Fuck yeah, Cam. Tell him to go pound sand. If we want to date, fuck like bunnies, make a million babies, that’s our call, not his. I’m mentally cheering her on as Brooks silently contemplates the entire situation.
He finally places his beer on the counter and exhales loudly. “Cam, you know I love you and want the best for you. A romance between you and Lakin would go south quickly and could make a lot of relationships tense. For all involved, I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
It’s like they are not even acknowledging I’m sitting here listening to them discuss how I’m a poor romantic choice. Awesome with a capital A.
I move my lips, preparing my voice to defend myself, when Cam speaks over me and anything I had to say instantly dissipates.
“Lakin and I are just friends, Brooks,” she explains. “We enjoy each other’s company and hang out a lot, but we are only friends.”
I sense a tinge of regret, maybe even sadness in her voice, but as soon as I think it’s there, it’s gone again. I silently beg for someone, something to save me, save the possibility of a relationship with Campbell, but no rescue arrives.
With nothing left to say, I give a nod of finality, gather my beer, hop off the stool, and head outside to be alone to drown in my loss. Not only did that elephant suffocate me, but Cam leashed it up and trampled me with it.
Carly
My meeting with Campbell was supposed to take place over a week and a half ago. Instead, she told me to carry on with life as usual and she would meet me when she had news. As easy as that would sound, those two days Jack was home before he left for another business trip were the most excruciating forty-eight hours of my life. I wanted to corner him and ask every question I had swirling in my head. Somehow I knew though, if I really wanted to know the truth about what was going on, I needed to take Campbell’s advice and wait it out. Wait for what? I don’t know. I’m almost scared to find out.
So, when the text came through this morning that Campbell had information and she would be coming over, I wanted to throw up. Coming here to deliver the blow meant something bad. So I refused the house call; instead, opting for a public meeting at the coffee shop we frequent weekly, A Scone’s Throw. I knew if I was in public, I could hold myself together a little better than within the walls of my house. Whether it’s warranted or not, I refuse to cry in public.
I drop Olivia off at preschool and make it to the coffee shop before Campbell. I take a seat at our usual table in the back with my chamomile tea and settle into the comfort of my surroundings; it may be the only solace I’ll find today. Now as I wait, I let my mind drift to the days when Jack and I first started dating.
I had just gotten a job at a spa working as an esthetician, and when I was leaving work one afternoon, he was dropping off items at the dry cleaners next door. When I first saw him in his crisp business suit, I couldn’t help but stare at him. He looked so charming and put together. His dark wavy hair was begging to be pulled, and even though it was late afternoon, he looked freshly shaved. When he caught me looking at him, he winked at me. Yeah, there is the charming part. I was so embarrassed about being caught, I rushed to my car as quickly as I could. I tripped over the curb and my purse scattered across the parking lot. He walked over to help me pick everything up, but I managed to get it all stuffed back into my purse and to my car before he made it to me. It wasn’t until the next day at work that I realized I hadn’t picked up everything.
I hadn’t planned on telling the ladies I worked with about the encounter, but I was met with a million questions when I entered the spa the next day. They swarmed me like a flock of seagulls, pecking at me for information; it wasn’t until I reached my work area that I understood why. My wallet and a bouquet of flowers were on my station waiting for me. No note, just flowers. I assumed it was the guy I was caught gawking at in front of the dry cleaners, or at least I hoped it was.
Every Tuesday for a month I would receive the same bouquet of flowers, calla lilies. Then on the last Tuesday of that month, flowers arrived but this time there was a note.
I’M DUE TO DROP OFF MY DRY CLEANING. HOW ABOUT A DO-OVER?
-DIRTY LAUNDRY
Now I knew exactly who had been sending the flowers…dry cleaning guy. He was going to be out front at four p.m. when I got off work. The excitement of it had my stomach twisted in knots. The girls tried to doll me up at the end of the day, curling my long brown hair and applying a shimmery lip gloss, which they promised made my lips kissable. I wasn’t sure I even approved; this guy could be a total creeper. Who sends a stranger flowers for a month? Ted Bundy types, that’s who.
I swallowed down my nerves and pushed the front door of the spa open to see him waiting for me. Calla lilies in hand and a huge grin on his gorgeous face, the situation was inviting…he was inviting. Instead of running this time, I smiled back and let fate take me the rest of the way.
“You sure about this?” Campbell asks as she slides into her chair next to me, pulling me from my daydream. I didn’t hear her approach the table, nor did I see or hear Vivian and Jen take their places around the table. Now I’m wishing I had agreed to let them come to my house. Their presence only confirms my worst thoughts. Campbell is gripping a large manila envelope, inside of which are the answers I seek, no doubt both a blessing as well as the boogeyman ready to swallow me whole. “We can leave and go back to your house. We don’t have to do this here,” she adds.
She lays the envelope on the table top and I slowly reach for it to slide it closer to me. Jen quickly intervenes and takes it into her hands. “I know my usual response would be to string him up by his ballsack,” Jen says confidently, “but I need you to know, no matter what is in this envelope, we are here for you. We will do whatever you ask of us, even if it means walking away and pretending we never saw what is in this package.”
There is no anger in her voice, no vengeance, just sadness. Just pity. I struggle to hold my emotions back. My eyes burn with unshed tears for a marriage I may have lost. So instead of risking the release of the sob threatening to explode from my throat, I give her a curt nod. It must suffice because she glides the package to me.
It’s amazing how for weeks I’ve been yearning for this information. I have been desperate to know if Jack had in fact gone through with the surgery behind my back, and if my chance at more children is gone. Now that the moment of truth is here, I feel myself stalling, holding onto the final seconds of what I thought was a happy marriage.
My fingers work their way under the seal of the folder and peel the paper away from the glue. Reaching in, I grab the cool crisp papers and slide them out. I have no idea how Campbell got ahold of his medical chart, and I’m not sure if I even want to know, but I’m thankful nonetheless.
My eyes scan over the report that confirms everything the receptionist at the doctor’s office said. He had the procedure, he’s been back for his follow-up lab work, and the surgery was a success.
No more babies.
I drop the papers on the table and take a deep breath, letting the information absorb. Vivian reaches for my hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze. “Maybe you guys could look into adoption,” she says, attempting to cushion the blow.
“Viv, I think his opinion on future children for our family is stated pretty clearly here,” I say. My tone is a little more sarcastic than I intend and she recoils at my outburst. I latch onto her hand and hold tightly. “I’m sorry,” I sigh. “This is all just overwhelming. I mean, do I really want to stay with someone who didn’t think they could talk to me about something so life-altering? He made this choice without me. He didn’t consider my feelings or what I wanted our family to consist of.”