I hesitate, when I see the look on her face. I don’t know what she wants to hear. “Of course, I’m happy,” I say quietly, trying to reassure her. “I’ve always wanted this.”
As soon as I can get away from Evie, and get outside, I make the phone call I have been dreading.
“Hello?” she answers groggily.
“I’m so sorry, Milla. Evie got sick, and we had to call the doctor…”
“Oh, no. Is everything okay?”
I don’t know how to tell her this. She’s going to hate me. “Milla… please forgive me. I must have really screwed up.”
She pauses. “What? What are you talking about?”
I take a deep breath. “I don’t know how this happened. I thought I was careful, but…”
“Gabriel!” she shouts at me. “Are you kidding me right now? Is this a joke?”
“She’s pregnant.”
Camilla is silent for a long while. “She hasn’t even been home for a month… you promised…”
“I swear to God, I didn’t intend for this to happen.”
“You promised!”
“I know, Milla. I’m sorry. But I’m going to have to be there for her now. We can’t talk anymore.”
There is another long silence. “Gabe, how could you?” Then her voice changes, from hurt and emotional to suddenly professional. “Please take care of her health.”
“I will.”
“I’ll send the ring back to you in the mail,” she says, and her voice sounds cold as ice. Like a sharp icicle stabbing me in the chest.
“No, please. Keep it, Milla. You’ll always mean so much to me, and I’ll always love you. But I have to do my duty now.”
“I’ll always love you, too,” she says. She hangs up on me abruptly.
“Fuck,” I whisper. I go back inside and walk to my office. I remove a painting from the wall. I punch a hole in the wall.
And then another.
I replace the painting to cover the holes.
Then I go to find some cigarettes.
Chapter 32
I hate not talking to Milla. I hate it.
I’ve been letting my health go badly since we discovered the news. I’ve been smoking like crazy. I haven’t been sleeping well, or eating well. I no longer go on my morning runs. I am starting to feel like serious shit, and my mood is always grumpy because of it.
It doesn’t help that Yvette also seems to be suddenly depressed. She’s not happy at all, and it’s obvious. I don’t know what to do or say to help her—we can’t seem to communicate.
One day I’m stalking Milla’s Instagram when I see that she posted about her engagement. What the fuck? I have to read the post about 17 times to comprehend what is happening.
Fuck. Milla got engaged to that asshole Doctor Mike.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I didn’t think she would move on so fast. It happened days ago.
I thought I had more time to figure all this out. I thought she would wait for me. Did we really mean so little to her that she could let go that easily? What am I talking about? I just dumped her.
It’s not fair of me. I left her alone this whole time, and I know she was dealing with some crap. She wasn’t well, and I couldn’t be there for her. And I expect our relationship to still somehow exist.
Maybe she’s better off with Mike.
Fuck.
I go to the wall of my office, and remove the painting to smash my fist into the wall… but there’s no more room to make holes. I need to get a bigger painting.
Or… a plane ticket.
Before I found out about Yvette’s pregnancy, I was planning to make a trip to America to surprise Milla. After all this time, I think I’ve found a way to get into the country. Maybe… maybe I still can or should go. Maybe it would mean something for both of us to meet up at least once before we have to say goodbye forever.
Is this crazy? Sure. But we already established that I have a specific kind of brain damage.
I go to my computer, and sure enough, I see that Milla has sent an e-vite to her wedding. Really? I guess there’s a video broadcast for overseas friends and relatives who can’t attend in person.
Fuck. Her wedding is in two days.
I immediately start looking up plane tickets, and the COVID test requirements. It might be possible for me to get into the country in time for her wedding. I text Yvette’s parents and ask if they can come and watch her for a few days.
Then I walk over to Yvette’s room and knock on the door. I open it slightly, and find her lying in bed, like she has been for days. Listless and unhappy.
“Evie,” I say softly. “Do you mind if I drive down to the South of France for a day or so to visit Guillaume? He has some ideas for the new book I’m working on.”
“Sure. Whatever,” she says. “Tell him I say hi.”
It hurts me to see her like that, but there’s nothing I can do.
“Don’t forget that my ultrasound appointment is on Tuesday,” she tells me. “Try to be back home before then.”
“I will,” I tell her, then I softly shut the door.
It feels insane, but there’s some kind of fire lit under me, spurring me to action. I know what I need to do. It’s now or never.
I’m standing outside the church, trying to restrain myself from bursting in. I can’t believe I finally found a way to get to America, and it’s too late.
Milla’s in there right now, getting married. She’s just a few feet away from me. So close I could touch her. I could walk into that church right now, and pull her into my arms and give her a hug. I want to so badly. I want to be with her. I step forward, toward the large double doors, my hands aching to rip them open.
But what can I offer her? Yvette is carrying my baby, and I am honor bound to be by her
