Casey pulls out a chair and sits down. I look up at her slowly, wondering if she’s really doing what I think she’s doing. I keep expecting her to move, but she doesn’t. She’s chatting with Chloe—she might even be speaking to me, but I can’t hear her if she is.
“What are you doing?” I ask. My voice is unrecognizable, distorted by anger.
“What?” Her gaze swings to me and her blond curls bounce.
“You’re. Sitting. In. Ben’s. Seat.” I bite out each word through gritted teeth.
She looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “It’s a seat.”
“It’s Ben’s seat,” I shriek, turning more than a few heads in our direction.
“Blaire,” she hisses, “you’re making a scene.”
“And you’re still in Ben’s seat,” I snap at her. I shake my head and laugh under my breath. “You know, you tried to hide, it but it was always obvious how much you wanted him for yourself,” I say in the nastiest tone I can muster. I don’t know what’s come over me, but I suddenly want to hurt her. I want someone else to hurt the way I do, even if it’s for a different reason. “We both knew it. Ben made fun of you for it,” I lie. Ben would’ve never made fun of Casey for any reason.
Tears fill her eyes. “Blaire, what the hell is wrong with you? It’s a fucking chair. If you want me to move that badly, I will. All you had to do was ask.”
She’s visibly upset as she moves chairs, and I feel better, but only for a second. Then the reality of what I said and how I acted hits me, and I’m horrified. My mouth drops open and I shake my head.
“Casey,” I begin, “I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me. I’m sorry. I … I have to go.”
I dash out of the café, even as they call my name. I get in my car and speed out of the lot before any of them can stop me.
I head straight home, and once I’m inside, I slam the door and drop my keys on the side table before running upstairs.
“Blaire?” my mom calls from the bottom of the stairs. “What’s wrong?”
I don’t answer her. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I close my bedroom door behind me and peel off the sweatshirt I’m wearing, tossing it haphazardly toward the laundry bin. I undo my jeans button and slide down the zipper, kicking them to the floor. I run to the dresser and pull the third drawer open to find Ben’s t-shirts. I haven’t allowed myself to indulge in this since his death, but right now I need this. I pick up a shirt and slide it over my body before climbing into bed.
I cry into the pillows. I’m confused and still slightly angry. I don’t know what came over me. Maybe it’s a normal part of grief, or maybe I’m just crazy. Being crazy seems like the more plausible explanation. I hate feeling this way—where my emotions are one way one second, and another the next. I’m giving myself whiplash, so I can only begin to imagine the way the people around me feel. I hate that I’m doing this to them, but I can’t seem to control my emotions.
“Ben,” I sob. “I need you.”
I reach across the pillows.
Reaching.
Searching.
Hoping.
But he’s not there. My heart breaks over and over again each time I realize that I’m never going to see him again. Never hear him say my name. Hold me in his arms. I guess I thought we were invincible, but I never imagined losing him or anyone I loved this soon. Death was something that happened to old people, but that’s not always true. There are babies that die. It can happen to anyone, at any time, for any reason, and what I understand now is that no matter the circumstances, you’re never truly prepared to have someone die.
My bedroom door creaks open, but I don’t rise up to see who’s there. More than likely it’s my mom coming to check on me.
The person creeps to the side of the bed and then the bed dips with their added weight. Arms wrap around me and I smell familiar floral perfume.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, my voice thick from tears.
“My best friend needed me,” Casey whispers. “I don’t know why you can never trust me to hold you together when you’re falling apart. You’d let Ben do it, but I was around long before him. I’m your best friend, Blaire, but sometimes you treat me like a stranger.”
“I’m sorry.” My body shakes. “I’m falling apart,” I admit, staring at the wall, “and I don’t know how to stop it. I feel like I’m watching a train speed into a car. I don’t know whether I’m the train or the car … maybe both,” I muse.
“Everyone falls apart now and then,” Casey assures me. “But something I’ve noticed, even in my profession, is that people are like puzzles. You may break apart, but there’s always someone that can put you back together.”
