Page 134 of Can't Get Over You
It’s fine.
In the kitchen, she found a pot of coffee keeping warm, a bowl in the sink, and dust from cereal on the counter. She filled herI love my teachermug, dumped a little too much caramel macchiato creamer, which she did when she was upset—sugar was her happy pill—sue me—and then wandered to the mudroom and glanced out at the snow-covered backyard.
She took a sip, letting the buttery caramel and creamy sweetness comfort her. When had he made these plans? He’d never mentioned them.
And why didn’t he wake me up? He could’ve at least asked if I wanted to go.
Cold seeped in, and she wished she’d thrown on a sweatshirt or a robe. But it woke her fully, and she got a stab of fear when she remembered they’d said “I love you” to each other.
That was a big deal.
It’s huge.
But it was in the heat of the moment, so maybe it didn’t count?
Or maybe it scared him, and that was why he’d taken off?
The fear spread at an alarming rate, invading her entire body. Because that would be so like him to shut down after they got really close.
Oh, stop it. You’re looking for trouble. She headed back into the kitchen, grabbed a sponge, and cleaned up the cereal dust.
Rinsed out the coffee pot.
Unloaded the dishwasher. As she stacked the plates, she realized she hated them. They were too formal and not her taste at all.As soon as they’d closed on the house, Matt’s mom began sending all kinds of basic household items. Trash bins that matched the tissue boxes and soap dishes. A cute lacquered tray for the ottoman.
That was really nice of her. She’d thanked her at the time, of course. Mrs. Jones had been nothing but kind. She’d welcomed Finlay into her life and done everything she could to give them a beautiful wedding and a good start as a married couple.
And since running from the wedding, I haven’t reached out to her. None of this is her fault.
I’ll call her and thank her for everything.
It was just that none of this stuff was her style. Not to be ungrateful—she truly appreciated Mrs. Jones’s generosity—but where am I in this place?
And if she were really honest, she only got the house because of her. It wasn’t like they’d toured a bunch of homes andchosenthis one. It had just become available, and they’d grabbed it. Butif she’d had her choice, she’d have preferred the blue Craftsman up the street.
Back in the mudroom, she swept the dirt and grit and found a pair of Cody’s socks sticking out of his sneakers, so she tossed them into the washing machine and got a load going. As she was folding the clothes, her phone buzzed with a text message.
Ava: I’m here! Hope you’re ready to get pampered.
She looked at the neatly folded stacks. Jude’s. Cody’s. Hers. It felt so completely right. Like in her gut, she knew she was exactly where she needed to be, yet…
Everything was wrong.
As she crossed the living room to let Ava in, she realized none of the furniture was hers. Not a single thing. In fact, other than her clothes and theI love my teachermug,nothingwas hers.
I know you want to be part of a big family.
Her mom was right about that. But did she want it so badly that she’d disappear into anyone’s world? Like, if it hadn’t been the McKennas, would she have dived right in?
She’d stepped right into Matt’s life, and she’d done it again with Jude’s.
You’ve got to check yourself here, Finny. Make sure you’re not getting carried away with the fantasy of a family.
Her dad was right. She had gottencarried away with the fantasy of Jude’s big, loving, generous, fun family.
He was right to be worried. She had traded her problems for Jude’s.
She let Ava in. “Morning.”
