Page 23 of Broken Love (Love 2)
"I'd be happy to make them for you, Cade," she replies.
"I know, I just--I sort of have a date tomorrow night, and I want to cook for her."
"You're turning into a girl," Carter says from my doorway.
I flip him off.
"Well, that's very nice, dear," Mom says. "Would that date happen to be Palmer?"
"Uh, why would you think that?"
"Mothers have a sixth sense about these things."
"Oh. Yeah, kinda."
"It's kinda for her, Cade? Or it is for her?"
"It is."
"Very well, then. I'll email you both the recipe and a shopping list."
"Thanks, Mom," I say as Carter sits in the chair in front of my desk.
When I hang up, he gives me a smirk.
"What?"
"Cooking for Palmer. Sounds serious."
"It might be." I shake my head. "I mean, I think it is. I hope it is."
"Does that mean you and Pike made up?"
"No. That's not going to happen."
"Why not? You carried him out on the field. If there was ever a time to talk, it's now."
"If he wanted to talk, he'd call me. But I don't care what Pike thinks anymore. I just want to be happy, and Palmer makes me happy."
"Then that makes me happy," he says, even though I can tell he doesn't agree.
When I get home from dinner, I go a little crazy with the love quotes.
Me: She walks in beauty, like the night of cloudless climes and starry skies. --Lord Byron
Me: Soul meets soul on lovers' lips. --Percy Bysshe Shelley
Me: Love is of all passions the strongest, for it attacks simultaneously the head, the heart, and the senses. --Lao Tzu, philosopher
Me: I love thee, I love but thee
With a love that shall not die
Till the sun grows cold
And the stars grow old. --William Shakespeare
My phone rings, waking me.
"Sorry, it's so late," the object of my affection whispers into my ear.
"You just getting in?"
"Yes. I may fall asleep on you tomorrow night."
"I have no problem with that," I tease.
"I love the quotes, Cade. You're sweet."
"I'm pathetic is what I am. I miss you."
"I know, it's like I just got you back and then I had to leave. Bad timing. Even though I couldn't reply, I could see your texts and they kept a smile on my face all day long."
"That makes me happy. You sound exhausted. Go to sleep."
"I am. Love you."
"Love you too, Rookie."
"Isn't it about time I move up to the big leagues?" she teases.
"Yeah, it is. Goodnight."
"Goodnight, Cade."
After we hang up, I think about what she said. She's ready to move up to the big leagues with me. Which is a good thing, since I plan on proposing tomorrow night. Crazy, I know. But I don't want to waste any more precious time without her.
November 15th
Palmer
I'm packing and getting ready for my flight home. It was a crazy few days. Because the movie is a romantic comedy about a trio of girlfriends living in New York City, they held the press junket here. The studio flew in hundreds of reporters, put them up in a gorgeous hotel, screened the movie, and made the cast available for interviews. We spent the first day going from room to room, or table to table, almost like speed dating, giving each group about fifteen minutes of our time.
The next day we talked to the TV reporters who the studio decided warranted one-on-one time. The good thing about these interviews is that I get to stay put, and the journalists rotate in. We don't get to talk long, though. They are rotated through every five minutes, each bringing their own camera man and lighting. So basically I had to say the same things and answer the same questions hundreds of times while trying to remain upbeat, fun, and polite.
Needless to say, I'm ready to get home. Especially when I get another love text from Cade.
Cade: We're like two pieces split apart at birth who found their way back to each other. We're soul mates--a predestined pairing.
As I'm getting into the car that's driving me to the airport, I get another.
Cade: Since we broke up, I've been living a pretty rigid life, trying to make myself feel in control. It's all an illusion though. My life only feels centered when she's in it.
Once I'm situated on the plane, I notice something. I scroll back and look at his other texts and wonder why he didn't mention who wrote them.
Cade: I am stupidly in love with this girl.
Me: Who wrote these three?
