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“Well, we’d love to come and celebrate regardless.”
I shake my head.
“And maybe talk you out of eloping…”
“Not gonna happen,” I argue airily. “Because in a half hour, it’ll be done and over with.”
He huffs. “Done and over with? That’s no way to view your wedding.”
Says you. He just doesn’t get it, but it’s impractical of me to expect him to.
“I’m going to be late, Dalt.” I reach for my phone and hurry out the door.
He sighs. “All right. I’ll call you later, okay?”
“Yep.” I hang up quickly and leave my apartment. I don’t have time to hear him out. Neither of us has time for me to explain my reasoning. And I’ll miss this appointment if I try to do either of those.
I reach the courthouse soon enough, but I’m the only one there.
No worries. I check the time, nodding to reassure myself that it’s cool. Owen has ten minutes yet. He’s punctual to everything, but maybe he’s taking a while to get here because it’s such a big day. For him.
I’m so hooked on thinking this is just another way to do business, but as I pace, I remind myself that things aren’t as bleak as Dalton might worry. I do like Owen. He’s a great guy. We’ve had fun dating. Since I suggested eloping, he’s been excited about it. We’re both young, and while he’s already graduated and working in finance, I’ve only just completed my studies. I know he’s enjoying the optimism of having his whole future right before him, there for him to grasp and enjoy.
Another glance at the clock shows that eighty-six back-and-forth paces equals eleven minutes. Still no Owen. With one minute past the hour, that’s officially late for him, and that doesn’t make sense.
I pull out my phone and swipe past the notification reminder of my mother’s voicemail I had yet to find the patience to listen to. Calling Owen, I resume pacing.
“Hello, you’ve reached the voicemail of—”
I hang up, not in the mood to leave a message about getting here as soon as possible. Already, a thread of worry sneaks under my skin. He’s never late. Is that a sign?
I shake my head and take a seat to wait.
Maybe I forgot about a rescheduled appointment he had to take.
Or he might be nervous.
While Owen is punctual, he can be clueless with directions. I bet he thought we were going to a different courthouse.
Multiple excuses filter through my mind, but I refuse to nag and scold him to get here. I’ve never been the kind of girl to chase down a guy. After my mother’s high-handed approach to my life, the last thing I ever want to do is dictate another’s actions.
So, I wait.
And wait.
And I wait some more.
Once the minute hand has made a complete circuit around the clock, I sigh and get up. I refuse to run after Owen and drag him here, but his no-show is telling. He’s either ghosting me or unable to make it, and I won’t know which if I sit here alone any longer.
Dejected and disappointed, I head home. Today’s been such a trip of ups and downs, but now a sinking confusion fills me. My stomach twists and my heart starts to throb. Stress is taking its toll on me. I worked myself up, cramming for my last test, and now it feels like too many unknowns linger in my mind, and I fear what answers I might find at home.
If he’s even there. If Owen can’t find the determination to elope at the courthouse, maybe he’s ready to give up on me altogether. With that dreadful thought, I take the steps up to the flat I share with him. I’m tense. My muscles ache, and when I catch myself grinding my teeth, I try my hardest to loosen my jaw and focus on simply breathing as steadily as I can. Going into the exam room this morning hadn’t caused this intense fear. As I open the door to the apartment, I hold my breath and wonder if my last-ditch attempt to get my mother out of my life will fail.
Owen stands there. He looks up as I enter the apartment and close the door behind me.
Without a word, he stares at me from the doorway to the bedroom, pausing from shoving his things in a bag.
He’s packing. Leaving with no intention to be at my side as my husband.
