The longer I sat quietly, the more I realized how much I wanted Carter to call.
I wanted him to ask how I was feeling.
I wanted him to acknowledge that the morning had frightened me.
I wanted him to understand that my questions were not an attack on him.
Most of all, I wanted him to say something that would make the decision easier.
I wanted reassurance.
There was nothing shameful about that.
I loved him, or at least I still carried the feelings that had led me to believe I was ready to marry him.
I could not switch those feelings off because one conversation had gone badly.
I could not pretend that the plans we had made meant nothing.
But wanting reassurance did not mean I should accept any answer simply because it comforted me.
That was what I had to remember.
I picked up the phone and checked the screen.
There was still nothing new.
I placed it face down on the desk.
Then I turned it over again a few seconds later.
I almost laughed at myself.
I was waiting for Carter to take the next step while trying to convince myself that I did not need him to.
The truth was more complicated.
I wanted him to reach out.
I also wanted to know that I could make a decision without waiting for him to approve it.
Those feelings could exist together.
I did not have to deny one to prove the other.
I walked to the window and looked outside.
The street remained quiet.
A neighbor crossed the pavement carrying a bag.
Someone opened a car door and placed something on the passenger seat.
The ordinary world continued.
I had spent so much time treating the wedding as the most important event in my life that I had forgotten something simple.
The wedding was one day.
The marriage was supposed to be the life that followed.
If I could not speak honestly on the day of the ceremony, I needed to understand why before making a promise about all the days afterward.
I turned away from the window.
There were still things I wanted to ask Carter.
I wanted to know whether he understood why I was upset.
I wanted to know whether he could listen without turning my concerns into a problem with the schedule.
I wanted to know whether he could accept that I needed time without treating that need as a betrayal.
I also wanted to hear his perspective.
I did not want to conduct a conversation in which I had already decided what every answer meant.
That would not be fair to either of us.
But fairness required more than giving Carter every benefit of the doubt.
It also required giving myself the same consideration.
I could listen to his explanation without agreeing to marry him that day.
I could accept that he might be stressed without pretending that my feelings did not matter.
I could recognize that he might be hurt by my uncertainty without treating his hurt as proof that I was wrong.
Those distinctions were difficult.
They were also necessary.
I returned to the desk and opened my notes.
The questions remained on the page.
I read the final one again.
Can I tell him the truth without being punished for it?
I had written that question because I was afraid of the answer.
I wanted to believe that love made honesty safe.
I wanted to believe that a person who planned to share my life would want to understand what frightened me.
But I could not force that belief to become true.
I would have to find out through the way we treated each other.
That did not mean one difficult morning could explain everything about Carter.
It meant I could not ignore the morning simply because I wished it had gone differently.
I picked up the phone.
This time, I did not call him.
Instead, I opened the message window and began typing.
I wrote that I wanted to speak again when we could both listen.
I said I was not trying to hurt him or create a scene.
I explained that I could not move forward with the ceremony while feeling that my concerns had been dismissed.
Then I stopped.
I read the message carefully.
It was honest.
It was also longer than it needed to be.
I began deleting the explanations.
I removed the sentences that apologized for having feelings.
I removed the promises that everything might still be fine.
I removed the parts where I tried to anticipate his anger and soothe it before it happened.
What remained was simple.
I needed an honest conversation before I could decide whether to go ahead with the wedding.
I read the sentence one more time.
Then I sent it.
The message appeared on the screen.
For a moment, I felt an almost irresistible urge to take it back.
I imagined Carter reading it.
I imagined him misunderstanding it.
I imagined him deciding that I was making too much of the situation.
I imagined the people waiting for the wedding and the questions they might ask.
Then I put the phone down.
I could not control every interpretation of my words.
I could make sure the words themselves were fair.
That was enough.
I walked back to the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror.
The damage was still there.
The uneven hair.
The irritated skin.
The small cut near my ear.
I did not suddenly feel beautiful.
I did not suddenly feel brave.
I still wished the morning had never happened.
But I no longer believed that I had to solve every part of the situation before I was allowed to make a choice.
I could wait for an answer.
I could listen when it came.
And I could decide what I believed afterward.
I thought about the fifteen million dollars in the trust.
It remained exactly where it was, protected by the arrangements my grandfather had made.
I had not touched it.
I had not threatened Carter with it.
I had not asked Margaret to use it to change the situation.
For all the fear I had felt about money complicating my future, I was beginning to understand that the most important decision before me had nothing to do with a dollar amount.
It had to do with whether I was willing to trust my own judgment.
I returned to the bedroom and sat beside the dress.
I could still picture the wedding I had imagined.
I could still remember the excitement of choosing the fabric and thinking about the promises I would make.
Those memories belonged to me.
I did not need to destroy them to admit that I was uncertain now.
I also did not need to protect them by ignoring what I felt.
I placed my hands in my lap.
The room was quiet.
I waited, but I did not spend every second staring at the phone.
I looked at the window.
I looked at the dress.
I looked at the paper beside the desk.
Then I let my attention rest on the person I had been trying not to disappoint.
Myself.
I had no guarantee that Carter would understand.
I had no guarantee that the conversation would bring us closer.
I had no guarantee that I would make the choice I once imagined making.
For the first time that morning, I was willing to accept those uncertainties without rushing to erase them.
I wanted an answer.
But I was finally willing to hear one I might not like.
Click here to continue reading: PART 17: The Answer I Had Been Waiting For Did Not Come Easily
I Opened My Eyes on the Morning of My Wedding and Discovered That Someone Had Taken Away the One Thing My Fiancé Loved Most About Me
Part 16 of 20
