10
Hayley
2010
Iwake up to the shrill of my ringtone.
“Good morning, beautiful.” I smile. I open my eyes and squint at the sunlight through my curtains.
“What time is it?”
“Around ten.”
“What? No!” I’ve got an appointment with the dressmaker. “Mom’s probably up.” I sit up quickly.
“It’s why I’m calling you. Sharon felt too bad to do the dirty work.”
“Ha-ha, Logan.” I push the blanket off me and make my way to the bathroom; the phone still pressed to my ear. “I’ve got to get ready, babe. I love you.”
I couldn’t help but feel the tug in my chest when I said it. I do love Logan, and in a month, we will be tying the proverbial knot. This is what I want, I remind myself. We’ve been dating for two years, and it was inevitable this would happen sooner or later. Logan makes me happy. He never judges me, when God knows he has every reason to. He loves me.
Then why is it when I woke up this morning, all I could see was Wyatt’s face?
“Call me when you’re free. Give Sharon a kiss for me.”
I place the cell phone on the counter and look at my reflection in the mirror. I feel like such a fraud at times. Logan is all about me, and I am all about avoidance. The idea of marriage never crossed my mind, but Logan changed that. Logan is stability, and he loves me in a way many girls wish for. It doesn’t matter if I’m in a crap mood half the time, or if I don’t quite know what I want. He’s the one who pulls it all together. Sure, he can be a bit of a control freak, but it’s only because I put so little effort into things.
When my parents divorced, I swore I wouldn’t do the whole marriage thing. I didn’t want it to end with me in a pile of tissues on the bedroom floor, but Logan convinced me otherwise.
My mother has pretty harsh views on it too.
“Not all men are assholes like your father, Hay,” she said when I broke the news to her. I expected her to tell me I was better off with the whole long-term-dating thing, but she was unusually happy about it. “I don’t hate the fact that I married, Hayley. I married the wrong man, but” — she waved her finger at me — “he helped make you, so I have no regrets.”
The thing is, it wasn’t just my parents who influenced the way I felt about commitment. Wyatt did too.
I sigh for the umpteenth time, finish up in the bathroom, and make my way downstairs. I couldn’t stand there lost in my head all day.
* * *
“Hay, Hay,”my mom sings. Our inside joke.
“Good morning.”
She busies herself at the stove. “Blueberry Flapjacks?” she looks at me over her shoulder. Her eyes are studying me.
And there it is, confirmation something is up. There’s no other reason she’d be making comfort food, let alone one of my emergency ones.
“So what is really going on?” I moan, sinking into a chair.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re making the emergency supply.” I roll my eyes like a teenager.
She turns and flips a pancake. “I have no idea what you’re on about. Can’t a mother do something nice for her only child?”
“You barely cook, Mom. You bake when you’re stressed, so give it to me.” I frown.
“I spoke to Katherine earlier. I wanted to know how Wayne was doing.”
