Page 50 of Love, Second Chances and Other Nonsense
I don’t know how much time has passed when I finally pull out my phone again, hoping against hope to see Caitlin’s name on my screen. I ignore the string of unread texts from my mom,Hailey, and Rhonda. Nothing from Caitlin. Out of habit more than anything else, I pull up Instagram again. And there it is — a new post from Rachel, uploaded twenty minutes ago.
My favorite person is here to celebrate my birthday with me this year! Happy birthday to me, and let the party begin!
The picture shows Caitlin, Rachel, and a group of other women I don’t recognize, obviously dressed for a night on the town, standing with arms around each other’s waists and big smiles on their faces.
I study Caitlin. She’s wearing a short, silvery-white dress I’ve never seen, and her blonde hair is loose around her shoulders. She looks carefree and beautiful.
There is another post from just a few minutes ago. I pull it up, and my heart stops.
Caitlin sits on a man’s lap, leaning back against him, his arms wrapped around her, both of them mid-laugh. He’s handsome with dark blonde hair, tanned skin, strong jaw. His hand rests on her waist, casual and possessive.
The caption reads:@CaitlinHughes finding her smile again! @JacksonPrice showing her how Cedar City boys do it better!
Jealousy hits me like a physical blow. I drop my phone and run for the door, making it out to the deck before I lose the contents of my stomach over the edge. Eventually my stomach stops cramping, and I slide down until I’m sitting on the deck.
“You all right? Had a little too much to drink, did you?” Someone a few feet away calls and I nod, waving them away.
The worst part isn’t that she’s with someone else; it’s that she looked happy. Genuinely, radiantly happy in a way I can’t remember seeing since Colorado. Since before I dragged her to Mount Pella, before I started letting my mother dictate our lives, before I put everyone else’s needs above hers.
I’ve lost her. Through my own stupidity, my own blindness, my own cowardice, I’ve lost the best thing that ever happened to me.
A couple walking by give me curious looks. I pull myself to my feet, and head back into the lounge.
For the first time, I see with perfect clarity what I’ve done. I chose my family’s expectations over Caitlin’s happiness. I chose Millie’s grief over my fiancée’s needs. I chose the path of least resistance, again and again, until Caitlin had no choice but to forge her own path, one that leads away from me.
With shaking hands, I pick my phone back up off the carpet. Tomorrow, this cursed boat will dock back in Miami. I start looking up flights from Miami to Portland. I can’t accept that I’ve lost her without even trying to get her back. I’ll show up at her aunt and uncle’s, get on my knees and beg for forgiveness if that’s what it takes. I’ll make sure my family treats her right, and I’ll cut out anyone that won’t. I’ll spend every day of the rest of my life showing her how much I treasure her. If only she’ll give me another chance.
15
Chapter 15
Caitlin
I pull into Peter and Charlene’s driveway, cutting the engine of Rachel’s borrowed Jeep. Their house has changed little since I was a child. White clapboard with blue shutters, porch swing gently swaying in the breeze. The gardens are dead and brown now, but I know come summer they will burst with color. Something in my chest has been loosening with every day that I’ve been back in Oregon, a knot I hadn’t realized was there until it unraveled. This is what coming home feels like.
Before I’m even up the porch steps, the front door flies open and Charlene barrels out, enveloping me in a hug that smells like rosemary and lemon. “Caitlin!” she squeals. “Goodness, I’m never going to tire of seeing you walk up to our door. You settled in alright with Rachel? Come in, come in. Lunch is on the table.”
Peter appears in the doorway behind her, his beard grayer than before I left but his eyes still the same calm blue. He doesn’trush forward like Charlene, just waits until she releases me and then pulls me into a gentler embrace.
“Good to see you again, kiddo,” he says, his voice rumbling against my ear.
“It’s only been a few days since you saw me at Thanksgiving,” I laugh as they lead me inside.
“Well, we have a lot of time to make up for,” Aunt Charlene tells me
Inside, the house doesn’t seem to have changed at all. A comfortable jumble of soft couches and chairs in warm earth tones with heaps of cushions fills the living room. The pottery Aunt Charlene makes is on the shelves, and stacks of Uncle Peter’s books cover every flat surface. It’s the type of room that invites you to sink in and wrap yourself up in a soft, fluffy blanket.
The table is already set for lunch, with three bowls waiting. Steam curls up from the pot of soup, and the room is filled with the smell of freshly baked bread.
“Hope you’re hungry,” Aunt Charlene says, ushering me to my seat. “I made chicken noodle soup.”
“With grandma’s egg noodles?” I ask, feeling my mouth water at the thought.
“As if we’d make it with anything else.” Uncle Peter winks, settling into his chair.
We fall into the peaceful rhythm of a family meal. Aunt Charlene ladles out the soup, we pass bread and butter, fill glasses, catch up on the mundane details of life that somehow feel anything but mundane when shared with people who genuinely care.
Rachel’s newly opened yoga studio and wellness store is taking off. Uncle Peter’s planning to expand his garden next spring. Aunt Charlene joined a salsa dancing class at the community center.
