Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 68309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
They say everything happens for a reason.
Before the accident, once a month, I’d rent a car for the sole purpose of getting out of the city. Breathing fresh air. Driving through winding roads and cruising through scenic country valleys. Losing myself on unknown roads. Listening to music at top volume—or sometimes not listening to anything at all. I’d never have a destination. I’d simply drive until I got tired and then I’d book a nearby hotel, catch some sleep, and start again first thing the next morning. Occasionally I’d pick a location and stay there for the weekend.
What are the odds that out of all the roads and bridges and highways, of all the millions of cars, it was mine that got hit at that exact moment on that exact road in that exact city?
I blew through a yellow light earlier that night.
What if I’d slammed on the brakes?
What if I’d waited another two minutes?
It’s easier to stomach everything I’ve been through if I tell myself it happened for a reason. But until I know that reason, nothing makes sense.
11
Brie
“Can I tell you something?” I ask my oldest sister on a comfortably warm Monday afternoon. Her kids are at school, and I took the afternoon off to pack for my flight tomorrow. She begged me to come over for prickly pear margaritas by the pool, which is usually code for Carly-Needs-to-Vent-About-Her-Husband.
“Brie, don’t ask if you can tell someone something … just tell them.” She sips her half-finished drink. “But go on.”
“I want to call off the engagement.” I clear my throat. “I’m going to call off the engagement.”
She slides her legs off her Newport-style pool lounge and swings around to face me. “No.”
“What?”
“Don’t do it. You can’t. Dad will be devastated. I’ll be devastated. My dimwit husband who can’t start a load of towels without breaking the washing machine will be devastated.” She slides her oversized sunglasses down. “Grant is per-fec-tion. I don’t think you realize how lucky you are. You have what most women only dream of. Postpone the damned thing, but don’t call it off. It’ll be the biggest mistake of your life.”
Carly rises, straightens her black sarong, and struts toward the mini bar to grab the pitcher of margaritas. She returns and tops us off.
“Brie, for as long as I can remember, you’ve been … how do I put this nicely?” She exhales. “A risk-averse fraidy cat. You let everything and anything scare you. Rollercoasters? Not a chance. Sleep-away camp? Terrified you. Boyfriends? Good God, if they started to like you too much, you went running for the hills.” Carly takes a seat and a sip.
“Okay, but I was a child then. I’m not afraid of everything anymore …”
“You read the same books over and over. You watch the same movies a hundred times. When you travel for work, you book the same hotel and the same kind of rental car and you eat at the same restaurants. You gravitate toward what’s safe and familiar. But since you met Grant, you’ve stepped out of your sheltered little box. You’re trying new things, abandoning your old routines. You smile more than you have since …” her voice falters. “Since we lost Kari.”
“I’m not saying Grant isn’t great.”
“So you’re saying he isn’t great … enough?”
The dog next door barks, and the lush palm trees filling her backyard oasis sway in a gentle breeze.
“I’m saying he’s great.” I shrug. “He’s great and I don’t want to marry him and that’s all I’m saying.”
Carly is quiet for a beat—no easy feat for a woman who can’t hush half the time.
“Do you love him?” she finally asks.
“That’s the thing. I don’t think I do. But I like him a lot.” I reach for my cactus-shaped glass. “Part of me is like … what’s the catch?”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s almost too good to be true,” I say. “I find it hard to believe that anyone is that perfect and wants to lock me down by New Year’s Eve.”
“What? You never said you guys had set a date.”
“We haven’t. But we’ve talked about it, and he mentioned a New Year’s Eve wedding.”
“That’s in, like, four months.” She slides her sunglasses to the top of her head, pushing her blonde hair back. “What’s the rush? I mean, yeah, it was a quickie engagement, and I’ll be honest, for a while we were all wondering if he’d knocked you up, but clearly you’re drinking tequila, so our mother and sisters will be interested to hear that’s not the case.”
I stare at the drink in my hand, and then set it aside now that I know it was more of a test than the offering of a proper hostess. I should’ve known … Carly’s always been tricky like that. Even more so since her three little angels turned into pimply, sneaky, hormonal teenagers with cell phones and cars. But, in their defense, if Carly were my mother, I’d be just as much of a pain in the rear. She helicopters the heck out of them, and it’s only gotten worse as they’ve grown more independent. The more they push, the more she pulls. And they’re all miserable for it.