Chapter 23
twenty-three
It’s t-minus two days until my engagement party—the one my mom swears is handled and chastises me for asking any questions about it.
I’ve chosen to believe she has somehow magically organized everything from the comfort of rehab.
It will be a smashing success, or everyone is going to witness my mom have a major meltdown. Either way, it should be entertaining.
I’ll finally be in the same town as Brian.
We’re in desperate need of a face-to-face discussion about the serious concerns I have about our relationship.
I wish we could have this conversation before the engagement party, but his schedule has made it impossible to have more than a five-minute phone conversation.
In my gut, I know this weekend will either be a new beginning for us or the end.
Just need to get through nonstop meetings for the next two days, then I can focus on getting my personal life back on track.
I start to reply to an email when I’m startled by the doorbell ringing.
I’m not expecting anyone to stop by, so I don’t bother moving from my spot until the doorbell rings incessantly.
I groan, getting up from the couch, not wanting to deal with another salesperson trying to convince me to spray the house for bugs or buy something in support of the latest school fundraiser.
When did answering your door or phone become such a pain in the ass?
Don’t get me started on the obscene amount of spam that winds up in my inbox.
Trying to avoid unwanted sales outreach is like playing a never-ending game of whack-a-mole that you didn’t want to play in the first place.
I fling open the door, ready to shoot down the hopes of any salesperson standing on my front porch, when I see red. Red carnations. Multiple vases filled with fucking red carnations.
“Are you Kate Carpenter?” the deliveryman asks, carrying another vase of red carnations.
I nod, my mouth agape, unable to process what is happening.
“Whew. I was worried you weren’t going to be home, and I’d have to transport all of these back to the shop.”
“How many… How many are there?”
“Twelve dozen,” he replies, handing me the vase. “You must have a wonderful man to send you this many flowers. Be right back with more.” He turns and starts walking back to his delivery van.
What. The. Actual. Fuck.
Twelve dozen. That’s… That’s a hundred and forty-four carnations.
I stand frozen inside the partially open door as the deliveryman continues to place bouquets of red carnations on my front porch.
A small part of me wants to believe Brian sent this enormous display of flowers as a prelude to our engagement party this weekend.
The growing pit in my stomach knows the truth.
He’s not coming.
Numb, I bring in all the flowers, filling almost every empty table space in the living room. If anyone else walked in, they’d assume it’s set up for a proposal, not a likely pre-emptive apology from my fiancé who can’t attend our engagement party.
It’s the middle of the afternoon, so talking to Brian isn’t an option. There’s no way he would tolerate the type of conversation we need to have while he’s at work. I can’t fathom telling Jake; it’ll confirm all his suspicions. That leaves Chelsi.
I snap a quick picture of the ridiculous display of flowers blanketing my living room and send it to Chelsi without any context, hoping to garner her unbiased reaction before sharing my fear.
Tears well in my eyes as I worry about what this gesture means and how I’ll explain his absence at the party if it turns out I’m right.
Chelsi
Why are there red carnations covering your living room?
Kate
Your guess is as good as mine.
Chelsi
Hmmm…conflicting thoughts. Need more details. How many? What does the card say?
Kate
Twelve dozen. Generic card says, “I love you.”
Chelsi
He’s being incredibly sweet and sending you an obscene number of flowers before your engagement party or…
Kate
Or what?
Chelsi
I’m going to fucking kill him.
Kate
***
Chelsi
Because he’s obviously done something horrible and thinks he can apologize with shitty flowers. Haven’t you told him that you hate red carnations?
Kate
Yes, many times.
Chelsi
What’s your gut say?
Kate
That he’s not coming this weekend.
Chelsi
He wouldn’t do that.
He can’t miss his own engagement party. That would be…
Kate
Devastating. Humiliating.
Chelsi
Yeah. All of those things. I really hope you’re wrong.
Kate
Me too.
Chelsi
Call him. Find out for sure.
Kate
I’m going to call him when he’s not at work. I’ll let you know what I find out.
Chelsi
Call me if you need to talk.
Kate
Okay.
Chelsi
Can’t wait to give you a big hug this weekend.
Kate
Ditto.
I slump back on the couch, ignoring the calendar notification reminding me I have another meeting in ten minutes.
That’s all the time I have to freak out about what the flower shop inside my living room means before I have to shove the emotional hurricane inside me down into my already full box.
Force down the waves of nausea rolling through me until I’m done with work for the day and can talk to Brian.
Find out the truth about what’s going on, and hope my gut instinct is drastically wrong.
Deep breaths. Don’t freak out. Give him a chance to explain why he sent so many flowers.
He’s probably looking forward to this weekend as much as you are.
That’s my current mantra as I wait for Brian to finish his last meeting and call me.
Desperately wanting to believe that my panic about the flowers and everything else is wrong.
I flinch when Brian’s FaceTime call comes through on my laptop, ready to get this conversation over with and wanting to avoid it at the same time. I let out an exhale and sit straight, taking a few seconds to compose myself before answering the call.
“Hey, beautiful. It’s so good to see you,” Brian says, leaning back in his office chair. “How was your day?”
“Long. Lots of meetings. And an unexpected delivery,” I reply, biting the corner of my lower lip.
He chuckles, flashing me a heartwarming smile that still makes me melt. “I take it you got my flowers.” He arches his eyebrows, keeping his focus on me.
“Yeah. It was… It’s a lot of flowers. You didn’t need to send that many.”
“Of course, I did. You deserve to be spoiled. Plus, I wanted to do something special for you before this weekend.” He rolls his shoulders and stretches his neck, proof that the long hours of tax season are taking a toll on his body. “Do you like them?”
“It was a really thoughtful gesture,” I reply, avoiding the truth about how much I hate red carnations and how the size of the delivery sent me into a doomsday spiral all afternoon. “You’re still coming down for the party, right?” I hold my breath and my muscles tense as I wait for his answer.
His brows furrow slightly. “That’s my current plan. Things can always change, but I’m planning to drive down on Saturday morning and back that night.”
He’s coming. Relief floods my body.
I was wrong. Thank God.
Maybe I’m overreacting about everything else, too.
I exhale sharply. “I can’t wait to see you in a couple of days. I’ve really missed you,” I say, taking a brief pause. “There’s a lot for us to talk about when you get here.”
“I’ve missed you, too. It’ll be good to see you, even if it’s only for a short time.” His eyes shift, looking away from me for a moment. “Crap. I have to go. Talk to you later?”
“Sure.”
“I love you, Kate,” he replies before ending the call.
I cover my face with my hands, letting out the sob I’ve held in all day. My body gently shakes as I release the pent-up emotions from assuming the worst and the worries I’ve had over the past few weeks. He’s coming. We’ll finally be able to talk through everything.
After taking a deep breath, I force myself to focus on the positives, ignoring the pit in my stomach that’s warning me to brace for impact.