Page 12 of The Charm of You

“He proposed to me, and I haven’t given him an answer yet,” I continue.

“Why not?” she asks.

“Because it freaked me out,” I blurt. “Instead of jumping with joy, I felt nothing but panic. It surprised me, and it wasn’t a good thing.”

“Why do you think that is?” Her tone is still even.

It’s steady, per usual when we discuss anything deeper than old songs I used to make up. I thought this bit of news would elicit a stronger reaction out of her, though.

I’d be comforted if Mama would share my shock.

I worry my bottom lip between my teeth and fix my attention on the oak tree, standing so powerfully there in its roots. “I didn’t have it. The innate feeling wasn’t there. Since that night, I’ve been waiting to feel something magical. Something to convince me to call Edward and grovel and beg him to give me the ring.”

“And do you feel it?”

“No. He just feels… wrong. For me, anyway. We’ve been together for some time, and I just don’t know what to do.”

Finally, her unreadable expression cracks, if only a fraction, and she smiles sympathetically. Understanding colors her blue eyes as she softly says, “My sweet Caroline—I think you know what you need to do.” She pins me under her wise gaze.

“I have to talk to Edward,” I mumble.

“You do, but first… muffins.”

“Do you want lemon, cinnamon, or blueberry?” I ask, repeating the words of the song as I lift from the rocking chair to head inside.

My mother sings the rest of the tune, the off-key melody drifting into my childhood home as I set my mug into the sink and walk on socked feet to my old bedroom for a change of clothes.

I’ve just finished parting my hair down the middle and tucking the loose curls behind my ears when my phone buzzes. I have two new messages, one from Beverly and another from Edward.

My heart plummets into my stomach when I check the latter, which holds a picture of him and me during our first Christmas. We’re laughing in front of the tree at Rockefeller Center, and although it’s a nice memory, the picture itself was taken by a professional his mother had hired. We took several pictures with his family that day, and while it was relatively pleasant, I was extremely uncomfortable. It shows in the pictures too.

It’s not me.

I’m physically in the photos, dolled up and sparkling from head to toe with my perfect red lipstick and studded sweater, but it’s the version of me that Edward loves.

He’s always hoisted me onto a pedestal, as most of the people in my life have, including his mother. In addition to the photographer that day, she’d hired a professional makeup artist for her and me.

I’m expected to live on that pedestal and show up to everything in nothing but my best, whether I’m headed for family photos, yoga, or a night at a Broadway show.

When he proposed, all of his promises boasted variations of the same stilted life I’m realizing I really don’t want.

With a deep breath, I click out of his message and check Beverly’s.

BEVERLY

I miss you already. The office is not the same without you.

Maybe you can convince Melissa that her latest Botox injections caused swelling in her brain, and she wasn’t thinking clearly when she fired me.

BEVERLY

I’m going to spend the rest of the day thinking of ways to make that sound less like an insult and more like a compliment. I’m on the case.

Smiling, I toss my phone into my purse and slip my black leather wedges onto my feet, adding four inches to my height. I’d opt for something more casual, but this is my first appearance in town in ten years; I might not have a job or a fiancé, but I’m determined to play the part of the successful woman I was a few days ago.

It’s better than admitting the truth, so I resign myself to showing up exactly as they expect me to be.

I haven’t even told my mom about my job. Telling her about Edward was enough for the day, especially considering how she tends to deal with emotional baggage with an infuriating level of delicacy and detachment.

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