Page 14 of The Gathered Fragments of Us
"Honey, I'm really sorry, I have to cancel tonight."
"Cancel?" The disappointment in her voice was immediate. "Caden, it's our anniversary."
"I know, I know. Emergency client meeting. I'll make it up to you, I promise."
"But I already—" She'd stopped herself. "Okay. Sure. I get it."
"I'm so sorry, honey."
"Yeah, okay. I have to go. I'll see you at home."
She'd hung up. I'd told myself she understood. That she knew how important this was.
I realize now that by not telling her why, I'd completely failed in that moment. I'd never explained how that meeting meant keeping a significant amount of revenue. That we were still bleeding money from the pandemic shutdowns, that this contract was the difference between keeping people employed and laying off several of our workforce. I didn't give her the chance to understand or even help me figure out another solution.
I'd saved part of the contract—managed to keep us on for the specialty millwork and high-end finishes. It meant only havingto let go of one subcontractor and one employee versus the several that may have been impacted otherwise.
Meanwhile, Felicity had gone home and spent our anniversary alone.
When I'd gotten home at midnight, she was already asleep. The next morning, things had been fine with her. She asked how the meeting went and said she understood. She kissed me good morning, I apologized again but she brushed it off and never mentioned her disappointment again.
Looking back, I realize I'd let her brush it off. I'd been so relieved she wasn't angry that I'd never bothered to explain the details. I never told her I'd been trying to save people's jobs during the worst economic crisis of our lifetime. I failed to read between the lines and avoided instead of confronting the issue.
And then, I can't remember even having a makeup dinner. I may have—Lauren may even have scheduled it, but I honestly can't remember if we ended up celebrating at all. Damn it. I've been killing our marriage with a thousand paper cuts. Every forgotten anniversary, every missed dinner, every delegated gift—they weren’t just disappointments. They were betrayals. My God, I broke her heart one forgotten event at a time.
Time to stop being the man she resents—and figure out how to become the one she remembers loving. Time to make damn sure she knows how much that man still loves her.
I thought about calling my brother Cash or maybe Danny or one of my other cousins for help—the Barretts and Doyles had always been there for each other during crisis moments. I pushed the thought away though. They all had a tendency to take over and this was something I needed to handle myself first before I bring in any reinforcements.
To start, I sent her a text, knowing I wouldn't get anything in response—not that I was owed one.
Me:We have reservations tonight. I know you probably won't come, but I'll be thereregardless, just in case.
Me:I'm sorry. I know I haven’t done a good job of showing it, but you are my heart.
Chapter 5: Left Waiting
~Caden~
I sat at the back table of Antico Forno, alone, nursing my Pellegrino. With growing certainty moving through my bones, I knew she wasn't coming. In truth, I knew it before I even sat down, but I had to be sure. And I couldn't not be here in case she did show.
The server checked in—twice. I waved him off with a polite "just a few more minutes," though part of me wanted to admit defeat, to say, "She's not coming" out loud. He nodded and walked away, his eyes flickering between sympathy and judgment. I couldn't decide which was worse, or which I deserved more.
This reservation, while originally a makeup anniversary dinner, was now something else. A Hail Mary.
I watched the door for thirty-three minutes. Every time it opened, I looked up. Every time it wasn't her, my gut twisted tighter.
The couple at the table next to me was enjoying their dinner and each other's company. She kept reaching across to squeeze his hand, and he kept making her laugh. They looked like us, once.
Fuck, we used to grab dinner here all the time. It was a favorite spot when we were dating, then early in our marriage we found other places, but this was still a date night win. That was back before some of our special occasions got lost in the murkiness of my tunnel vision at work.
Sure, we still had date nights—pizza runs, quick Mexican—but the real occasions? They always got pushed to the sidelines.
I could almost see us at that corner table by the window—our usual spot back then. There was one time when Felicity wore this green dress, the one that made her eyes stand out—they were mesmerizing.
We'd been talking about something work-related, for the life of me I can't remember. I'm not even sure I was paying too much attention—probably something about someone doing something stupid at work…HR problems as usual. I just remember losing myself in her eyes.
I vaguely recall reminding her of how brilliant she was. I’d reached across to steal her hands from her wine glass, her playing with my fingers as we interlaced them.
