It’s eight in the evening in Michigan. I should be able to reach Brett. “I think I’ll video chat with my boyfriend. Do you want me to make the call in my room, Grandma?”
“The house is yours. A friend is picking me up any minute to take me to lunch.”
“Have fun!”
I initiate a call to Brett on my laptop, but he doesn’t answer. No matter. I place the vase in the center of the table. The scent from the flowers wafts and teases my nose, but it doesn’t distract me. Grandma was right: one romantic gesture from Brett was all I needed to get my head back into my work project. By the time my stomach reminds me to take a lunch break, I’m halfway toward my daily goal.
When Brett doesn’t answer my second call, I send a quick text to thank him for the flowers. It’s nearly eleven at night in Michigan. He could be out with his friends. I doubt he’ll call me until tomorrow.
Half an hour later, my phone dings. My heart races, and I’m eager to read a text from my boyfriend. But it’s from Jojo, not Brett.
Jojo: I’m mad at you.
Hannah: What did I do?
Jojo: You kept your news from me.
Hannah: About the puppies?
Jojo: Oh, my god. Puppies? I’m dying. But no. Tell me later. I’m talking about Brett.
Hannah: Oh, you mean the flowers. It was so sweet of him.
Jojo: He sent you flowers? Weird.
Hannah: Why’s it weird?
Jojo: Who sends breakup flowers?
I’m simultaneously sweating and shivering. Slowly, I type my response.
Hannah: We didn’t break up. What’s going on?
Three dots dance on my screen before disappearing. Don’t text bubble me, Jojo! Since she always attempts to write the Great American Novel in each text message, I hope she’s constructing a story about funny misunderstandings rather than searching for the best way to say something she suspects will hurt me. I pace the kitchen, glowering at the empty spot on my phone’s screen where her answer belongs. The dots reappear, popping alive into a complete, albeit short message.
Jojo: I just saw Brett kissing someone else.
CHAPTER 16
Ok, don’t panic, Hannah. Find out exactly what Jojo saw before you throw those roses across the room.
Hannah: Where did you see him? How? Are you sure it was him?
Jojo: I am 100% sure it was him. I don’t know who the woman was, but she had blonde hair and a terrible sense of fashion. They were at our bar.
I think I might hyperventilate, but I need to know more.
Hannah: And you definitely saw them kissing? Did Brett see you?
Jojo: He didn’t see me. And they were definitely kissing. I mean, they were both obviously drunk, but that doesn’t excuse anything.
Hannah: Of course it doesn’t! Jeez! I’m going to kill him!
Jojo: I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news. Are you OK?
Hannah: No, I’m not! I just found out the guy I thought I wanted to spend the rest of my life with is cheating on me!
Jojo: Do you need me to fly out there so I can hug you?
Despite the horror of the moment, I smile. Jojo always knows the right thing to say.
Hannah: It would be nice to have you here for Christmas, but I know it’s not feasible. We’ll just have to have an epic New Year’s Eve…although the way it’s looking, it might have to be a belated celebration.
Jojo: Maybe that’s a good thing. Give you some time to get over Brett.
Hannah: But I don’t want to get over him!
Jojo: Oh, honey. You will. And I’m sure there are plenty of cute Aussie guys to distract you.
I guiltily think of Xave but then justify it’s only because of his links to Xena and the puppies, who are very much a lovely distraction.
Hannah: I better go. Thanks for telling me. I’ll call you once I’m feeling a little more normal.
Jojo: Love you, babe.
Hannah: I love you, too.
I drop the phone onto the floor and stare at the wall bleakly. Did Brett only send flowers because he’s feeling bad about gallivanting around town with some other woman?
I’m not going to call him again. I’ll wait to see if he replies to the message I sent thanking him for the roses first.
With Grandma out for lunch, I’m alone in the house. I don’t really feel like being on my own, so I go outside and automatically head next door.
Taara is in the office, looking through the filing cabinet. She looks up when she hears me. “Oh, hey. Back for the afternoon shift?”
“Uh, hey. Yeah, I guess.” I suddenly feel disassociated from my body.
Taara frowns. “Are you OK?”
“I…I’m not sure.”
She pulls me over to one of the office chairs and forces me to sit. “I’ll get you some water.”
I don’t say anything. It’s nice to have someone think for me temporarily.
She hands me a glass. “You want to tell me what happened?”
“One of my friends saw my boyfriend kissing another woman.”
“Oh, no.”
“He even sent me roses today.”
“Classic cheater’s move.”
“But I can’t imagine Brett being a cheater. We’ve known each other for eight years! And sure, we weren’t together that whole time, but I always knew where we stood. At least, I thought I did.”
“I’m sorry, Hannah. That sucks. Have you spoken to him about it?”
“Not yet. I had already tried contacting him before I found out. I’ll wait until tomorrow.”
