“Thank you,” she whispers.
I smile too. The stress leaves my body. Yes, working under a deadline for a wedding is hard, but it’s momentslike these that remind us of the true purpose of a wedding. It’s a ceremony to celebrate love and bring two people together. I’ve lost sight of my own love of designing for a bit. I would do well to live by the advice I gave this morning. This is a team effort.
“You’re welcome, now come on. I’ll even let you present your idea.”
When I arrive hometo my flat, it’s after midnight. There is a box of chocolates and a vase of purple and blue hyacinths. Attached the bouquet is a card with the words “Forgive me” written on it. I take everything inside, remove my shoes, exhausted, and sink against the couch.
“It’s going to take a lot more than flowers and chocolate for me to forgive you, but it’s a start,” I say to myself.
I close my eyes. Everything is heavy. I could fall asleep here—my couch is so squishy soft. With Lea’s help, we were super productive today. We started working on a muslin mockup, and tomorrow, we’ll go shopping for some fabric.
As my body relaxes, my thoughts turn to Sam. Where does he stand with me? If I’m being honest, I don’t know. A few weeks ago, I would’ve said he has all the qualities I’m looking for in a man. He’s thoughtful, kind, considerate, funny, and hopelessly romantic.
But when he’s been put to the test, he’s failed to show me that I matter. I’ve put in all the work to make this relationship work, and he’s done nothing. Okay, maybe not nothing, but he’s done little to show me that he wants us to be a priority in his life. Relationships can’t be one-sided. What does that say about a future together?
The question is, what do I want do about it? Do I wantto give him a third chance? Do I want to end it? Thinking about it all makes me go cross-eyed. I’m tired. I know it’s never a good idea to make a decision when my brain is clouded with emotions. I need time to figure it all out. So I guess that means for now, I’ll push everything to the back burner, and see how events play out on their own.
Twenty-Three
When I wake up on Tuesday, my phone is full of voicemails from Sam. I’m not in the mood to deal with it. I ignore them. By Wednesday morning, my mailbox is full. I’m so busy, however, I don’t have time to dwell on them. We’re on a deadline. I have until Friday to finish all my work.
I arrive home after midnight for the third night in a row. Or rather, early Thursday morning. The couch has become my refuge when I walk in the door. I’m too exhausted to make it to my bed. My phone chimes. I ignore it. It chimes a second time. My eyes open. I groan. It’s probably Liz asking if I’ve made it home. I’ve forgotten that I was supposed to text her that I made it home. Where’s my bag?
Sitting up, I pad over to the door, and reach my hand inside the bag until it feels the smooth surface of the phone’s screen. “Gotcha.”
Pulling it out, I unlock the device. To my surprise, both Liz and Sam have messaged me. First, I answer Liz.
Liz
Home?
Min
Yes, safe and sound.
Liz
Okay. Good night.
I consider ignoring and even deleting the one from Sam, but the soft side of me decides to at least read what it says. I don’t have to reply to it now. I slide open his name and read.
Sam
I’m sorry to bother you. I know you’re mad at me, but I didn’t know who else to contact. I need your help. Please call me as soon as you can.
I’m immediately awake. The tiredness from a few moments ago is gone and replaced by fear. Something’s up. I can practically hear the desperation in his text. Sam isn’t the type of person who’d send me a message like that just to talk to me.
If he’s asking for help, it’s an emergency type of situation. No matter how I feel toward him right now, I shove all emotions aside. That’s when it hits me. If he needs me, I’ll be there for him. One, because that’s what decent human beings do, and two, because Iwantto be there.
I locate his name in my contacts and tap it. The phone rings a few times. My heart is pounding against my ribs. I hold my breath.
“Minerva? Thank goodness. Just a moment.” His voice is raspy, raw, and low. A door opens and closes. “First off, I’m sorry for everything. I... I just don’t know what to do.”
“Sam? What’s wrong?”
“It’s my youngest sister, Celine. She showed up at the entry gate to the barracks about three hours ago. Every time I try and ask her what’s wrong, she just shakes her head and cries harder and clings to me. She finally fell asleep about fifteen minutes ago. I don’t know how to help her.” Sam’s voicecracks.
I take a deep breath and mentally start running through a checklist of sorts. “How is your other sister, Sarah?”