Cade: Me. For you.
I reread them with tears in my eyes.
Me: I love them. And I love you. Getting ready to take off. Can't wait to see you tonight.
When I get home, I immediately unpack, hoping it will make me feel like my life is in order.
Press junkets are always exhausting, but I'm more tired than usual. I think I may be coming down with something, which wouldn't be much of a surprise considering all the hands I shook.
I decide on a dress to wear for our date tonight and then grab my makeup out of my bag. When I do, the tampons I packed fall out. The tampons I thought I would need but never used.
Hmm. When was I supposed to get my period again?
I grab my phone and check my calendar. Four days ago.
I sit down. I couldn't be.
Could I?
We've used condoms. Every time.
I recall the first night in the dark, us coming together in the hall.
Except for that time.
I shake my head.
I grab my keys, throw on a ball cap and a pair of dark sunglasses, and drive to the nearest pharmacy. I carefully survey the parking lot, making sure there's no one who might take a picture of me in the vicinity. Although, I doubt many paparazzi hang out here.
My hands are shaking as I go in the store. I slip my sunglasses off so I don't look like a complete lunatic, but keep my head down, weaving my way through the store and probably looking like I'm casing the joint. I grab a basket and fill it full of things I don't need, like a jumbo bag of cotton balls and three spiral notebooks, hoping I can hide the pregnancy tests under them. I spy the tests, but don't dare go into the row until I have a plan. I stand a row over and pretend to be looking at condoms, which is slightly ironic.
Once I have memorized which tests I want to buy, I make a quick run through the aisle, stealthily sweeping three different tests into my basket and covering them with the cotton balls.
There's a line of people at the cash register up front, but not one at the pharmacy window, so I decide to go back there. I set the basket on the counter, and keep my head down, pretending to look for my credit card. Thankfully, the woman is nothing but efficient. I suppose pregnancy tests and cotton balls are just an everyday purchase to her, not the life changing one it is for me. She recites the total, I swipe my credit card, sign my name, take my bag, and hightail it out of there.
I sit in the car, feeling sick to my stomach. I take a test out of the bag and stare at it. Think of the implications. Then shove it back in the bag and drive home.
I rush in from the garage and am making my way through the kitchen when Tory says, "Hey, there, what's the rush?"
I stop in my tracks, probably looking like a deer caught in the headlights. "Oh, I just had to run to the store. I think I might be coming down with something."
"Can you come into the office? I have a document for you to sign and want to run a few things by you in regards to your schedule."
"Okay," I try to say calmly, even though my heart feels like it's beating ou
t of my chest. "Let me put this stuff in the bathroom and then I'll be right out."
She grabs a baseball decorated cupcake from the counter, one of two dozen delivered this morning for Pike, and goes back through the breezeway to the office.
"Shit," I say to no one but myself as I take the bag to the bathroom, throw the cotton balls into the closet, and hide the tests underneath them.
I consider taking a quick pee on one of the sticks, going to my office, doing my work, and coming back. But I can't.
What if I'm pregnant?
No, that's crazy. I can't be.
I go to my office and try to pretend things are normal. I am normal. So what if my period is a few days late, and I had unprotected hallway sex with the love of my life? I mean, we've had lots of completely protected sex since then. It's like the law of averages--or, whatever. The odds should be in my favor.
"Okay," Tory says, "Let's talk about your schedule. You have an easy week other than the magazine shoot, then it's crazy busy again. I just got the world-wide premiere schedule from the studio. Frankfurt. Rome. Paris. London. New York. L.A. Six cities in eight days. I've already coordinated everything with your stylist, and we'll have hair and makeup onsite at each location."
She keeps talking and talking. I know it's important stuff, and I should be paying attention, but all I can think about is the fact that I might be pregnant. I glance at the clock. It's four. She'll be working for at least another hour, and I'm supposed to meet Cade at seven. T-minus three hours.