“Well, if you like, you can help me clean out the litter boxes?”
I smile. “Uh, while that sounds really inviting, I think I’ll pass.”
“You want to get drunk tonight? You can come to my place at Sunshine Beach and crash. We can go to the surf club, and I’ll introduce you to the local crew…”
“That’s sweet of you to invite me, but I think I’d prefer to be alone tonight.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I think so.” The last thing I feel like right now is making small talk with a bunch of random strangers. I need some time to process all of these emotions running through my brain.
“Well, if you change your mind, just text me later.”
“Thanks, Taara. Oh, and can I ask you not to tell Xave or my grandma anything yet? I don’t want anyone else knowing until I’ve talked to Brett.”
“Of course. Your secret is safe with me.”
“I think I’ll go check on Xena and the puppies.”
“Good idea. A dose of animal therapy always makes life a little more manageable.”
I squeeze her arm appreciatively on the way out and head off to my baby possum. I wish people were as easy to understand as animals.
❅ ❅ ❅
Brett finally calls at what would be three in the morning, Michigan time. I almost refuse to answer, but I want to hear what he has to say for himself.
I press the answer key and wait silently.
“Hannah?” Brett says uncertainly.
“Yes?”
“Oh, hey. I thought maybe there was a problem with the line. How are you? I got your message about the flowers. I’m glad you liked them.”
“Hmm.”
“You don’t sound very pleased now. What’s wrong?”
“You tell me, Brett.”
“I’m sorry. Am I missing something here?”
I have to hand it to him. He’s doing a very good job of pretending he has no idea.
“I don’t know. Maybe you expected me to be a little more understanding about you KISSING ANOTHER WOMAN!”
He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and I wonder if maybe he’s hung up on me.
“Trying to come up with some dumb excuse?” I prompt. “Or are you going to be like Shaggy in his hit song and claim it wasn’t you?”
“It was me,” he says quietly. “But it really wasn’t what it seemed.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Sh
e’s an old friend from New York. She happened to be in town, and we met up for a drink. And yes, she did kiss me, but I pushed her away and told her I wasn’t interested. How do you know about this, anyway?”
“You don’t get to ask the questions. The fact is, I found out. Were you planning to tell me if I didn’t say anything?”
“I hadn’t decided. I knew you’d get upset, even though it didn’t mean anything.”
“Did you sleep together?”
“What? Jesus, no!”
“I mean, ever. When you were in New York?”
Silence again.
“What was the nature of your relationship in New York, Brett?”
“Look, we dated for a couple of months, OK? It never got serious. At least, not from my end. But apparently Gemma didn’t get the closure she needed when I moved back to Michigan. When I saw her tonight, I made sure she understood we were totally through.”
I’m not sure if this conversation is supposed to make me feel better, but it doesn’t. In fact, I feel more uneasy than ever.
“Were you seeing her after we got back together while you were still in New York?”
“No, I swear.”
“Then why did she not get closure before you left? You were still there for almost a year.”
“I don’t know. Maybe it took her a while to figure out she still wanted me, but by the time she realized, I’d already left.”
“That all sounds very convenient.”
“I promise it’s the truth. Hannah, please forgive me. I’ll make it up to you.”
“How? How are you going to make it up to me?”
“As soon as you come back, we’ll look at houses together. I know that you want to move in together, and I do, too. And then we can discuss our future… I’ve always wanted to go to Jamaica. Maybe we could look at it as a potential honeymoon destination?”
I feel like that character in The Exorcist, my head is spinning so much.
“You want to talk about marrying me now?”
“Well, we don’t have to do it right now. It’s really late here, so I should probably get some sleep. But I definitely want to discuss it.”
“Hang on, yeah, why are you up at three in the morning?”
“Work’s been really busy, and I’ve been waking up during the night. I find it hard to go back to sleep.”
I want to believe him, but I also wonder if he’s only just finished seeing her.
“Where’s Gemma now?”
“I don’t know! At her hotel, I guess.”
“You’re telling me the truth? She’s not still with you now?”
“No! She’s no longer a part of my life.”
“I’m not happy about any of this, Brett.”
“But you’ll consider moving in with me when you get back?”
“I’m not sure yet. Give me some time.”
“That’s totally fine. You do that.”
“I’m going to go.”
“I love you.”
“OK...bye, Brett.”
I hang up, more confused than ever. None of that conversation felt right. It was as if he was trying to cover his ass the whole time. But why would he want to move in and marry me if he wanted to date other women? Does he just want the best of both worlds?
Either way, I have a lot of serious thinking to do before I make any sort of further commitment to that man.
CHAPTER 17
My sheets have twisted themselves into a rope that binds my upper left thigh to my right arm. I suppose it means I thrashed a lot in my sleep last night. The good news is it also means I must have actually slept a little. Not that I feel refreshed.
