I rip my hands out of his. My head moves back and forth in denial.
“Think about it, Erin. We’ve been together for so long. Don’t you ever wonder what you’ve missed? What you might miss in the future?” His pleading look is an arrow through the heart. A slap across the face.
“No.” My head is still wagging back and forth. “No, I don’t. Not ever.”
“Well, you should. You’re only twenty-three, and you’ve already spent your entire life with one person.”
The anger is sharp and clean. It’s all that keeps me from collapsing in a heap on the floor. “Don’t you dare act like you’re only thinking of me. You said you loved me and wanted to marry me. You said you wanted to have children, build a family.”
“I do love you. But getting married? Having children right away? That was your dream, not mine. I didn’t want to lose you.”
“And now you can’t wait to be rid of me.”
“That’s not true. But if I’m going to live up to my potential, make the most of the incredible opportunity I’ve been given, I’ve got to focus on my pitching. On development.”
“And what about me? What about what I want?” My voice breaks.
“You should be focused on your own development, too, Erin. You’re smart and driven. You can do anything you set your mind to.” He swallows. “Up until now that’s mostly been me.”
“I know you don’t mean this. You can’t.” My heart is racing so fast I’m afraid it’s going to jump out of my chest. “It’s normal to have cold feet—especially for guys. It’s probably just nerves. I’m sure it’ll pass.”
He’s the one shaking his head now.
“I know. Maybe we just need to give each other some space this week.” I’m pleading now. “Let the anticipation build. We could go talk to Father Ryan.”
His hands retake mine. His eyes are filled with regret, but there’s not a trace of indecision in them. “No. I feel like we’ve been on this runaway train. I need to get off.”
Something warm and wet and salty lands on my tongue. I’m crying. “But a hundred and fifty people are coming to see us get married. You can’t do this.”
“I’m sorry. I know I should have said something sooner. But I didn’t want to ruin Christmas . . .”
The fact that he spent what I thought was such a beautiful holiday working up the courage to have this conversation is its own mushroom cloud of pain. “Are you frickin’ kidding me? You’ve ruined everything!”
I spring to my feet and race out of the kitchen and into the foyer, where I scoop up my purse and car keys and sprint out the front door.
“Erin! Come back! You can’t . . .”
The elevator door closes. I only notice that I’m not wearing shoes or anything but Josh’s shirt when I step out of the elevator into the unheated garage. Worse than the cold air swirling up my bare legs is the moment I press the key fob and Josh’s Maserati beeps in response. Crap. There’s no way I’m going back upstairs, so I slide my bare ass across the cold leather seat. Once I figure out how to move that seat forward far enough to reach the gas pedal, I fire up the engine and back out of the space.
I drive too fast and sob so hard that it’s a miracle I don’t get pulled over or cause a pileup. Somehow, I make it to my parents’ and am desperately grateful that their car isn’t there. I’m even more grateful that my brothers’ aren’t, either.
After turning off the engine with shaky fingers, I lay my forehead on the steering wheel while I try to stop crying, gather my thoughts, and un-hear the things Josh said. Only I can’t manage any of those things. I don’t know how long I sit there before I finally find the strength to get out of the car and make my wobbly way inside.
In my bedroom, I pull off Josh’s T-shirt, stomp on it with my dirty bare feet, and throw it in the trash. Then I pull on my ancient plaid flannel pajamas and crawl into my childhood bed wishing I’d never woken up this morning, that everything that’s happened today was nothing more than a bad dream.
But no matter how far I burrow under the covers, no matter how hard I shake and cry, no matter how much I try to pretend Josh never called off our wedding, every word he said is now seared into my brain. So is the fact that I never, ever imagined that I wouldn’t be enough for Josh when he’s been everything to me.
For such a long-term planner, I have certainly turned out to be exceptionally shortsighted.
Seven
Jazmine
My sister Thea’s personal mantra is “never give up, never surrender,” a line from the Star Trek spoof Galaxy Quest that we watched ad nauseam when we were kids. Normally, I admire her drive and determination. Except when it’s aimed at me.
When she calls, I’m at the Mercedes-Benz Stadium where the Chick-fil-A Peach Bowl is about to start. I have my eye on a running back who’ll be a senior next year.
“I’m working,” I say when I answer my phone.
“Girl, if I only reached out when you weren’t working, we’d never talk at all.”
I don’t argue, because there is some truth to this. Plus, if I argue, this call will last way longer than it needs to. Because as I believe I mentioned, my older sister is more Mack Truck than Machiavelli. She does not back down. Ever.
“I just wanted to let you know that Derrick Warren is coming to our New Year’s Eve party and he really wants to meet you.”
I wonder for about a second whether Derrick Warren really wants to meet me any more than I really want to meet him. But at least I have a legitimate excuse this time. (Yes, I’ve made some up in the past, mostly to avoid becoming roadkill beneath her wheels.)
“That’s nice to hear,” I say as sincerely as I can. “But I’ll be in Tampa. I’ve got a QB in the Outback Bowl that I’m about to sign.” This, happily, is true. There’ve been lots of bigger agents buzzing around him, including “he who must not be named,” but I have an inside track. That inside track is his mother, Beverly, who appreciates the fact that I have firsthand experience with the pressures of being a college athlete and that we are both single mothers.
“Can’t you come to our party and then fly down to Tampa on the first?”
“No. I can’t. Because I’m having dinner with the QB’s mother on New Year’s Eve, and I’m not about to take a chance on letting anyone else get close to her right now.”
“But Derrick might . . .”
“. . . meet somebody else? That’s a risk I’ll have to take. And if he’s as new to town as you say, he should meet as many people as possible. I’m not exactly the only single woman you know in Atlanta.”