Oh, God.
What have I done?
I love her.
I know I do.
I feel it in my soul. Way down deep.
So, why couldn’t I say it to her?
Because I’m not fucking crazy, that’s why.
I pull out my phone and press the button to call Amy, and then grunt in frustration when it goes straight to voicemail. At the beep, I leave a rambling message that paraphrases everything I already said to her in the house but get cut off midway through by a computerized voice asking if I want to re-record my message or send it, as is.
“Fuck!” I shout, before pressing the option to re-record.
Beep.
This time, I keep it short. “It’s me. What you’re asking is unreasonable at this point. That doesn’t mean what we have has to end, for fuck’s sake. Let’s take things slow. How is that an unreasonable request? Jesus!” I sigh. “Call me, Amy. Please. Bye.”
Twenty-Nine
Colin
I check my phone. But once again, there’s nothing from Amy. No return call. No text. No voicemail. Obviously, she’s been ghosting me. And it fucking sucks.
It’s Sunday night, four days since Amy left me. But it feels like four hundred. At the moment, I’m sitting on my couch, eating a cold burrito and drowning in misery and regret. My dream job has been over for two days now. But rather than celebrating the accomplishment with Amy, I’ve been sitting here for two days, alone and miserable.
Ryan.
All of a sudden, my honorary big brother’s name pops into my head like a thunderbolt. Why haven’t I called him? Ryan always knows what to do to fix everything, especially when it comes to women! The Morgans literally call him their family’s fixer!
My heartrate increasing, I grab my phone and place the call, and, thankfully, my Master Yoda picks up immediately.
“Colinoscopy!” Ryan booms. “How the hell are ya?”
“Hey, Rum Cake. I’m shitty. How are you?”
“That’s too bad. I’m great. It’s Momma Lou’s birthday, so the whole fam is here at the house, throwing her a surprise birthday dinner.”
“I didn’t know it was your mom’s birthday. Wish her a good one from me. I’ll talk to you later.”
“No, no. Now’s a good time. I’m sitting here with some of the fam, watching the game while we wait for the dinner bell. Can I put you on FaceTime and let everyone say hi to you, or are you feeling the kind of ‘shitty’ that requires a private conversation?”
“Meh, go ahead and put me on FaceTime. I’ll take all the help I can get at this point.”
We press the right buttons and two seconds later I’m staring at Ryan and his three brothers—Colby, Keane, and Dax—plus, their brother-in-law, Josh, who’s become a brother to us all since he married Kat several years ago. Maddy’s there, too, passed out against Keane’s broad shoulder. Plus, there’s a whole gaggle of kids in the room. In fact, every single man on my screen is holding a baby or a kid. Most amusingly, Colby’s second youngest, Mia, is sitting on her Uncle Dax’s lap, facing him while playing with his long blonde hair, which at present is littered with an array of bows and sparkly clips.
“Colin says he’s doing ‘shitty,’ guys,” Ryan informs the group, after basic greetings are administered. “What’s going on, brother?”
I tell everyone the gist of my shitty situation and admit I’m intensely second-guessing my reaction to Amy’s comments the other night.
“I got defensive,” I admit. “I was pissed she was demanding I tell her brother about us, before I was ready. But now that I’ve had a chance to think about it, I can see how me not telling Logan made Amy feel like I was hiding her.”
“Well, you were hiding her, to be fair,” Ryan says.
“But not from you guys! Not from anyone but our families.”
Ryan flashes me a look I know all too well—a look that tells me I’m a dumbshit. And just this fast, I know I fucked up. Royally.
“I wasn’t ready to tell her brother!” I shout. “Is that a crime?”
“No,” Ryan concedes calmly. “But it certainly gave your girl the answer she was looking for, eh? Good for her for walking out. That’s a confident woman. The best kind.”
I roll my eyes. “Ryan, come on. How could I tell Amy’s brother and our families about us after this short a time?”
“What do you mean?”
I explain the timeline, as I see it.
“But you’ve known this girl your whole life, right?” he asks. And when I nod, he adds, “Okay, so you already knew all the most important stuff, going in. You knew she wasn’t a bunny boiler. That’s huge. You knew she’s exactly who she appears to be. Also, huge.”
“But we knew each other as kids. It’s been less than three weeks since I’ve known her as an adult.”
“Yeah, but people don’t change all that much. You knew ninety percent of her by the time you slept with her. You’ve just been getting to know the other ten percent since then.”