Page 101 of The Accidental Honeymoon

It’s not me running away from anything. Right?

Feeling my tattooed wrist, knowing that at least one Jay bird will be with me the rest of my life, I exhale a shaky breath. At least that will always be around to remind me of the best two months of my life.

So why am I crying?

thirty-six

JAY

A shaftof sunlight pierces through the gap in the curtains. I groan and stretch my long frame across the empty bed. I rub my eyes, yawn, and frown at the space beside me.

Calla is gone. She’s been shifty for the last week. If I were feeling fancy, I would say she’s been avoidant. That’s a thing, right? She’s probably already up and working at her bakery.

I roll out of bed, scratch my head, and shuffle downstairs in my plaid pajama pants. The sleek, modern lines of my kitchen blur as I rub my eyes again, still half-asleep. I open the fridge, stare blankly at its contents, then close it with a shrug.

It feels weird in here. Is it just the decided lack of Calla? Or is there bad energy? Hard to say. I put on the kettle to make a pour over coffee and then plod toward my office.

Something on my desk catches my eye. The fog in my brain lifts just enough for a spark of recognition.

The annulment paperwork. And Calla's ring, neatly placed on top.

A note in her tidy handwriting:

This was amazing. I’ll never forget it. – love, me.

My mouth goes dry. I pick up the note and read it twice, three times. The words don't change, but my understanding of them shifts with each pass.

I crush the note in my hand, then smooth it out again, my fingers trembling. My thoughts race, struggling to grasp why Calla would leave like this.

We had a plan, didn't we? Sure, I needed to have the final “I love you and can’t live without you” talk with her, but I was getting around to it!

Panic claws at the edges of my mind. Disbelief turns into a gnawing desperation to make sense of her decision. "Shit.” I look at the ring, at the papers, at the note, and a knot tightens in my stomach.

This isn't how it was supposed to go.

I dash back upstairs, grab my phone from the nightstand, and tap the screen with a desperate urgency. It rings once, twice, then goes straight to voicemail.

"Calla, it's me. Jay. What are you doing? Can we talk? Just... call me back, okay?"

I rifle through a pile of clothes, pulling on a shirt, then yanking it off, then putting it back on again. I hop on one foot, trying to coax a stubborn sock over my heel, and nearly topple over.

"Come on, come on," I mutter, pacing the room. I grab the phone again, check the screen, and bite my lip.

No time to wait. I need to see her. I have to explain. I want to fix this.

I bolt downstairs, taking the steps two at a time, and snatch the car keys from the counter. I remember just in time to turn off the whistling kettle. My eyes flick to the desk, to the ring, and the note, and thecold, clinical papers.

Damn. How did she even know that they were here? I should have shredded them when I decided to throw them out. I hesitate, just for a moment, then rush out the door.

I sprint the short distance to Ryan's place and slam my fist against the door. The sound echoes through the sleepy neighborhood but I’m too panicked to care.

"Ryan! Open up!"

I bounce on the balls of my feet. My impatience is a physical thing, pacing like a caged lion. I am about to knock again, harder this time, when the door creaks open. Ryan stands there, bleary-eyed, clutching a mug that proclaims him the "World's Okayest Friend."

It’s the thank you mug I got him for his last birthday. He takes a slow, disbelieving sip, clearly not comprehending me being here at this hour. "Jay? Dude, it's like, what, seven?"

I push past him. "She's going to leave, Ryan. No, sheleft. She left the annulment papers and the ring. I think she’s serious."

---