Page 67 of The Wedding Fake

“Things certainly didn’t work out with Grant,” she sighed, then leaned in, her brow raised.

“No, Mom. I told you that before I even came home,” I muttered, pushing her shoulder to back her up.

Mom shrugged. “I guess so. I just wanted to see you back in Bridgeport.” The sadness in her voice made my throat tighten.

“Mom,” I said gently.

“It’s okay, Claire Bear. I know you like the city, and Hudson’s there. He’s a nice young man.”

I widened my eyes at this proclamation. “He’s a nice young man? You treated him horribly all week.”

Mom frowned. “That’s not why he left early, was it?” she asked, appearing genuinely concerned.

“No, Mom. I told you, he had to be back at work.” The first couple times I’d said the lie it tasted sour on my tongue, but I was numb now.

“Well, you can tell him I’m sorry,” she said, and I almost laughed, both because I doubted Hudson would believe my mother had a change of heart after a whole week of picking, and because I needed to tell him how sorry I was before I could get into my mother’s indiscretions.

I hugged both of my parents, then Tessa and Nora again before I turned to go. Emily caught my arm as I walked out. “You going to talk to him?”

I rolled my lips between my teeth. Emily was the only one who knew the truth, mostly because she’d found me sobbing uncontrollably the night before. Had I been given a choice, I’d have preferred no one ever knew the truth.

“We’ll see,” I said, which Emily would know meant, “Yes, but I’m afraid to admit it in case he rejects me.”

“Good luck,” she replied.

“Thank you.”

The drive home was always long, but now it was lonely as well. The day, however, was breathtakingly beautiful. Tourists came from all over to appreciate the fall foliage near Bridgeport, but I didn’t care. The dazzling autumn leaves and bright blue skies demanded a level of happiness I didn’t stand a chance at achieving. I needed gloomy gray skies and empty, dormant trees, but Mother Earth refused to accommodate my mood.

I made the trip home faster than I ever had before. I took no bathroom breaks, and I didn’t eat. I just drove. I drove and I thought about what I would say when Hudson opened the door—how I would apologize.

And when I finally got home I pulled my bag out of my trunk and dragged it inside, grabbing my mail on the way. I was alone at the elevator, and I pressed up before I opened the zipper of my bag and slipped the mail inside.

The little arrow lit up and I stood straighter, preparing myself. The doors slid open and the car was empty. No stupid teenagers flooding out in every direction and no Hudson. I stepped inside and pressed five.

His unit was 5L. I remembered it clear as day, even though I second-guessed myself as I stood on the little brown rug outside his door and knocked. I waited, then knocked again, but still he didn’t answer. I pulled out my phone.

Claire: Can we talk?

I waited, then waited some more, beginning to feel self-conscious standing outside his door with my bag in tow. But no one was around. I looked at my phone, but I had my answer. Hudson wasn’t answering the door or the phone, and I’d truly ruined everything.

35

HUDSON

I’d gone a week without talking to Claire. It helped that I’d had long shifts that kept me working until all hours. There was rarely anyone on the elevator by the time I got home, and I’d gotten in the habit of using the stairs when I was leaving. Now I was into my second day off and I’d barely left the house at all.

It wasn’t that I didn’t want to see her. I did—desperately. But seeing Claire wouldn’t make things better. Claire couldn’t trust me, and what was I supposed to do with that? Only Claire could change that. There was no way to prove myself trustworthy if she didn’t want to believe me.

I didn’t regret going on the trip with her, though. I had, for a day or two, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized how life-changing that trip had been. There was Claire, of course, but there was also Amy. Sammie. My mom and dad. Hell, Cranberry Falls. I had so many feelings tied up in that little community I’d never dealt with. And hearing Amy and Sammie say they didn’t blame me—maybe it shouldn’t have mattered, but it did. So much.

By 10:30 it was dark and I was beginning to worry my ass would atrophy and grow roots into the couch. And still, over and over, no matter how hard I tried to occupy myself, my mind drifted to Claire.

It’s astounding how many statistics you run into in a day.

Twenty percent of the mammal species on our planet are different types of bats