I roll over to face her and she lets me go. She cups her hands under her head and blinks, waiting for me to speak.
“I really am sorry for what I said,” I tell her, my gaze lowering in shame. “It was wrong of me, and also a lie. Ben never made fun of you. We never even talked about you having a crush.”
She winces. “I’m sorry if you ever picked up on anything. I mean, I guess I had a little crush on him, but I think everyone that met him did. He was such a nice person, and the way he loved you … I wanted that, but not with him. Never with him,” she vows. “You two were perfect for each other.”
A tear slides down my cheek. “I’m pregnant,” I tell her—saying it out loud fills me with so much joy. “Ben and I were trying to have a baby before … before he died,” I force the words out of my mouth.
Her face breaks into a grin, and tears shimmer in her eyes. “You’re having a baby?”
I nod. “I’m scared,” I admit, afraid she might judge me for being afraid.
“Don’t be,” she says. “You’ll be a great mom, and you’ll have all of us to help you. Not to mention your parents and Ben’s mom.”
“I’m still going to be on my own,” I tell her. “People can’t help me forever.”
“No,” she agrees, “but by that point, you’ll be sick of us.” She winks. “Don’t stress so much, Blaire. I know how you overthink things. Take it one day at a time. Right now, the future is just that—the future; the last unknown territory to conquer.” She gestures wildly with my hand and I giggle. I actually giggle.
“Thank you.” I scoot closer to her and wrap my arms around her neck. “I love you.”
“Love you too, Blaire,” she says into my hair. “You’ll get through this. I know it.”
I’m glad someone believes I will, because most days, I believe I’ll never make it out of this hell.
I lead Jessica around the ballroom, telling her what I have in mind for the reception.
“I was thinking swaths of white fabric here, or in the color of your bridesmaids’ dresses if you prefer.” I motion with my hand to a length of the wall. “This room is pretty modern, so I feel like it should be softened. What do you think?”
She nods, mulling over my words. Her long red hair is pulled back into a sleek ponytail, and she’s dressed in a pair of gray slacks and a pale pink blouse. She has a “take charge” persona, but she’s actually been very nice to me and willing to let me take over with the planning. I’ve grown used to people telling me exactly what they want, so it’s nice when someone allows me to plan an event entirely.
“I like that idea a lot.” She continues to nod. “I agree on white too.”
“Good.” I smile and take notes. I lead her to another part of the room and begin to go over more of my plans. She nods some more and approves everything I say, which makes my job a lot easier. We finish and head out to the parking lot together. “Bye,” I call cheerily.
“Bye.” She waves and gets into a sleek white BMW sports car.
I slide into my car and start the engine. Before I can pull out, I get a text.
Unknown number: Danielle is sick and can’t make it. Can you pick up coffee and donuts? Or cupcakes? Or cookies? Anything? I’m desperate here.
Even if the contents of the message didn’t give it
away, I already had the number memorized.
Ryder.
Me: Sure
Ryder: You’re a life saver. Thanks. I would’ve done it myself, but I have to get Cole from daycare and home to the sitter.
Me: You don’t have to explain.
Ryder: I wanted to. See you at Group.
I set my phone in the cup holder and head over to a local cupcake shop. I get a random assortment of two dozen and then go across the road to Dunkin Donuts to get the coffee. I also beg them to let me buy some cups too, just in case. I haven’t been responsible for bringing the food and drink before, so I’m not sure if I’m supposed to bring the cups too. I snag a mountain of napkins from there too and receive glares from the staff. I ignore it, though. I have more important things to worry about than grumpy Dunkin Donuts workers.
I head straight to the high school after leaving Dunkin Donuts. I’ll be early, but since I have the stuff, I figure I should get there to set it up.
I get to the stoplight to turn onto the road that leads back to the high school and I end up behind Ryder. I follow him down the road and we park side by side. He hops out of his car and hurries over to mine to help me with everything.
He opens my door and I can’t help but look him over.
He’s dressed in a pair of khaki pants and a light-blue sweater that makes his olive-toned skin look even darker than normal. He’s not wearing his glasses today, and I find myself missing them.
