Outside the Lines(74)

I fucked up. And I’m going to have to live with that.





CHAPTER SEVENTEEN





“You did your final fitting, right?” my mom asks me as I walk out of work Thursday. The wedding is only days away and everyone is running around like chickens with their heads cut off. And according to Dad, who swears he’s seen it, chickens really do run around after you take an ax to their neck. I don’t believe him.

“I did,” I lie. I haven’t even tried the damn thing on since I picked it up. Years of making costumes has left me a rather good seamstress. I need to go home and do that ASAP. It’s going to be a long night. “It looks great. And I have my shoes and the jewelry Danielle wants us to wear.”

“Just making sure,” Mom says. “I’m excited to see you all dressed up! And to see your boyfriend again. Who knows, maybe wedding bells are in your future too!”

I internally wince. I never heard from Ben. I got a big fat nothing after I poured my heart out in that message. No calls, no texts. He hadn’t even updated his Instagram since last week.

“Maybe,” I say and force myself to inhale slowly. I spent all of yesterday trying to pull myself out of the self-pity puddle I’d melted into. I’m dripping, but at least I’m standing and not drowning now. “I need to go. See you tomorrow. Love you, bye!”

I hang up before Mom can go on even more. I’ll see her in the afternoon tomorrow. I’m working a half day then going back to her house, where I’ll stay for the weekend. Where I’ll have to tell her why Ben isn’t with me.

I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to deal with anyone’s pity, and I don’t want to be reminded how utterly alone I am at my little brother’s wedding. I’m not conventional by any means, but knowing he’s younger than me and getting married first stings. Just a bit.

I stop at the store on the way home. My period started in the middle of the night Tuesday and I’m down to my last tampon … and it needs to be changed. Now. I was worried all day something would travel down the crack canal and leave a not-so-fun stain on the back of my pants. I’m pretty sure the universe really does hate me. I sigh. At least Aunt Flo should pack up and leave by Saturday. I really need to get on some sort of birth control. This inconsistent uterine bleeding ruined my second favorite pair of PJ pants.

I accidentally looked into the eye of the Target symbol and was bespelled, and my basket is half full of stuff I don’t really need by the time I reach the feminine hygiene aisle.

“Hey, Felicity.”

Oh for the love of all things good in this world. Why does it have to be her? I press my lips together.

“Mindy, hi,” I say flatly. I look past her for the brand of tamps I want. She pulls a pink box of panty liners down and puts it in her cart.

“What’s wrong with Ben?” she asks, cutting to the chase.

“I don’t know,” I mutter and grab a variety box.

“I’m sure you do. He left work Tuesday morning and didn’t come back until today. He’s been quiet and in and out all day and doesn’t want to talk about ‘it,’ whatever that means. I’m pretty sure he was at the nursing home. Did his dad die?”

My heart stops in my chest. He mentioned it just once, while we were fighting. His father has memory issues and needs constant care. Oh fuck.

“He’ll talk about it when he’s ready,” I say and keep walking. “Bye.”

She doesn’t say “see you this weekend at the wedding,” thank God. Though, she still might show up. Who knows. I get what I need, pay for it, run to the ladies’ room, and high-tail it home. I have some research to do.





*





Within an hour, I know that Ben’s father lives at Meadow View Centers in downtown Grand Rapids. I hacked into the admission records, but drew the line at digging into medical records. I’m no criminal anymore.

His father was admitted a month before Ben moved here from New York.

It all makes sense now, and it hurts my heart even more. Ben left his dream job, left a potential for national recognition and fame as an artist for his family. He really wasn’t anything like the player I thought he was, that I knew he really isn’t. I was so scared of what could be, I let what actually is fly right by.

I close my laptop and bite my lip, trying to decide what to do. I pick up the phone and punch in the number for Meadow View. It rings for a long minute before someone answers.

“Hi, is James Hartford available?” I ask the nurse.

“He’s in the dining room eating dinner,” she says and relief floods through me. “Can I take a message?”