More tears begin to fall, and I wipe them away with the back of my hand. I try to explain myself but instead just end up sobbing into the phone. Incoherent jumbles of nonsense is all I can form, and once I start, I can’t stop.
“Oh Claire Bear, I’m coming over.”
“No…no…um…” I try to take some calming breaths and swallow down the sadness that’s flooding my head.
This is ridiculous. It was a fantasy concoctedby me, not a break up. It’s impossible to lose the love of your life when he only existed inside your head. “I need to get up and get to the studio anyway. I’m okay. Just tired and emotional,” I manage.
A male’s voice says something in the background of the call.
“Who’s that?” I ask.
“Isaac. I went to see him after the game. Remember?” She moves the phone away from her mouth, and her voice becomes muffled as she tells him something I can’t quite make out.
“Right. Well, I’ll let you go.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to come over?”
“Yeah.” I look down at the time. “If I don’t get up, I’ll be late.”
“I thought you didn’t have rehearsals until ten?”
“Yeah, I just want to grab a shower and get some coffee. Don’t want to rush.”
“Okay. Call me if you want to hang out tonight. I can bring over all the breakup snacks, and you can wallow about Raph while we gorge ourselves on wine and ice cream.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
The call drops, and I force myself to crawl out of bed. Shuffling across the floor, I move to my dresser and open the bottom drawer. Digging wildly, I don’t stop until I find the old, worn Crowns T-shirt Everett left with me four and a half years ago. Pulling it on, I breathe it in, but it doesn’t smell like him anymore. I allow myself to cry for a few moments then inhale deeply, trying to calm down.
Standing, I head to the bathroom, rogue tears continuing to fall. I should pull myself together. Crying over a man from a dream surely means I need to be committed, but I can’t shake the feeling that it actually happened. That our love for each other was real, and I’m not crazy, but that’s impossible. If it had happened, he’d be here.
Bending over the sink, I splash some cold water on my face, patting it away gently with a washcloth, and then stare at my reflection.
I try to remember what happened after our kiss, but it’s blurry.
My long black hair is still wavy from the curls I wore last night. Underneath his shirt is the lace bralette and thong that I fell asleep wearing after the game. Did I wear this to bed in Sugarplum Park too? Why can’t I remember?
Everything feels the same, except it’s not.
I’m in my bathroom in New York, and I wish more than anything in the world I was still Everett Nuttall’s wife.
The chain of my necklace is turned, and so I slowly start to flip the clasp to the back, expecting to see my initial move to the front, but I pause when I don’t reveal the C charm I usually wear.
No.
Between my fingers is a small, diamond-encrusted snowflake—just like the one Everett gave me for Christmas. I swallow hard as I run my fingers over the small jewels. My heart rate quickens and my breaths become a little more rapid. If I’m wearing this necklace, then that would mean…
The sound of my front door opening echoes through my apartment, interrupting my thoughts, causing my heart to drop into my stomach.
Could it be?
Chapter 43: Never
Everett