“Hey,” he says, and it’s then that I realize I’ve been staring at him like a psycho.
My cheeks turn pink and I look away hastily, embarrassment clinging to me like a second, slimy skin. “Hi,” I mutter, reaching over for the coffee.
“Let me take that,” Ryder says, and grabs it from me. Our fingers touch and fireworks ignite across my skin. I jump back and my eyes widen in surprise. “Stupid static electricity,” he mutters, and I pale. That’s a much more plausible explanation for what I felt instead of … of … I can’t even describe what I thought it was.
I grab my purse and the cupcake boxes. Ryder waits patiently while I get out of the car and then closes the door for me.
We head inside the building together.
“How have you been?” he asks me as our feet squeak across the gym floor.
“Okay, I guess.” I keep ahold of the cupcake boxes while Ryder unlocks a door so he can grab the table. Still holding onto the carafe, he carries the folded up table out one handed. The muscles in his shoulders bunch, and his sweater stretches tight across them. I may or may not lick my lips at the sight. Almost as soon as I do it I’m horrified. Am I attracted to Ryder? No. Hell no. I can’t be.
Ryder sets the table and coffee carafe down so he can unfold the legs and stand it up. I stand there like a complete numbskull, mulling over my previous revelation. I don’t have a crush on Ryder, do I? I’m not even over Ben yet? How could I possibly have feelings for another man? One I barely even know?
“You okay?” Ryder asks, his dark brows furrowing together as he takes the cupcake boxes from my outstretched hands.
“Me?” I ask, and my voice is several pitches higher than normal. “Fine.” I wave a hand dismissively and scurry into the closet to begin setting up the chairs. Before I flee, I see the look of confusion flash over his face. I’m being a freak, I know, but there’s no way I can explain to him that I think I might have a crush on him. There has to be some rational explanation for this. Like the warm and fuzzy feeling inside me is from gas or something. Yep, I’m totally blaming this on gas.
I carry two chairs out and set them up. I’m not paying attention, and have my head down, and when I turn to head into the closet, I bump into Ryder’s very hard, very muscular chest. I freeze, with my palms splayed across his stomach, holding onto the fabric of his shirt so I don’t fall.
“Whoa,” he says and the chairs fall from his hands so that he can grip my waist. I’m pressed right up against him and I can feel his heart racing beneath his sweater. I’m positive mine’s beating just as fast, and I wonder idly if he can feel it. My eyes flit up to his and he stares down at me with warm brown eyes. His tongue slides out to wet his lips and time seems to stand still. I don’t let go and neither does he. It might only be seconds, or minutes for all I know. Regardless, I know we’re both holding on longer than what’s appropriate. His arms feel wrong around me, but right at the same time. I’m so conflicted and that confliction makes me feel sick to my stomach. I jerk away and he lets me go immediately.
“I … I’m sorry. I have to go,” I mutter, looking down. I grab my purse and head for the door.
“Blaire?” I hear him call after me, but members of Group are already beginning to arrive. “Blaire?” he calls again. I don’t look back to see if he’s following me. I want to, but I can’t let myself.
I hurry down the hall and out the double doors into the crisp, early, April air. I inhale a breath before running to my car. I drop my keys before I can unlock the door and let out a loud string of curses. A guy from Group glares at me for my foul language before he heads off toward the building. I’m tempted to give him the finger, just to spite him, but I don’t have time. I swipe up the keys and get in my car.
When I back out, I see Ryder come out of the building. His black hair is blown away from his forehead by the wind and he waves his arms, begging me to stop, but I don’t.
I leave. I have to. Before I do something I’ll regret. Or worse, something I won’t regret.
The day after running out on Group I’m mopeyer than usual. I’m so angry with myself for my irrational feelings. It was a fluke, I tell myself. Nothing and you made it into something.
I stir my cereal around and around the bowl, my spoon clanking against the side of the glass bowl.
“Kid,” my dad speaks from behind his newspaper, “if you don’t stop that I’m going to steal the spoon from your hand and throw it across the room.”
