I thought there was no way I’d sleep that night, but I slept like a baby. And when I woke up and saw a note from my father on the nightstand that he’d gone on a bagel run, I smiled, rolled over, and went back to sleep. And when I heard my dad whistling as he made coffee a half hour later, I got up and went downstairs with a smile on my face.
Which fell as soon as I saw a brand-new iPhone sitting at my place at the table. “What’s this?” I asked, slumping into my chair.
“What does it look like?” he promptly replied from behind his newspaper.
“Dad. Come on, seriously.”
“I stopped by the store this morning, got you a new phone. Is that what you’re referring to?” The newspaper rustled.
I looked down at the phone, thinking hard. “But I threw my old one in—”
“—the ocean, I know. Try not to do that again, would you, kiddo? You have any idea how expensive these phones are?”
I pushed the phone, and my place mat, away. But then tugged it back to get to the orange juice. The newspaper rustled.
“I didn’t want to talk to anybody . . .” I mumbled, and my father finally appeared from behind the paper.
“I realize that, but you made a decision yesterday that affects a lot of people. And you need to explain it, specifically to some of those people.”
“But I thought you understood . . .” I began, my eyes filling with tears for the first time since I’d bolted yesterday.
“I understood that you didn’t want to get married, and no way was I going to force you into that. But I don’t understand why, and neither does your mother,” he said, laying down his paper and looking at me over the top of his glasses. “And neither does Charles.”
I winced.
“You don’t have to marry him, but you do need to explain your actions yesterday. You owe them both that much.”
And with a rustle of paper, the voice of reason disappeared once more behind the financial section. Call Charles. Hmm. I could do this. I could do this. I picked up the phone, then put it down. Yikes. What was I going to say? What could I say? How could I tell him why, when I wasn’t 100 percent sure myself? I picked up the phone again, then put it down again.
The third time I reached for it, the voice behind the paper said, “For goodness’ sake, Chloe, I think you can have breakfast before you explain yourself. Go get a bagel and stop fidgeting.”
Reprieved. I exhaled gratefully and headed for the toaster oven. I knew couldn’t dodge those two much longer. But did you know that if you pick off every single sesame seed and every single garlic crispy thingie from an everything bagel before you eat it, it can take over an hour? Especially if you count the poppy seeds too . . .
By noon, I’d listened to all the messages that had poured in yesterday. Starting with the first, “Chloe, you turn right around and come back here, young lady,” to “Now you listen to me, and listen good. I didn’t spend the last two months killing myself on designing the perfect wedding for you, only to have you and your cold feet ruin everything,” to, “Where in the world are you? Oh, I just can’t believe you would do this to me, Chloe! Think of what everyone’s going to say when they find out! We can still make it to the church on time; just tell me where you are and I’ll come get you. We can still make this happen and no one will ever know,” to finally, “I’ve called Charles. Maybe he can talk some sense into you.”
Doubtful. I stalled for some more time by heading into my dad’s office and jumping onto his home computer. I’d just check my email, clear it out before making those phone calls. One poppy seed, two poppy seeds . . .
Emails from two of my bridesmaids, wondering what in the world was going on in my head. I’m sure they were wondering—who ever walked away from the brass ring? I wonder if they’d be so interested in his brass if they knew how small his . . . Don’t go there.
No. Actually, do go there.