Page 89 of Tattoo My Heart
I lean back in my chair, refusing to make eye contact with her. Carrie lets out a sigh.
“Evie, what’s bothering you?”
I shrug and cross my arms over my chest, still not wanting to say anything.
“Evie,” she warns. “Spill. Or else.”
My chest feels tight with all the pressure I have stored inside. I rest my elbows on the table and drop my head in my hands.
“I don’t even know,” I mumble quietly. “I’ve been trying to ask Cal about it, but apparently,we don’t need a piece of paper to show the world how much we love each other.” My voice goes deep when I say that last part as I try to imitate my boyfriend’s tone.
Carrie doesn’t say anything for the longest time. The only sound in my mother’s kitchen is the baby sucking at her breast.
“Are you still in love with Cal?” she finally asks me, shocking me to my core.
“What kind of a question is that, Care?” I demand to know. “I’ve been in love with that man for years now.Years, Care!”
“I know, honey,” she assures me. “In fact, isn’t your anniversary this weekend?”
“It is,” I wail.
We are at our parents’ house in the Hamptons as they get ready for their annual Fourth of July bash. James, Carrie and their kids have become a staple in the last four years, so there was no way they wouldn’t be here for it.
This annual celebration has also become mine and Cal’s anniversary of the day when we made it official that we were together.
“Oh my gosh, Evie, what is happening? Are you planning on breaking up with Cal?” Carrie inquires. “I’m so confused right now.”
I lift my head off my hands and drop my arms back on the table with a thud.
“I want him to marry me,” I finally confess, frustration obvious in my voice.
Carrie’s eyes get all big. “Oh.”
“I know!” I throw my arms out again, like that explains everything.
I watch my best friend as she feeds her baby daughter at her breast, looking as content as one can be, everything she’s wanted in this life at her fingertips.
“Maybe you need to…”
Commotion from the front door interrupts whatever she was just about to say.
“Momma,” her four-year-old son’s voice calls out to Carrie. “I saw a frog!”
“Wow…” She starts talking to him, my current situation on hold for now.
I look up at James. He is just staring at me like a creep.
“What’s your problem?” I call him out on it.
He gets defensive. “What problem?”
“That’s what I’m asking,” I snap at him.
“I don’t know what the f-heck,” he corrects himself just in time, “is going on. And,” he points at me, “you’re weird.”
I cross my arms over my chest and lean back a little, just enough to scan him up and down.
“So are you,” I declare.
