As I flipped through the character choices in the new game, something stopped me in my tracks. One of the main characters looked different—yet markedly familiar to me. She was beautiful, just like my Sunny, and looked as if she had Down syndrome. Her name was Autumn.
I didn’t know how long ago Deacon had designed her, before our breakup or after, but this discovery made my heart feel heavier than it had in a while.
* * *
A few nights later, Sharon arrived to babysit. Sick to my stomach from nerves, I’d just gotten dressed and ready to venture out on my first official date since getting my heart broken. I’d decided to accept a casual dinner invitation from a guy I’d met online. If I didn’t push myself to move on from Deacon, I never would. Maybe at some point it would feel natural and not forced, but it certainly didn’t yet. Fake it till you make it.
“You look gorgeous, Carys,” Sharon told me. “Are you meeting this guy somewhere safe?”
“Yeah. Of course. Taking an Uber to the restaurant and Ubering straight home.”
“Good.” She smiled. “Don’t worry about Sunny and me. You have a good time.”
At almost two, Sunny was starting to say more words, pointing to things a lot and saying “that.” A new speech therapist came to the house twice a week to work with her on language, and I did my best to repeat the words I believed she was trying to say whenever the opportunity presented itself. Sunny and I had also learned sign language to help her communicate until she was able to sound out more words.
“Mama will be back, okay?”
My girl reached her arms out to me and started to cry. “No, Mama.”
She’d become more attached to me than ever lately, maybe the result of the greater awareness that came with growing into a toddler.
Guilt followed me out the door as I made my way into the car waiting outside. During the ride, I looked out the window, which was covered in raindrops. A sadness that seemed to match the dreary weather came over me. I should’ve been happy about going on this date. But I missed Deacon, longed to be in his arms, and knew that would never happen again. Grief definitely comes in waves, and mine always seem to hit at the most inopportune times.
Once at the restaurant, I discovered that my date, Peter, had secured a candlelit table in the corner.
He stood as I approached, and his eyes went wide. “Carys, you’re even more beautiful in person.” He practically drooled. “Wow.”
“Thank you.”
Peter was handsome—not drop-dead gorgeous like Deacon, but attractive enough. Enough. Would that be the story of my life now? Attractive enough. Good enough. At this point, if you were decent looking and a decent person, you had a shot with me. Because that meant you were a safe distraction, something I’d desperately needed since Deacon walked out of my life.
I knew from our online interactions that Peter worked with kids who had special needs, but I hadn’t realized until our conversation got going tonight that some of his students had Down syndrome. What were the chances? That left us with no lack of things to talk about during dinner. I picked his brain throughout our meal—so much so that I almost felt sorry for the guy.
“If you ever want to come visit the classroom and see some of the things we do, I’d be happy to be your tour guide,” he said. “Actually, even better, I can take you down to the integrated preschool. That’s not my classroom, but you could take a look at some of the ways Sunny might be learning when she eventually starts school.”
“You know what? I may just take you up on that. The preschool years aren’t too far away, and I should start thinking about my options.”
I was starting to think I might have met this guy just to light a fire under my ass in terms of planning for Sunny’s education.
“If you don’t mind my asking…” Peter suddenly said. “You mentioned this was only your second date with someone you met online. I assume you haven’t been in a relationship since Sunny was born?”
I wished he hadn’t asked that, but I answered honestly. “No. I was in a serious relationship for several months. We started out as friends, and it evolved into something more.”
“I see. What happened?”
I’d nearly cried on the way here. Talking about what happened with Deacon would put me over the edge. “I’d rather not go into it. Let’s just say he freaked out and moved back to Minnesota. He was a good man, but not the one for me, I guess.”
“Fair enough.” Peter nodded and changed the subject.
We spent the next hour talking about much lighter subjects. I discovered Peter had grown up not far from where I did in Wayne, New Jersey. We’d never crossed paths, maybe because he was seven years older. But we had a blast recalling some of the old haunts we’d both frequented, including my favorite diner.
Peter came across as kind and attentive, and dare I say, I was actually enjoying the date. That is, until a text turned my evening on its axis.
No. It rocked my world.
Sharon: Everything’s fine, Carys. But I wanted to give you a heads up. Deacon came by tonight looking for you. It seems he’s back in New York.
CHAPTER 27
Deacon
FROM THE GROUND UP
What the fuck did you expect, Deacon?
You disappeared for four months, came back unannounced, and didn’t think there would be repercussions?
Carys had Sharon here babysitting. She was out. Sharon didn’t divulge where Carys was, but I put two and two together.
Fuck. I felt nauseous.
Originally, I was going to call her, give her some warning. But I decided it would be better to just jump into the fire. There was so much I needed to say to her, but that wasn’t going to be happening tonight.
Pacing in my apartment for over an hour, I listened intently for any sign that she’d come home. When I heard her door unlatch from the hallway, and muffled conversation through the wall, I knew she’d returned.
My pulse raced as I debated whether or not to go over there. I wasn’t sure if she’d text me once she found out I’d come by earlier. Maybe it was better if I waited until morning to bombard her.
One thing was for sure: I wouldn’t be sleeping for shit tonight.
* * *
Carys never texted or called. Not that she should’ve. But I’d braced myself for a “what the fuck are you doing back?” message.
Dragging myself out of bed, I got dressed before walking to the kitchen and making some coffee. Watching the java drip down into the carafe, I could feel my stomach in knots. My heart was in my throat as I geared myself up to face her. I didn’t know where to begin, or if she’d even listen.
I sipped my coffee alone at the table, running everything through my head, but knowing none of it was going to come out the right way. When I’d had two full cups—enough to make me jittery—I forced myself up.
Adrenaline pumped through me as I walked next door.
My knock was reluctant, lighter than it used be, representative of the shame I felt for having hurt her, for having left.
The stoic look on her face when she opened told me she’d been expecting me.