Baby Makes Three

And, it was about time she learned to clean up her own damn mess anyway.

Chapter 18: Chelsea

I had one last appointment with the doctor, but the drive was pretty quiet. I kept telling Flynn he could stay behind, but he kept insisting he needed to come with me. I think a part of him was hoping I wouldn’t be cleared for my flight back to Paris. I think part of him--- just a small part-- was hoping I’d have to call my boss and tell him I had to stay longer because something had gone wrong, or my brain was exploding, or I was quitting because I was frustrated, or some other bullshit he wanted to happen.

Because the ride home was even quieter when the doctor cleared me to go back to Paris.

“I bet you’re ready to get back to work, aren’t you? Paris, I can’t even imagine.”

The doctor swooned in the office, and Flynn actually walked out. That was the thing about a small town: people didn’t give a damn how others reacted to their bullshit. It was one of the reasons why I had been so anxious to leave. In Paris, if someone didn’t like what you were pedaling, you knew it.

We got back to Flynn’s house, and I went upstairs. I needed to pack and make some phone calls that would cost me a pretty penny, and then I needed to try and see if I could access my email from somewhere. Maybe I’d try the public library on my way out of town-- hail a cab and sit there for a couple of hours. I’m sure I’d have plenty of shit to come back to, after not talking to anyone for an entire month, and I needed to make sure things were going well with my design line.

After all, I had taken time off to come see my parents because once

I returned I’d be face-deep in planning my very first fashion show.

I dragged my things out of the drawers my mother originally packed everything in, and I made sure to grab all my toiletries. Some clothes had been stuffed under the bed, so I dug them out and crinkled my nose at their smell. I went in search of a plastic bag I could put them off in, but Flynn simply ripped them from my hands on put them in the washer.

“Hey! Flynn, I don’t have time t-”

But, before I could get a word in edgewise, he’d started the laundry, and I was down three outfits.

He wouldn’t talk to me, but he damn sure was making this exit a hell of a lot harder than it needed to be.

“You can make some when you get home,” he quipped.

I went back upstairs and let his comment roll off my back. I wasn’t sure what his angle was, but I took out my phone to call a cab. Of course, my doctor’s appointment was scheduled the same day as my flight out, and I had spent the extra money to get a direct flight from my Oklahoma hometown all the way to France. No layovers, no nights in other countries, just a direct flight that would kick me in the gut.

But, it’d get me back to a city that embraced me. Unlike this pothole of a town, I’d been in for the past month.

I jammed the last of my shoes into the suitcase, and part of me wondered how I’d ever gotten all this shit here in the first place. I sat on it and forced the zipper closed, and I sighed when I heard the crackling of tires roll up the loose gravel driveway. My chariot was here to whisk me away to the airport, and I grabbed my plastic bag of toiletries and shoved them into the front of my bag.

I did one last double check to make sure I had all my chargers, but when the tires on the loose gravel started crunching away, I threw my bag down the stairs and rushed for the door.

“No! Wait! I’m right here!”

And it shouldn’t have shocked me one bit when I saw Flynn in the driveway.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Flynn!?” I shrieked.

“I’ll take you to the airport,” he murmured.

“Like hell, you will. You’ve been trying to postpone me all damn day: taking too long to get to and from the doctor’s, throwing my shit in the washer, and now you’re getting rid of my cab!”

He walked over to my bag and grabbed it. He heaved it into the back of his truck and then slid into the driver’s side seat. I didn’t know what the hell his angle was, but I was tired of it. The more he acted this way, the more it showed me the truth of the conversation we had a few days ago that pissed him the fuck off.

The more I realized why I hadn’t originally told him about Paris.

He swung the passenger side door open for me, and I rolled my eyes. I didn’t have much of a choice now with my flight leaving in less than two hours, so I climbed into his truck, and he cranked it up. The silence between us hung heavy in the air the entire time, and all I wanted to do was melt directly into the chair. On the one hand, I could see how this would be hard for him. I could understand why he’d be so reluctant to drop me off at the airport with things sitting with us the way they were. The last time we were together-- really together--, he admitted that he’d never stopped loving me.

And I’d said those words in return.

But, the truth was you didn’t treat someone you loved like this. You didn’t storm out on an argument and then give them the cold shoulder for days. You didn’t try everything in your power to stop the inevitable from happening. Sure, he wanted to talk over lunch that day about making things work long distance. And sure, he didn’t even know what that long distance meant at the time… but dear God did he really expect me to do it now!?

We pulled into the airport parking lot, and I promptly got out. I was already trying to pull my bag out of the back just as he was stepping out of his truck, and he reached his arm easily over me and pulled it out without a problem.

“You takin’ home my gravel or somethin’?” Flynn quipped.