Page 101 of A Me and You Thing
“Don’t what?”
“Sawyer, let’s go or we’ll be late,” Bree hollers up the stairs again.
He runs one hand through his hair, looking frustrated. “It’s just that... nothing. I’d better go. I’ll be back soon, as quickly as I can. Put your feet up and unwind, okay? Take it easy.”
He turns to leave, then turns back, his eyes trained on me. He takes me in his arms in a tight embrace. “I love you, Quinn.” Then he rushes down the stairs. I should feel comforted, instead I feel terrified.
I wander to my bedroom window and watch as they load my precious little girls into the car. They look like a family, the four of them. And me, I’m the outsider. The invader. I swear, the white picket fence is mocking me now. Maybe even laughing out loud at me.
Sawyer pauses before getting into the car and sees me standing in our bedroom window. He looks almost... stricken. He holds one hand out, giving me a slow wave.
I don’t wave back. I flick the blinds closed, collapse onto our bed, and hope to have a good, soul-cleansing cry. The release I long for doesn’t come. I stare at the wall as a wave of despair washes over me. I let it tremble through my body, embracing the pain.
I don’t know what to think. I know Sawyer’s trying, but I also know he’s torn.
Crazy thoughts ruminate in my mind until sleep finally claims me.
AN HOUR LATER, I’m awake and restless. If I have to sleep one more second, I’m going to scream. I don’t feel like resting anymore. I’m pretty sure that’s a good sign. I want to be with my family and bask in their presence.
Here I am. Alone. How did that happen?
I pull myself to my feet and make my bed. The usual throw pillows are missing. I dig through a closet and find them. I arrange them on the bed until it looks magazine worthy. Then I wander downstairs and clean the kitchen until it sparkles. I rearrange things here and there, putting everything back where it’s supposed to be. I’m reclaiming my life, marking my territory.
I pause in the foyer, staring at our family pictures that still hang on the wall. I’m a little surprised they haven’t been taken down. That must be hard on Bree. The fact that Sawyer did not take them down should tell me something. I sigh. I wish it did.
I adore the one of Sawyer with our two newborn babies resting on his chest. It’s always been one of my favorites.
I linger over our first family portrait, my eyes resting on myself. I wish I could travel back in time to my younger self and tell her to not go on the Nicaragua trip.Don’t do it. It will ruin your life. I’d also tell her to look out for Bree. She wants your life.
I make my way back up the stairs and find myself standing at the entry to our guest room—Bree’s room.
What happened in here this morning?
Every part of me hurts at the thought. Not just my heart. Every joint, every tendon, every muscle, every sinew. A mental anguish that rips through my body.
The bed has been made, but it’s rumpled. I wonder why. I don’t want to follow that line of thought. I take a step into the room. Then I take two more. There’s a framed picture on Bree’s nightstand. I pick it up and hold it in my hands. It’s of Sawyer and Bree. His arm is around her, the ocean sparkling in the background. They’re both smiling at the camera. Sawyer looks happy, really happy. Not anything like the intensely troubled man of today.
I’m not going to lie, it’s brutal to see my husband happy and smiling without me. And with another woman.
I set the picture down and walk away. That’s when I notice the photo card on Bree’s desk. It’s propped up, as if she likes to look at it while she’s working. It’s another picture of Sawyer and Bree. This time she’s standing behind him, leaning over him as he sits, her arms wrapped around his neck.
Big smiles stare back at me. Huge. Like they were captured in the middle of a laugh and the picture wasn’t posed at all.
It’s like a gut punch. The five-by-seven photo is printed on cardstock and their names are imprinted on it with a flowing silver font.
Then it hits me. Slowly, I turn the card over and sure enough, it’s a wedding invitation.
I toss it onto the desk as if it just burned me. Because it did.
Please join us in celebrating our love...
I rush over to Bree’s closet and throw open the door. Hanging in plain sight is a stunning satin sheath of a dress, lacy and delicate, yet smooth and modern. Bree would look beautiful in it.
She was not kidding when she said she had a wedding to cancel. No wonder she’s so upset.
I’m the wedding crasher. Or maybe the wedding destroyer.
I hear the key jiggle in the lock downstairs and the front door opens. I walk down the stairs, and I’m met with my mom and Sawyer’s mom, staring at me as though I’m a ghost. My face crumbles in an odd sort of way as tears begin to pour out of me. They drop their shopping bags and we rush together for a group hug. They hold onto me tightly as the dam bursts and I cry like a little baby, sobs crawling out of me, loud and hard. I don’t care and I don’t try to rein it in. I let it all out. So much for my decision to be done with crying. It’s all I seem to do lately.
