did. His life changed with that one decision and forever changed the course of our path together. We hit the fork in the road. He went one way, and I went the other.
Sadness sweeps in and my stomach rolls. The once-delicious cake now tastes like sawdust in my mouth. “Stop it,” Gabby chastises.
“Stop what?” I ask, though I know exactly what she’s talking about.
“You know what. Push him out of your mind, Gwen,” she says, and my eyes inadvertently sweep to the front door one more time. He’s not coming tonight, I know, but I can’t stop looking for him. It’s like he’s embedded in my brain somehow. “He probably would have missed tonight anyway,” she adds with annoyance.
Gabby loved Harrison. Being two years younger than me, she was that bratty little sister who followed me everywhere. When I met Harrison in college, her senior year of high school, Gabby instantly took a liking to him, and he her. In a way, he became the older brother neither of us ever had and often treated her as such. He was overprotective and overbearing where she was concerned, but that never bothered her. She thrived off it.
Now, after the divorce, she’s not exactly his biggest fan. Even though I’ve told her many times that he wasn’t the only factor in the demise of our marriage, she refuses to see him as anything but the sole reason for our separation. She’s angry at him because he left her too, and my heart breaks a little every time I see the devastation reflecting in her eyes. Divorce has a way of taking a toll on everyone, not just the husband and wife.
“He wouldn’t have,” I quickly defend. Harrison wasn’t always there when I needed him, but I know in my heart, this was an event he wouldn’t have missed for anything.
Gabby rolls her eyes and stares at the door. “He would have insisted on more decorations,” she says softly, the hint of a smile playing on her lips.
I glance around at the single banner taped to the wall announcing my thirtieth birthday, and at the handful of helium balloons on the tables. Harrison would have gone all out, for sure. My mind quickly flips back to my twenty-fifth birthday, where he had streamers falling from the ceiling and more balloons than a party supply store. The cake had two tiers and the spread of food catered from my favorite Mexican restaurant. We celebrated my birthday hard that night, rocking it until the wee hours of the morning, before he took me home and made love to me in our bed. Everything changed a week later when he met with his boss. Nothing has been the same since.
My stomach lurches again, and I quickly deposit my plate down on the nearest table.
“Are you okay? You’re looking a little… green,” Gabby says, worry filling her eyes.
“Yeah, it’s this stupid flu bug. One of my students shared it with me, and I can’t seem to kick it.”
My head starts to heat and my hands become clammy. I know what’s about to happen. I take off for the bathroom, throwing open the door, and barely making it to the toilet before my body purges what little food I ate earlier in the day.
“Geez, Gwenny!” my sister bellows as she enters the bathroom and pushes on the stall door. She rushes over to the sink and grabs a paper towel to wet. The dry heaves subside and a mixture of relief and fatigue rushes through my body. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re knocked up.”
I know she’s joking, but her words strike me like a lightning bolt straight to the heart. Gasping for air, memories flood my mind—memories of Harrison and me. Together.
“…and that can’t be because you’d have to have sex in order to get pregnant, and we both know that’s not happening,” she continues with a laugh.
Sex.
Oh, God!
We had sex!
Unprotected sex!
Gabby returns to the stall and sets the wet paper cloth over my forehead. My mind is still reeling with realization and shock as she continues to talk about the different flu strands going around her office, but I already know.
I don’t have the flu.
When I begin to lose feeling in my legs from crouching beside the toilet, I start to stand. Gabby’s right there to help me. “You should go home,” she says, placing her hand on my forehead. “You don’t have a fever, but I don’t think you should stay and