Page 130 of The Homemaker
“Because she has good breeding?”
“No. Because you already chose her. Let your word mean something. And if she tries to end it with you, fight for her. She doesn’t need you to be perfect; she just needs you to be on her side. So, choose her.”
“What if I choose you?”
“Then you’re an idiot.”
“Why?”
I turn, wiping the sweat from my brow with my arm. “Because she’s not going to lose her shit every time there’s an emergency. You won’t have to hold her together. And you can live in New York or San Francisco or wherever the hell you want to live because with her the possibilities are endless.” I jab a dirty finger into my chest. “But I’m going to be wherever that young boy is for the next ten years, watching him grow into a man because that’sallI want to do. That’s it. I don’t need to travel. I don’t need a fancy career. A husband. I don’t need anything except rainy soccer days and weekend matinees at the theater. My future is spectating. Not interfering. Not taking something that is no longer mine.”
Murphy’s expression sags and he looks away. “What’s his name? Can you at least tell me that?”
“Cameron.”
“Cameron,” he echoes. “What’s his last name?”
I shake my head. “Go to New York, Murphy. He’s not an orphan. He’s a young boy with a family who loves him. Two younger sisters. A Bernedoodle. Friends. He deserves the best, and that’s exactly what he has.”
Murphy twists his lips and eyes me for a few seconds before nodding. Then he pulls something from his pocket and hands it to me.
I squint past the sun in my eyes and reach for the shiny thing—the ring. I left my engagement ring at his rental in the cabinet with the wine glasses. He’s kept it all this time.
“I waited,” he says. “Even when I moved on, a part of me waited. To be with you? To see you? To give you the ring? Or maybe just to know you’re okay? I don’t know. But I waited.”
I don’t try to hide the tears as I stare at the ring and listen to his words. “I’m okay,” I murmur.
“I know you are.” He turns and heads back to the house while I swallow the pain that comes with closure.
I stare at the ring in my hand.I found itin his closet two days before the accident. Chris said I ruined the moment by being so snoopy. So I jokingly said I wasn’t going to marry him anyway. It was a lie that became our horrific truth.
Chapter Fifty
Murphy
Lies are a slow death. The truth is a quick one.
“I’ve lostcount of just how many times you’ve swept me off my feet,” Blair says before sipping her wine in the dimly lit Italian restaurant with soft music and the aroma of garlic and spices filling the air.
I smile, calmly cupping my bottle of beer in one hand while my other flexes in and out of a tight fist on my leg.
“Promise me we’ll always date. Even when we have kids and we’re exhausted. Promise that you’ll get a sitter, make reservations at a nice restaurant, and whisk me away for the night.” She tears off a piece of bread and pops it into her mouth.
The server sets our bowls of pasta on the table. We smile and murmur thank-yous.
“This looks amazing.” Blair blows on her penne then carefully takes a bite. “Mmm …” She closes her eyes.
Again, I smile because she’s beautiful and full of life. I love her smile and the way her eyes practically dance when she’s excited about something. Her zest is contagious. And after we met, it wore off on me. I owe her so much, and I should spend the rest of my life showing her my gratitude.
“The wedding planner sent a computer-generated layout of the venue. How it will look with the flowers, soft yellows and white. The gold bows on the back of the chairs. The candles. It’s going to be stunning. I’d show you on my phone, but it wouldn’t do it justice. When we get home tomorrow, I’ll bring it up on my laptop.” She takes another bite and lifts her gaze to mine. “What?” she mumbles, pressing her napkin to her mouth. “What’s that look? Why aren’t you eating?”
“How did you do it?” I ask.
Blair narrows her eyes. “Do what?”
“When you broke off your previous engagements. How did you do it? In person? Over the phone? Text?”
She rests her napkin back on her lap, slowly swallowing. Then she takes a sip of wine. “I’m not doing that to you. You’re the one, babe. Please trust me.”
