A/N: I don't own what you recognize. And I really appreciate all of your reviews.
My thirtieth birthday would fall on Friday, July 19, 2013, and George and I had decided it was the perfect weekend to celebrate our marriage. We aren't religious, so we felt that the legal wedding was enough for us in that regard. But we wanted to have a big party to celebrate our marriage and our family. And I wanted to wear a pretty white dress.
So we were having a wedding reception at a friend's house that had an amazing backyard (three acres) and a swimming pool, which would be great for our friends who had kids. We set the date for Saturday, July 20, 2013. My mom and stepdad immediately offered to pay for it because "it's your wedding, and we have to pay for that, sweetie." George's family would be coming from England. We decided that we didn't need a best man or maid of honor since we weren't having a ceremony. "No toasts," George said. "We don't need toasts. We just want a good party to celebrate the fact that we're married."
Most of our friends seemed to be fairly accepting of that idea. And our families were more than open to that idea. Mostly, they just wanted us to be happy.
At George's advice, I stopped talking to Hattie, which caused Hannah to stop talking to me. Apparently, I wasn't allowed to act in the best interests of my family if it hurt Hannah's feelings. At first, I was offended, but I came to realize that it wasn't my problem if Hannah didn't agree with my life choices.
George and I moved into our new house over Memorial Day weekend of 2013. That, coincidentally, was the same weekend that Paul dumped Hattie. I hate the word "dumped." It's callous and somewhat demeaning. But it is the only word to describe the way that Paul Churchill ended his relationship with my friend, Hattie Smith. It was an abrupt and heartless. It was, as George said, an action not befitting a gentleman. "But then no one has ever accused Paul Churchill of being a gentleman."
Now, I have to explain to you that I wasn't there when Paul and Hattie terminated their relationship. I didn't see it or hear it. Paul has never seen fit to share his side of the story with me. All that I know of the story is what Hattie has told me. It may not surprise you to learn that I first heard this story through sobbing, sniffing, and sighing. Most of it was incoherent. But I knew that Paul had told her that he never really loved her. "I thought that he loved me. He said that he had never loved you, but he said that he loved me. I thought he really meant it."
I tried to sound sympathetic during that first phone call, but she called while I was trying to direct the sorting of the latest load of boxes from the apartment out. It's kind of hard to listen to a sniffling girl while trying to move boxes and tell other people what to do.
Hattie, still sniffing and sighing, came over to our new house around nine-thirty that first night in the house. The place was a pit. There were boxes everywhere. Nothing was unpacked. And the only things that were genuinely where they were supposed to be were the pieces of furniture. Everything else was just haphazardly piled in the rooms matching the names George had scrawled on the lids and sides of each box.
"I need you," Hattie sobbed when George opened the door.
"I hope you mean my wife," he replied grimly as he led her into the house.
"Oh, George, I wasn't expecting you. Yeah, Emma, I want to see Emma."
"She's upstairs," George replied softly. "She's putting Elinor to bed. You can see her after that."
"I need to talk to her."
"I understand," my husband said coolly. "But she needs calm while she puts Elinor to bed, so I need you to please be patient."
Patience wasn't easy for Hattie, but George managed to convince her to sit down. When I came downstairs, I found her sitting up ramrod straight, staring at the wall. She was clutching tissues in each hand, her eyes red and tears sliding down her cheeks. "Emma," she choked out. "I need you."
"George, out," I ordered.
My husband nodded as he rose from the couch. "I'll be in our room trying to unpack things."
I kissed his cheek. "Thanks, darling."
I sat down on the couch next to Hattie and took one of the tissue-coated hands in mine. "Tell me what happened."
She sighed and sniffled. "Oh, Emma, it was awful. You were right about Paul."
"What do you mean?" I asked tentatively.
"He never loved me. He never said that he loved me. I'd said dozens of times, but he'd never said it. Tonight, we went out for dinner together, and I mentioned that. He said that he never tells girls that he loves them. I said that he must have told you that he loved you considering how long you two were together, but he said that he'd never said it. Is that true?"
I nodded. "He never said it. Honestly, I'm not sure that I ever did either. I mean, we were serious about each other, but we never talked about it in those kinds of words. That's not his style."
"And then, I asked him if he wanted to maybe take a step back, and he said that sounded like a good idea. He said that he wanted to reevaluate his priorities. He said he wasn't ready for a serious relationship right now. He said that he needed to sort through some stuff before he could really get serious with anyone."
I squeezed her hand. "I'm sorry. You're better off without him."
She sighed and whimpered. "I know that you're probably right, but I loved him, Emma. I loved him, and he didn't love me. Why does this keep happening to me? Why do I keep loving men who don't love me back? There was Blake. Then there was Robbie. And now there's Paul. Everyone finds love easily except me. Why doesn't anyone love me? Why doesn't anyone want to be with me?"
