PART 13 – The Call I Could No Longer Put Off

I had promised myself I would stop waiting for Carter to decide how the morning would unfold.

Still, when my phone vibrated against the bedside table, my heart jumped before I could stop it.

I reached for it.

The message was from one of the wedding coordinators, asking whether I needed help with anything before the ceremony.

I stared at the screen, unsure how to answer a question that had suddenly become impossible to address.

Everything was ready for a wedding.

I was not sure I was ready to get married.

I typed a short reply thanking her and saying I needed some time. Then I put the phone down without explaining further.

I did not want to turn my private uncertainty into a conversation with someone who had no way to help me understand it.

The phone remained quiet for several minutes.

I stood near the window, watching the sunlight move across the floor. I had been measuring the morning by every passing minute, as if the clock could force me to reach a decision.

It could not.

Eventually, I returned to the desk and picked up the paper I had written on earlier.

The two headings were still there.

What I know.

What I don't know.

I read them once more, then put the paper away.

I was tired of examining the same questions without taking a step toward an answer.

If I wanted to understand Carter's part in this morning, I would have to speak to him.

I could not make that conversation painless by postponing it.

I could only decide how I would enter it.

I picked up my phone and pressed his name.

The ringing sounded louder than it should have.

For one moment, I almost ended the call.

Then Carter answered.

"Rachel?"

His voice sounded familiar, and the familiarity brought an unexpected rush of emotion. I had spent the morning trying to imagine what I would feel when I heard him again.

I had not expected to feel so much at once.

"Hi," I said.

"What's going on? I've been waiting to hear from you."

I held the phone more tightly.

"Something happened this morning."

"What do you mean?"

I looked at the mirror across the room.

"Someone shaved my head while I was asleep."

The silence on the other end lasted long enough for me to notice the faint sound of movement behind his voice.

Then Carter spoke.

"What?"

"My hair. It's been shaved off. It's uneven, and I've got a small cut near my ear."

"Rachel, are you serious?"

"Yes."

"Who did that?"

"I don't know. That's why I'm calling you."

I waited.

I wanted to hear concern. I wanted him to ask whether I was all right, whether I needed help, or whether someone had hurt me beyond the cut.

Instead, he asked another question.

"What are you going to do about the wedding?"

The words landed more heavily than I expected.

I looked down at my hand.

"I haven't decided."

"But the ceremony is supposed to happen today."

"I know what day it is, Carter."

"I'm not saying you don't. I'm saying we have people waiting and arrangements that have already been made."

I closed my eyes.

I had known the wedding would become part of the conversation. I had not expected it to arrive before he had asked whether I was safe.

"Someone did something to me without my permission," I said. "I'm trying to understand what happened."

"I understand that, but we need to be practical."

Practical.

The word reminded me of all the times I had set aside a concern because discussing it seemed inconvenient.

I forced myself to keep my voice level.

"I need you to listen to me before we talk about the ceremony."

"I'm listening."

"Do you know anything about what happened to my hair?"

"No. Of course I don't."

His answer came quickly.

I could not tell whether that meant he was offended by the question or simply surprised.

"I didn't say you did it," I replied. "I asked whether you knew anything."

"Why would I know anything about that?"

"I don't know. I'm asking because I don't know who was responsible."

He exhaled sharply.

"Rachel, this is a terrible situation, but you can't start accusing people without a reason."

"I haven't accused you."

"You just asked if I knew anything."

"Because you're the person I'm supposed to marry."

The sentence came out quieter than I intended.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

I could hear him breathing through the phone.

Then he said, "I'm trying to figure out how we can still have a wedding today."

I looked at the garment bag.

I had spent the morning wondering whether I could trust him. Now I was beginning to understand that I also needed to know whether he could hear me when my needs interfered with his plans.

"Carter, I can't promise you that the wedding will happen today."

He went quiet.

"What does that mean?"

"It means I haven't made up my mind."

"After everything we've planned?"

"Yes."

I waited for him to ask what I needed.

Instead, he reminded me how much time and effort had gone into the day.

I listened until he finished.

Then I told him I needed some time to think, and I ended the call before the conversation could turn into another argument about the schedule.

My hands were trembling.

I placed the phone on the desk and sat down.

I had not learned who had shaved my head. Carter had denied knowing anything, and I had no evidence that contradicted him.

But the conversation had given me something else to consider.

When I told him I had been hurt, he had been more concerned about the wedding than about me.

Perhaps he had been shocked.

Perhaps he had been frightened by the possibility that everything might fall apart.

I could acknowledge those possibilities without pretending his response had not hurt.

I looked at the clock.

The morning was moving forward, whether I was ready or not.

For the first time, I understood that the decision before me was not simply whether to wear the dress.

It was whether I could enter a marriage while already feeling that my voice mattered less than the plans surrounding it.

I did not have an answer yet.

But I had finally asked the question aloud.

Click here to continue reading: PART 14: The Difference Between Love and Pressure