Page 98 of Not You Again

ANDIE:

[nods, sniffling]

PRODUCER:

He didn’t wait to hear your answer. Do you know why?

ANDIE:

[wipes her eyes and shakes her head]

PRODUCER:

Can you tell me how you’re feeling?

ANDIE:

[voice breaking] I feel so small. I gave him everything I could, and it wasn’t … it wasn’t enough. I walked in thinking maybe more time would have fixed it, but now I don’t know. I don’t know, I don’t know.

ANDIE:

[cries, covering her face with her hands]

ANDIE:

[through her hands] I want to hate him. I want to be mad, but I can’t find it anywhere in me. He was so … so …

ANDIE

[muffled sob] Please, just let me go. This hurts too much.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONEANDIE

If you asked me how many brides I’ve seen break down in the course of my career, the answer would be: as many dresses as I design.

I just never expected to be one of them.

I’m not sure how I got to Heidi’s office without getting into a wreck. The plush cream faux fur rugs greet me as I stumble in the door, my vision blurring in front of me. Tears rising in my eyes make the chandelier in the lobby look like it’s twinkling. It lends itself to the idea that this must all be a dream. A bad one, but a dream nonetheless.

Kit spent eight weeks trying to win my trust, to take care of me, to prove he could be what I needed. Then before I could tell him I wanted to keep trying, he opted out. Quit. Left me.

After I told him I loved him.

Again.

My whole body aches like my limbs are being stretched in different directions. It’s bone-deep and heavy. I worry I’ll sink right through this carpet.

Praying for numbness to arrive soon, I ignore the receptionist asking me how she can help. I stagger past her desk and down a hallway to Heidi’s door. It’s all I can do to lift my hand and knock. But when I do, my wedding ring glints in the pendant lighting overhead.

Tears threatening to break free, I try desperately to pull the ring off. Heidi swings open her office door only to see me grunting as I tug at my stuck wedding ring, tears ruining my mascara. I sniff and my voice breaks. “I can’t get it off.”

Her eyes soften. I’m not a hysterical bride. I’m her best friend, and she’s mine. She pulls me into the room and closes the door behind us. She wraps me into a hug with one arm, then uses her free hand to pick up the phone and let her receptionist know to hold her calls and cancel her afternoon appointments.

I feel like a child, my rib cage creaking with sobs too big for my body. I’m stronger than this. I’m more than this. I hate Kit for leaving me like this. Again.

Heidi guides me to one of the cushy armchairs in a small seating area she keeps in her office. Heavy sample books are on the modern coffee table, one open to tablecloth options, and another open to centerpieces. I can’t look at them; they remind me of too much.

Right now, I can’t fathom ever setting foot in a ballroom again. Not when this gaping wound in my chest wants to swallow me whole.