"Hattie, you've had a rough run with guys. But the thing is that you find the wrong guys. You keep going after guys who aren't right for you, who can't care about you the way that you want."
"What do you mean?"
I bit my lip and took a deep breath. "You saw my relationship with Paul. You saw how I tried to have a serious relationship with him for almost two years, but he always kept me out. He never really let me in. I don't think that he is capable of a real, deep love. He just can't do it."
"So it's not me, it's him?" Hattie asked hesitantly.
I nodded. "More or less, yes; he's just not capable of being in a real relationship and that's what you want."
There was far more that I could have said to her about her relationships, but the timing wasn't right. I knew that was not the night to tell her that she was too clingy. She needed to calm down and let things flow more naturally. Guys tend to get uncomfortable when you start naming your future children on the third date. They don't really like it when you confess your love for them and start planning your future together when you haven't even met their parents.
"Can I spend the night here?" Hattie asked. "I don't want to be alone."
I looked around my living room, which was littered with boxes. "I don't know where we'd put you," I began softly. "I'm really sorry, Hattie. But this house is a mess. We just moved today."
"I know, but I don't want to be alone."
I sighed. "Hattie, look around my living room. It's a mess. I don't know where we could put you. I'm sorry, but I just don't know."
Her face fell and she started crying again. "I just don't want to be alone."
At the sound of Hattie's sobs, George came creeping down the stairs. "Hattie," he said softly. "I hate to be rude. I know you've had a rough day, but I need to ask you to please quiet down."
"But my heart is broken!" she wailed.
I looked at my husband and raised my eyebrows. He pressed his lips together and shrugged. I knew we were both beginning to wonder why I was friends with this girl. I put my hand on Hattie's arm, trying to be gentle. "Hattie, sweetheart, I know you're heartbroken. George and I understand. But the baby is asleep upstairs. I really don't want her to wake up. She needs her sleep. If you wake her up, then she won't fall back asleep, and then George and I won't get any sleep."
Hattie sighed loudly before loudly wailing, "Is your daughter more important to you than me? Why don't you love me? Why doesn't anyone love me?"
Somewhere in the middle of that, Elinor began to cry upstairs. I looked at George and sighed.
"I'll get her," he said. "But she's probably going to want Mama."
After George headed upstairs, I looked at Hattie. "I think it would be best if you found somewhere else to stay tonight. Maybe Hannah would be willing to put you up?"
"But West is Paul's brother! I can't go to them."
"Hattie, George and I just moved. We've had a long, difficult day. And now, our baby is awake. I want to help you. I really do. But my husband and my baby have to be my first priority."
Hattie rose to her feet quickly, losing her balance momentarily in her anger. "You don't care about me. You don't love me. You're just like Paul. Forget you. I'm out of here."
I stood up as she made her way towards the front door. "Hattie, I'm sorry that you feel that way. I really am. And when you're calm and ready to see reason, I'll be waiting to talk to you."
I spent three hours trying to get my fussy baby to fall back asleep. Elinor had a strong will. She only went to sleep when she wanted to, and once she had woken up, she didn't like going back to sleep-especially if noises had woken her up. She was curious and she always had to know what was going on. When I put her back in her crib, she started wailing. She wailed and screamed for almost three hours before finally falling asleep. I tried walking with her. I tried rocking her. George tried both of those things. I tried nursing her, but she didn't want to be fed. It was after midnight when she finally stopped fussing and let me nurse her to sleep.
"She really is your daughter," George said to me at one point in the fussing.
"Let's hope our next child inherits your disposition," I sighed as I flopped my head into the pillow. "Your mother said that you were a placid and calm baby."
"Please God, I'm begging you," he replied. "Elinor was so easy in the beginning but now she's always alert. She always wants to know what's going on."
"Em," he replied, pulling himself up slightly and running a hand over my face. "She's your daughter. Of course she always wants to know what's going on. You stayed up until two in the morning when you were three years old mere because you wanted to know if Santa was really going to come down the chimney."
I sighed. "It's times like this that I wish you didn't know so much about my childhood and couldn't remind me that Elinor is my mini-me."
"At least she's a cute mini-me."
The next morning, I received a text message from Hannah that read: You were right about Paul and Hannah. West and I will be at your wedding.
"That's as close as you're going to get to an apology from her," George remarked flatly when I showed it to him.
I smiled. "I know. And I'm going to treasure it for that."
On July 1, about three weeks before our wedding celebration, Chris White emailed all members of the English department to announce the hiring of a new linguistics professor, Jane Fairfax. She had just finished her doctorate at the University of North Carolina, which coincidentally was where Paul Churchill had been employed until about four years earlier and where Paul still went on vacation at least twice a year. Jane also, according to Chris, had a three-year-old son named Oliver.
A/N: Please review! I'd love to know what you think.