Page 70 of Convincing Carrie
Our relationship has run the gamut. I loved him faithfully and unquestioningly for years before the affair broke us. After that, I only felt hatred towards him. It wasn’t an emotion I was used to feeling, and I’d known I had to let it go or it would hurt me and probably Theo, too. It had moved more to acceptance, a kind of numbness that protected me from that level of emotion. Then, slowly, it had turned to friendship. It had stayed there for years, despite a physical awareness between us that never quite went away. And now? Well. It seemed to be moving towards something way more than friends. And that scared the hell out of me and excited me at the same time.
How could I be thinking of getting back with the man who’d shattered my heart? Maybe it was because he was also the man who helped me recover from my C-section, had been an incredible dad to our son from day one, had done nothing but try to prove himself to me since he’d cheated, and had moved back to town to be closer to me and our son. And he’d given up running his family company to do it.
And so, I’d agreed to a date with him tonight, on my birthday. It made me nervous as hell, but it also felt… inevitable. As if we were always meant to be together, and fate was taking over.
“Happy birthday,” Jon said, whipping a vase full of beautiful pink roses out from behind his back.
“Oh, thank you!” He’d effectively ended my thoughts of Thatcher for now. “That is so sweet.” I stood on my tiptoes and kissed his cheek, then wiped my lipstick off his skin with my thumb.
“I just wanted you to have something pretty this morning.”
“Thank you so much.” We walked together to my classroom for me to put them on my desk. I stopped short when I saw what was already waiting on me. “Oh my God.”
A truly massive arrangement of hydrangeas, peonies, and cabbage roses took up almost the whole surface of my desk. It was breathtakingly beautiful. I walked over and pulled the card off.
“Let me guess,” Jon said in a petulant voice. “They’re from Thatcher.”
“Oh, I’m sure they’re not. My parents probably sent them.” Even though we were through, Jon still seemed to harbor resentment towards Thatcher. I think he sensed that if my ex-husband wasn’t around, I might’ve fallen for him.
I opened the card.
To the best Mom, friend, and person I’ve ever known. You’re the love of my life. Happy birthday, beautiful.
Love,
Thatcher
I hid the card against my chest, but he’d already seen. His face didn’t even look angry, just resigned. “That guy is never going to let you go. Not really. He’s always going to be in your life, isn’t he?”
I stared at him. “I mean… yeah. He’s the father of my child.”
“I’m starting to think he’s more than that, Carrie.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Sorry. I know it’s not my business anymore. And it’s your birthday. Have a good morning. I’ll see you later.” He gave me a tight smile before walking off.
He almost ran over Margot, the school librarian, on his way out. He had to reach out and grab her by her upper arms to keep her from falling over. “Sorry, Margot.”
“That’s okay,” the quiet woman said. She was a stereotypical librarian who wore dowdy clothes, glasses, and always had her hair back in a tight bun or ponytail. It was difficult to tell her age, but I didn’t think she was much older than I was.
She pushed her glasses up on her nose and watched him walking away for a moment before turning to me. “Um, sorry about that.” She handed me what looked like a birthday card. I was shocked. Why would Margot be giving me a card? We’d spoken maybe ten words the whole school year.
“This was in my box,” she said.
That made more sense. Her last name was Crandall and mine was Crenshaw. We were always getting each other’s mail in our teacher boxes in the lounge.
“Thanks,” I said already opening it and seeing that it was also from Thatcher.
“Sure,” she said walking slowly towards the door. Right before she got there, she stopped and turned back around.“Um…” her face had turned a violent shade of pink, “Did you and Jon…” her voice trailed off. “Never mind.” She started to hurry out.
“Wait,” I called, following her. “Are you asking if Jon and I broke up?”
If possible, her face got even brighter pink. “Er… yes.”
“We did,” I said, trying to hide my curiosity. “Why do you ask?”
“No reason,” she said, turning and hurrying down the hall.
I watched after her, delighted by this turn of events. I wondered briefly what Margot might look like under all those frumpy clothes.
Then I turned back to my classroom to see what Thatcher had sent me. He’d been keeping our date a complete surprise, so I hoped the card would give me a clue.
