Page 48 of Mister Daddy
“Probably more than you did,” I say. “And at least most of my time was spent in a bed.”
“Dirty girl,” she teases. “I’m really glad you found someone on this trip, Abby. You seem happy.”
“I am,” I say. “Really happy, and Carter gave me his contact information, so we’re going to stay in touch. It’s not over yet,” I confess happily. My friend smiles in return, and when we arrive at my apartment, I take my things, saying goodbye to Jessica.
My apartment is exactly as empty as it was when I left, but this time, it seems more quiet than usual. Maybe I should’ve taken Jess up on her offer.
I busy myself with unpacking because I know that if I don’t do it now, these clothes will sit in my suitcase for weeks, untouched. I even cart the dirty stuff down to the laundry room and get everything clean and put away. After that’s done, I order myself a pizza that will serve as lunch and dinner and settle down on the couch for a movie.
Once my pizza arrives, I let myself pull Carter’s phone number from my back pocket. His secretary, Miss Havisham, scrawled the nine digits on a sticky note with his email address printed sloppily underneath.
My movie ends, and half of my pizza is gone, so I type the number into my phone and hit call. Carter mentioned a meeting this evening, but that should be done by now.
The phone rings once before beeping. An automated voice informs me that the number is not in service.
That’s strange. I must have dialed it wrong.
I stare at the piece of paper and type in the numbers carefully, one by one, triple checking that it’s right before hitting call.
The same thing happens again.
Crap! Maybe I’m getting the numbers wrong. Miss Havisham’s handwriting is atrocious. It’s a wonder she can get anything done with her illegible scribbles.
I pull up my email app on my phone and type in the address Miss Havisham gave me.
“Hi, Carter,” I write. “I tried to give you a call, but I think Miss Havisham gave me the wrong phone number. How about you call me? 305-458-7854. I’ll be waiting. Love, Abby.”
I hit send and wait, refreshing my inbox immediately, as if he might respond that quickly. Unfortunately, refreshing the inbox gets me a shocking message from Gmail itself: a “this email address doesn’t exist” reply.
This can’t be happening. There’s no way she messed up both the phone numberandthe email address.
This can only mean one thing.
Carter told his secretary to give me fake contact information because he never intended to keep in touch. What the hell? What happened to all that talking we did about my business, about the babies we were going to have, and how much we adored one another? Was that all an illusion?
Then again, that explains why he practically pushed me out of his office this morning. It was because he didn’t want to spend any more time on me. Our relationship was done, and he was ready to move on.
The worst part is that I fell for it. I really thought I meant something to him, and even now, my eyes go to the charm bracelet I have on my wrist with the little whale dangling off of it. I thought we shared so much, but in his case, it was just a ruse.
The tears fall before I can stop them. How could I have been so stupid? My friends tried to warn me, and I ignored them. I insisted that what Carter and I had was something special, when all along, they were telling me that men on cruises want only one thing. A good time.
The tears come even harder, and I sob violently. With shaking hands, I pull up Jessica’s contact and hit call. She answers on the first ring.
“Forget something in my car?”
“Jess,” I say, my voice cracking. “Can you come over?”
“Be there in five. I’m calling Caitlyn.”
I manage a quick thank you before crumpling onto my couch in heaving sobs.
My door is unlocked for the girls when they arrive to find me slumped over on my thrift store couch. The harsh corduroy upholstery leaves lines on my face when I sit up.
“What’s wrong, Abs? Do you miss Carter?”
At the sound of his name, my crying starts up again. I can’t speak, so I hand Caitlyn my phone and the paper with his number and mime for her to call it while I try to catch my breath.
She hears the disconnected message and hands the phone to Jessica so that she can hear it, too. They flank me on the couch, pulling me tight into a three-way hug.