The times he’d smiled at her, was he only being polite? When he’d gone to the Christmas-tree farm, had he just felt obligated, guilty? Tonight, when he’d looked at her across the kitchen, he was probably wondering why she was still there, imposing on his family get-together. There she was, sitting at his table, eating his food, socializing with his family when it wasn’t her place at all. She waltzed around the house in her jeans and socks, barely any makeup, completely unprofessional when she should probably be dressed better, like Natalie had been. She should be in her room right now. Her job was the children and they were in bed.
She’d eaten already. It was time that she made her exit. She was willing to bet that Adam didn’t want her there. He’d just been too nice to tell her. She could feel the wetness of tears in her eyes—tears of frustration for the immaturity and stupidity she’d shown. Her hands were starting to shake from the mortification of it all. How could she have been so stupid? What must his family really think? They were obviously too polite to make her feel unwelcome. She felt ridiculous. She had a school-girl crush on her employer when he didn’t have the first feeling for her whatsoever. Why would he? Look at her. She was thirty-three years old, spending Christmas with someone else’s family without any real life friends. She looked around at everyone. They probably felt sorry for her.
“I think I’m going to head up to bed,” she said to the table, trying not to look at anyone in particular, blinking her eyes too much to keep the tears from showing. She felt ridiculous all of a sudden, and she just wanted to get out of there.
“But you haven’t had any dessert. I’ve got a pie on ice. It won’t take too long to heat it up,” Joyce said, her face full of concern. Carrie prayed that Joyce couldn’t read the emotions that were going on inside her right now. She needed to get out of the room quickly before she fell apart.
“I’m very tired,” she said, using the last of her energy to produce a genuine-looking smile. “Thank you for a lovely evening. I really enjoyed it.” She turned away from them as quickly as she could so that she could be up the stairs before the tears came. All the insecurities she’d had were now exploding inside, her chest aching with the misery of it. She had better figure out what she was going to do soon because she certainly couldn’t do this anymore.
Chapter Ten
When you feel anxious, question your feelings. The problem was, Carrie questioned her questions. The light coming through the window was nearly blinding—white and piercing. She squinted, trying to surface completely from her sleep. She pushed the covers off her legs, the chill of winter snaking around them, and got out of bed. Her book on relieving anxiety fell onto the floor, the bookmark sliding across the hardwoods. She picked it up and walked to the window.
A tiny break in the clouds had allowed the sun to peek through, but she could see more dark gray in the distance, which was good because with the amount of snow outside, the reflection of sunlight was so bright she could hardly enjoy it. She could make out the camper in the driveway, its roof piled with at least a foot of snow. The yard, the streets, the driveway were all covered in a pristine blanket of white. Carrie loved to look at the snow before anyone had walked in it, when it wasn’t damaged by feet or muddied by cars. It reminded her of children—their innocence, their untainted little feelings—brand new, with no blemishes. But soon, that snow would be trampled, worn down, a sloppy mess. She flipped through her book and tried to find the page where she’d stopped reading last night.
Once she’d marked her spot, she sat down on the four-poster bed in the room that Adam had given her. The walls were beige, the dark wood of the bedroom suite complementing nicely. Just that one suite probably cost more money than she had in the bank, and again, she felt inferior. Adam was around her age, and he’d already accomplished so much. He had two beautiful children, a mansion of a house, and a successful business that he owned himself. She had her suitcases in the closet and her books. That was it. She worried that she’d gone too long, that she’d wasted too much time, and now she wouldn’t be able to find that perfect person to create a life with. What if she never found that person? She equated a home and a family with growing up. Wasn’t that what people did? They grew up, got married, and had a life. She didn’t. Her life hadn’t moved forward at all. She was stuck.
She looked down at the open page in her book and started reading. She scanned the characteristics mapped out for the chapter on anxiety and depression: Difficulty making decisions… Feeling sad… Lonely… She could relate to all those things. The sun slipped back behind the clouds, instantly shading the room in a gray light. She sat down on the bed, the book on her lap. Why did having the one job she loved most in life have to make her so miserable?