersey together, creating our own family. I kept telling myself to hold on to that dumb hope.
Then Nana died, and everything went to shit.
And still, some part of me tries to turn it back on myself.
I tell myself I should have spoken up more, pushed harder for Teddy to see a therapist, maybe bought a billboard so he could finally see the sign that his mother was relying on him for all her emotional needs.
But he wouldn’t have seen anything wrong with that. Not with how far her hooks were in him.
Then the more rational part of my brain reminds me that I was in my final year of residency, studying for boards, paying my bills, working long hours, and trying to get my entire life together to move across the country.
Why the hell was I carrying all of the emotional weight of our relationship?
Why was it my responsibility to cater to a thirty-year-old man and his disturbing relationship with his mother?
Why was I never the first choice when he was so clearly mine?
Why did he put his ex-girlfriend’s feelings and comfort above mine?
Why did he never defend me to his family, and why, when he did, did it feel more like an attempt to excuse their behavior than a true defense of me?
I was trying to balance everything and thought I was doing so well until Teddy added the weight of his mother and her emotional needs, and it was tipping the scales.
And it’s not even really about him choosing his family, because that is his family. It’s about him choosing not to set boundaries and letting me be the collateral damage.
Back and forth and back and forth my mind goes until I just feel even more dismal than I did when I started thinking.
My hand pauses over the envelope.
A letter? Another explanation? Another excuse about why he did what he did, why he said those awful things to me, why he allowed me to be treated horribly by his family? I don’t even know if I want to read it because I know it will ruin my day, but I can’t lie and pretend I’m not curious.
Because he seemed… different.
Exhaustion lined every inch of his face yesterday—the shadows under his eyes, the pallor of his skin, the red-rimmed green gaze that made him seem like he hadn’t slept in days.
He wasn’t the happy-go-lucky, easygoing, sweet teddy bear of a man I fell in love with.
He seemed older, somehow. Resolved, or maybe resigned. I don’t know.