“You’re so nice,” I tell him, but I stop stirring. “I’m not very hungry.”
“You’re growing a human. You’re starving. Eat.”
“You’re bossy.” I glare at him, but he can’t see since he’s behind the newspaper. He laughs, but quickly turns it into a cough like he can feel the heat from my stare.
“So your mom tells me.” He reaches over and grabs his cup of coffee. It disappears behind the newspaper before being placed back on the table. “You need to eat, you’re growing a human and that has to be exhausting. Your mom was a bitch the whole time she was pregnant with you.”
“I heard that,” my mom says, coming out of the downstairs bedroom. Her hair is damp from a shower. “Your dad’s right, though. You need to eat.”
“What is it with you and food?” I mutter, staring down into the milky depths of my cereal bowl, like I’m waiting for a fortune to appear or something equally as ridiculous.
“Food equals life, Kid. Therefore, you must eat to live.” My dad lowers the paper slightly so I see his eyes.
I make a face and he quickly raises the pages back up.
“Maybe you’d like a sandwich?” my mom asks. “Oatmeal? Toast?”
“Eh.” I shrug and lift the spoon of soggy cereal to my mouth. “I’ll stick with this.”
“That’s hardly enough for the baby,” she argues.
I lift my eyes to hers as she leans a hip against the table. “This is good,” I tell her.
She sighs and moves away. “Suit yourself,” she says.
“Hey, Mom?” I call after her while she pours herself a cup of coffee.
“Yes?” She turns back around, raising a brow.
“I was thinking we could go to the mall today. Look at some baby things. It’s too early to buy anything—” I shrug “—but I thought it’d be fun to look.”
She instantly brightens and nods eagerly. “Sounds like fun. I’ll get ready. Dan, do you want to go?” she asks my dad. He grunts. My mom smiles at me and squeezes my shoulder as she passes. “I’m going to take that as a yes.”
&
nbsp; I take a shower and blow-dry my hair before curling it. This is the first time I’ve styled my hair for myself and not because I’m meeting a client. I even put on more than a minimal amount of makeup. I swipe some red lipstick on and I automatically feel like I can conquer the world. I dress nicely too, in a pair of slim-fitting jeans and a plum-colored turtle-neck sweater. I even add some jewelry. It’s the most effort I’ve put into myself since I lost Ben. Since he died I haven’t seen the point in dressing up and looking nice. It seemed trivial. But today, I wanted to, and I actually feel better.
I grab my purse and head downstairs where my parents are already waiting.
“Oh, Blaire,” my mom breathes and begins to cry. “You look so pretty.”
It says a lot that the sight of me dressed nicely, with hair done and makeup on, makes my mom cry.
“Mom.” I drop my purse to the floor and go to hug her. “Please don’t cry.”
“I’m just so happy to see you looking like yourself.” She sniffles against my shirt.
My dad grabs her arm and tugs her away. “Maureen, don’t sob all over the poor girl’s sweater. It’s not likely we’ll be able to get her to change if you ruin it,” he jokes.
I roll my eyes at his pathetic attempt to lighten the mood, but I am smiling, so I guess it worked.
We all pile into their rental car and head to the mall. There’s a kid’s furniture store there, and I want to see what they have so I can get an idea in my head for what I want for the nursery.
Since it’s the weekend, the mall is packed and we have trouble finding a place to park. My dad ends up parking about as far away as you can get from the entrance, but it was the only place he could find.
My mom chats excitedly as we head inside, but I’m not listening.
Instead, I’m thinking—thinking about what it would be like if Ben was still here and we were shopping for our baby together. It would be a lot more exciting, that’s for sure. I hate so much that I feel like I can’t even enjoy being pregnant because I miss him so much. I wish he was here to touch my still-flat stomach, and kiss it, and talk to it. I wish he was here to feel the baby move when the time comes, find out the gender, and pick out names together. Instead, I’m all on my own. It’s my baby, not ours. Okay, so that’s not exactly true, but it feels like it. I don’t have him to ask questions and share every little moment with. It’s not the same as it would be if he was here.
Bring Me Back Page 15
