Page 69 of Remember Me

She was gone.

“Don't ever tell me I'm broken if you will not be the glue, and please don't point out the fractures if that's all you're allowed to do.”

Tyler Knott Gregson

December 21¦Birdie

CHRISTMAS WAS APPROACHING AND AS THINGS STOOD,IWOULD BE ALONE.I had moved myself out of the farmhouse immediately after my discovery, begging Remi for the futon in her apartment. She’d acquiesced, brought me Ben and Jerry’s, and rubbed my back while I cried that first night.

Okay. Every night.

Now, I sat on her couch and snuffled into a paper towel that left my nose as raw as my emotions. I had already used all the tissues. I needed to get it together. Shoppers were out in force trying to find last minute gifts and I had work later this morning.

Remi was already dressed for the day and sat opposite me sipping on a cup of coffee. “Are you sure you won’t come with me to my parents? I hate to think of you here all by yourself through the holiday.”

I shook my head. “I don’t want to see anyone right now,” I said.

“Well, you need to get up off your butt and stop feeling sorry for yourself. You made a decision, now you have to live with it.”

“It’s not that simple,” I responded. “Just because I made the decision does not mean the decision makes me happy.” I blew my nose. “I did not want to hurt him. But I’m tired, Remi.”

“Tired of what?”

“Never being put first. Never being chosen, you know?”

Remi shook her head. “Birdie, that man chose you every day for the last year. It’s time for you to wake up to that fact and choose him for once.”

I pinched my lips together. “He’s not, though. I have a legitimate reason for wanting her gone. I don’t think I’m asking too much. He’s choosing his job security over that…over me.”

“But don’t you want him to have his job security? For that baby to have a father with a job that he loves? To not have to worry about where the money’s going to come from?”

A knock came at the door, forestalling my response, and I looked at Remi in panic. “I’m not here,” I reminded her and rose to run into her bedroom.

This wasn’t the first time. The day I had left, he had called and texted without ceasing. He had come to Remi’s apartment and banged on the door until a neighbor complained and she answered. I had locked myself in her bedroom and refused to speak to him, and eventually he gave up.

I hadn’t heard from him since.

I didn’t understand why he couldn’t give me more thantrust me. Believe in me. On a practical level, I understood his concerns about tenure. On an emotional level, though, it seemed like there should be some means of compromise. Some middle road he could take that did not include Serena Hansen’s presence in his office.He didn’t get it. I needed him to put me first. Not tenure.

When I thought about it, I didn’t think I’d ever truly been put first. Not by my parents, one of whom had made a career out of placing her needs first, the other of whom had thought only of his wife’s betrayal when he chose to commit suicide. Was it too much to ask that someone choose me?

And was I really willing to sacrifice our future — our baby’s future with both of his parents – for the sake of that emotional quagmire? Was that really the hill I wanted this relationship to die on — my feelings?

Remi was no help. She was compassionate and loving and sympathetic. She listened to my complaints. She dried my tears and brewed gallons of decaffeinated tea for me. But today was the first time she had given me her opinion on things. Usually this meant that she did not agree with me but wasn’t interested in arguing about it.

From my hiding place, I heard her open the door, murmur a few words, and then close the door. I peeked out and saw her looking down at a small white box. No one else was present, so I emerged and took my place back on the sofa. “What’s that?”

“It’s for you,” she said handing it to me.

It was a plain cardboard box tied with string. Nothing fancy. No markings to indicate where it had come from. I untied the string and pulled open the lid to see an object wrapped in wax paper. Before I even pulled the wrapping away, I knew what I would find.

A cream puff.

“Damn him.”

Remi peered over my shoulder as she pulled on her coat and readied to herself to leave. “Yeah,” she said. “That’s really terrible of him.”

I glared and set the cream puff on the coffee table. “You don’t understand,” I said, for what felt like the twenty-fifth time.

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