Back to Me (Book Three ✓)

nine

EMMA

Pressing the palms of my hands into my eyes, I try not to fall asleep in my cereal bowl before work. As my head drops forward and my eyes get heavy, I jolt upright at the sound of my cuckoo clock - a novelty homecoming gift from Nadine. Damn, I'm already running late.

Making a baby might take a lot out of me, but keeping it a secret takes out so much more. I just need a little bit more time to figure out what I'm going to do and then I'll be able to get this weight off my chest.

Stirring soggy cholesterol-healthy cereal with my spoon, I feel a rush of nausea and shove the bowl away from me, milk splashing onto the wooden table.

"Shit," I rush to grab a towel and soak up the liquid before it can stain the antique Nana left to me when she passed. I mop it up just in time, but tears well in my eyes even after the crisis has been averted. "Shit." I sigh again, tossing my hands up in defeat.

I'm always crying.

Rolling my weepy eyes to my wall clock, I realize traffic will probably be picking up, too. God, I just need the world to slow down for a couple of minutes. Is that too much to ask for?

Tossing my bowl and spoon into the sink, I quickly stuff my feet into my ballet flats - another unwelcome change with this pregnancy - and fly through my front door. So determined to make it in on time, I almost don't notice the red rose, placed neatly across my welcome mat, waiting for me.

With a furrowed brow, I bring it to my nose, scanning the area for anyone who might have seen who left it. Not a trace left behind, I can't find the culprit, or even a neighbor who might be able to give me a clue.

No note, again. Hm. I inhale the sweet scent of the petals, mind wandering.

Chalking it up to Beau and his remorse for how things ended, I hurriedly stuff the flower into my bag, hearing the sharp snap of its stem as I do.

***

"So on Saturday, we have cake tasting - I have a feeling this is gonna be my favorite part," Gemma's big eyes go wide, hearts practically filling her irises at the mention of trying nearly unlimited sweets. My own belly flops, glad the appointment is in the afternoon.

I yawn, hiding it behind my hand, as I take in my cluttered coffee table. Various wedding magazines, all dog-eared and highlighted, litter my table and floor. Between all of this and the Pinterest board Gemma shared with me, I'm overwhelmed by all of the  wedding bliss. Today's focus is on the dessert station - a cake will be the main attraction, of course, but Gemma wants cupcakes and pastries, as well. Various pastel snacks stare back at me from the glossy pages.

In all of the photos, every one of the glowing brides just looks so... happy. In love.

I'm not bitter, I just don't feel particularly romantic at the moment. From what I've seen, no matter how much you love someone... they can still hurt you. Probably more, the more you love them.

My mind wanders to my last meeting with Beau, his clear eyes and urgency to make things right by me and the baby - I force myself to think the word - so apparent in my thoughts.

But I've seen his eyes clear before, I've heard his promises, I've believed his words. The image of he and Rey kissing burns in my brain, filling my mouth with bile all over again. It wasn't her, it wasn't her, it wasn't her. It was the alcohol on her lips that he wanted. I know this. I do. But whether it was Rey or the alcohol, he made his choice and again, it wasn't me.