How to Honeymoon Alone

“I bet. You were always great at making a place a home.” She gives me a smile. It’s the kind that says I know this won’t fix anything, and you know it, too. But I still know you, and you still know me. Even after everything.

And I can’t argue with that.

“You doing okay?” I ask.

She shrugs. “Yeah. I got into the midwifery program, actually. I’m starting in the fall.”

“Really? Congrats.”

“Thanks,” she says, her expression tightening. “I know it doesn’t matter, but I really am sorry, Eden. What I did… there are no excuses.”

“I know you are,” I say. “It’s just that…”

“I did it anyway,” she says and takes a deep breath. “I know.”

I take the chance to ask the question I’ve wanted answered since those first ugly weeks. “So, have you and Caleb been…?”

She shakes her head. “No, not at all.”

“Right,” I say. I don’t know if I expected the answer to make things easier or harder, somehow. To hear that they tried to make a real go of it, or that they blew up my life just for some casual sex.

I find that it doesn’t really matter, though. Actions speak loudest. Because intentions? They whisper.

I bet he tried with her. Just as he’d tried to get me back. Apologizing for his behavior and seeing who would be willing to take him back.

Cindy shrugs. “I know, it’s such hypocrisy, but I didn’t want to have a relationship with him. Not when I’d seen how he treated you. With my help.”

“Yeah, you dodged one, I suppose.”

“I’m in therapy,” she says. “To try to understand why I… well. I’m sorry, that’s all.”

“Thanks,” I say.

She nods again. “So, how’s Becky?”

“She’s giving birth,” I say and hold up her bag. “Like, right now. I have to head inside.”

“Shit, really?”

“Yep.”

“Oh my God,” Cindy says, and a real smile transforms her face. She looks like the friend I remember, the one who had cried beside me when Becky first told us she was pregnant. “That’s incredible.”

“Yeah. I have to go.”

“Of course,” she says. “I know she won’t want to hear it, and you won’t tell her, but I wish her all the best. Both of them.”

I nod. “Yeah. I know.”

“Bye, Eden.”

“Bye.”

I walk away from another facet of my past, and into the hospital. So much to process and absolutely no time, none at all.

At least there’s no hurt. Resentment, perhaps. The weight of shared history and certainly distrust. But talking to Cindy hadn’t brought up all those old feelings.

I make it through the sterile hospital hallways and finally arrive at Becky and Patrick’s room, where she’s munching on the ice chips.

Beside her, Patrick looks like he’s been electrocuted.

He glances over at me. “Hi, Eden. Thank you.”

“No problem! Ziggy’s in the car. I’ll take him for a nice long walk later.”

“Thanks,” Becky says with a wide smile. She looks perfectly serene, nodding her head along with the sound of music playing from her phone.

“You okay?” I ask her.

“She opted into trying laughing gas,” Patrick says, “before the epidural kicks in.”

“Yep. It’s amazing,” Becky says and holds up a breathing mask. “Hey, you look a bit peaky. Everything okay?”

“You’re not allowed to care about anyone but you today,” I say and pat her leg over the hospital blanket. “Yourself and the baby girl. And possibly Patrick.”

She gives her husband an amused look. “Yeah, I think I might have to.”

“Let me know if you need anything else. I’m on standby. And don’t worry, I remembered Ziggy’s treats.”

Becky chuckles and puts a hand on her stomach. “Good. This might take a while. My contractions have slowed now.”

I head toward the door. “You got this, though.”

She nods like that’s obvious. “Yeah. Hey!” she says and reaches for the laughing gas. “Postcard watch?”Content held by NôvelDrama.Org.

I grimace. “It arrived today.”

“No freaking way!”

“Yes, but we’ll talk about it in a week or two. It’s really not-”

“Give me the five-minute version,” she says in a voice you don’t argue with.

So I do.

Afterward, I drive home with a clear purpose. To call Phillip. Maybe it’s just to ask about the phone call I heard. Maybe it’s to ask about what he’d written on the postcard.

Maybe just to tell my side of the story.