I press on the corners of my eyelids, hoping to soothe the burn. Fragments of Brett’s pitiful excuses and explanations play in repetitive bursts behind my closed eyes. I should just dump him. But maybe he told me the truth.
Jojo saw Brett’s lips intermingling with a pair of lips belonging to a woman who was not me. My friend’s mission was not to question the reason the pair became entwined. Out of her extreme loyalty to me, she needed only to report on said entwinement. That horrible woman could easily have descended on Brett’s unsuspecting mouth like a hungry wasp, and seconds later, he might have swatted her away. I could totally see Jojo escaping the scene in a hurry to avoid him discovering her spying on him, which means she might have missed being able to place the kiss in its true context.
Still, I’m struck by the similarity of the story of Gemma’s arrival in Michigan to Brett’s unexpected trip to Ohio to see me at the beginning of the year. Both feature a surprise visit by an ex whose intention was to reconcile.
I scratch the back of my shoulder and turn this train of thought around in my mind. I have to be reading something into it. They’re totally different situations. While Brett knew I was single when he visited me in Cincinnati, he’s not available now. You can’t be both available to one woman and sort-of engaged to another. Right?
With a groan, I hoist my reluctant body out of bed. Wallowing here will do me no good. Especially since I’m three pages behind the target I meant to reach two days ago on my translation project. I’m not worried. I’ve decided I’ll work eight hours a day each of the next nine days I have until it’s due. I’ll be able to finish on time.
I bring the vase of roses into the kitchen. Grandma might want them in her room. They’re gorgeous, but I hate looking at them because they remind me of Brett.
My grandmother’s slippers tap a gentle rhythm against the tiled floor behind me. “Good morning, Hannah.” She studies my face. “Come here.”
I set the roses on the counter before going to her. She holds her left hand against my chest. “Oh, honey. Your heart chakra blockage is getting worse.”
What kind of magic does she possess that she can detect my woes? Or did she cheat? After catching a glimpse of my tangled sheets on her way to the kitchen, she might be equating my bed’s state with the roses I’ve evicted from my room. “I’m fine, Grandma. I’m under a bit of stress regarding my job, but I’ve set a strict schedule to follow that will absolutely ensure I meet my deadline.”
“Work won’t fix you. Before we eat, let’s do heart-opening yoga poses on the patio along with breathing exercises. Wait a second. I have a crystal in my room for precisely such a situation.”
I wriggle my shoulders. “I could stand a bit of stretching. Are you able to practice yoga?”
She bats at the fingers on her right hand, which dangle from her bejeweled sling. “Not with the state of this thing.”
“Then you can coach me. And do your shoulder exercises while I do my poses.”
She lifts her chin defiantly. “You sound like the physio staff. Isn’t letting them torment me three days a week enough?”
“Take it from a person whose deadline becomes more ominous with every day I slack off: it’s less painful to do a little each day than to shock your system every once in a while. I love being here with you, but I can’t stay forever to help you. Don’t you want to regain your independence?”
She places her healthy hand on her hip and purses her lips. “Fair enough. I’ll suffer through my boring exercises on one condition: you have to express and confront your emotions. Your repression is the cause of your blockage.”
“I’m working through my baggage on my own.”
She rolls her eyes at me. “Would you believe me if I told you I had done my exercises first thing this morning?”
I grimace. “Fine. I’ll tell you what’s bothering me.”
“Bring the roses with you. They’ll make great compost.”
I follow her onto the patio. “How do you know I’m mad at Brett?”
She hands me a towel she retrieves from a teak storage unit. “Last I checked, you’re not a romance-addled nineteenth-century heroine who carries around a bouquet of flowers from her admirer. That and the disgusted look I saw on your face while you tried to find a new home for them earlier.”
I snort. “I can’t hide anything from y
ou, can I? Do you want to hear the whole story?”
“Not particularly. Get on your hands and knees and start with Cat/Cow.”
“Let me unbuckle your sling first.”
My grandmother stands beside me like a toddler being forced to wear a pair of lace-up shoes. Freed from the sling, she cradles her injured arm with her left hand. “Dear, would you pull a chair out for me?”
“Absolutely.” The heavy wrought iron chair squeaks against the patio.
She holds onto its back and leans forward. Her right arm dangles in front of her. With a grunt, she initiates a slow spinning motion, turning her arm into a tired pendulum. Her eyebrows rise with a held breath. What should be the simplest gesture is causing her great pain.
Why haven’t I made sure Grandma exercised more often? But wait: just last weekend, she scolded me for shirking my work responsibilities. For a brief moment, I regarded her to be a rational person, entirely capable of caring for herself. She shouldn’t need me to push her. But clearly, she does. Maybe I need to reconsider my position on whether she should move to Melbourne.
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