black-and-white maxi dress I picked for tonight. It has spaghetti straps and shows off a fair amount of cleavage. Emma would be proud. I’m not sure where we are going, but I know I want to look presentable…at least on the outside.
"What are you going to do about Mr. Cocky tonight? You getting in his bed ?" She perks a questioning eyebrow.
"I have no idea," I sigh.
"It’s been a while since you were with someone, huh?" she asks jokingly, but for a split second, a flashback hits me so hard that it steals not only my breath, but also my every thought.
Seven Years Earlier…
"GET OUT!" I scream.
"Jesus, calm down!" Brett pleads, dodging the plate I just hurled across the room.
"Why the fuck would you do this?" I yell. The pain in my chest amplifies the anger in my tone.
"Because it’s our anniversary. Because I love you. Because I fucking miss you. Take your pick." He swings his arms out to his sides in frustration.
"So, what now? What are you hoping to accomplish with this?" I wave my hand over the beautifully decorated table.
Everything, from the china to the prime rib, is the exact replica of our table the night we got married. He even had a small cake decorated to match the top tier of our wedding cake. I should be laughing and crying at the sentimental gesture. But as I stare at it now, the emptiness I feel in the memory enrages me. I remember picking out the original cake like it was yesterday.
Brett loved peanut butter cake more than anything else, but the brown icing was ugly as all hell. So I had the bakery make a special peanut butter cake just for him but cover it in white icing so it would match my vision for the day. You should have seen my mother’s disgust when I told her the flavors I chose. However, that cake was us. I was always the free spirit, while Brett was focused and career-driven. Yet, just like that cake, we fit together despite everyone else’s expectations. It just worked.
"I was hoping it would remind you of happier times," he bites out when his overflowing emotions flip to anger from my rejection.
"Jesus Christ, I remember. I just don’t care!" I say the words honestly, but I didn’t mean for them to be the verbal knife that twists in his gut.
He swallows hard, and it’s more than I can take to witness his reaction. He will never understand how much I want to be the person he remembers—the person I remember. Instead, I feel so distant and removed. I’m completely alone, even though there is a beautiful man standing in front of me, begging me to love him.
"So, you remember sobbing your entire way through your vows?" he asks as tears prick his eyes.
I can’t do this with him again. I can’t watch him melt down—again. I’m not his wife anymore.
"I want a divorce," I say as my own tears begin to fall.
"So, you remember dragging me into the employee lounge at the reception just because you couldn’t wait a minute longer to make love to your husband?" he asks roughly, planting his hands on his hips.
"Please don’t do this. I don’t remember these things the same way you do. Just stop," I beg. My memories don’t pain me, but hearing his memories destroys me. I want to be Sarah Sharp again. However, just figuring out the Sarah part is hard enough.
He continues as if his words can force me to feel something. "So, you remember holding me so tight during our first dance that you joked that we were going to meld together?"
Suddenly, my frustration with the whole fucking situation overtakes me. "What do you want from me? Lies? I fucking hate that you do this to me. You can’t make me feel it, so I’d rather just forget every single minute of the past with you. Every tear. Every kiss. Every fuck! I want to erase it all. Maybe then you will leave me the hell alone. I am not that woman anymore. No matter how hard you fucking try, no amount of cake or fancy dinners in the world will make me magically come back to you."
My chest is heaving, but if Brett heard me at all, he
"What are you going to do about Mr. Cocky tonight? You getting in his bed ?" She perks a questioning eyebrow.
"I have no idea," I sigh.
"It’s been a while since you were with someone, huh?" she asks jokingly, but for a split second, a flashback hits me so hard that it steals not only my breath, but also my every thought.
Seven Years Earlier…
"GET OUT!" I scream.
"Jesus, calm down!" Brett pleads, dodging the plate I just hurled across the room.
"Why the fuck would you do this?" I yell. The pain in my chest amplifies the anger in my tone.
"Because it’s our anniversary. Because I love you. Because I fucking miss you. Take your pick." He swings his arms out to his sides in frustration.
"So, what now? What are you hoping to accomplish with this?" I wave my hand over the beautifully decorated table.
Everything, from the china to the prime rib, is the exact replica of our table the night we got married. He even had a small cake decorated to match the top tier of our wedding cake. I should be laughing and crying at the sentimental gesture. But as I stare at it now, the emptiness I feel in the memory enrages me. I remember picking out the original cake like it was yesterday.
Brett loved peanut butter cake more than anything else, but the brown icing was ugly as all hell. So I had the bakery make a special peanut butter cake just for him but cover it in white icing so it would match my vision for the day. You should have seen my mother’s disgust when I told her the flavors I chose. However, that cake was us. I was always the free spirit, while Brett was focused and career-driven. Yet, just like that cake, we fit together despite everyone else’s expectations. It just worked.
"I was hoping it would remind you of happier times," he bites out when his overflowing emotions flip to anger from my rejection.
"Jesus Christ, I remember. I just don’t care!" I say the words honestly, but I didn’t mean for them to be the verbal knife that twists in his gut.
He swallows hard, and it’s more than I can take to witness his reaction. He will never understand how much I want to be the person he remembers—the person I remember. Instead, I feel so distant and removed. I’m completely alone, even though there is a beautiful man standing in front of me, begging me to love him.
"So, you remember sobbing your entire way through your vows?" he asks as tears prick his eyes.
I can’t do this with him again. I can’t watch him melt down—again. I’m not his wife anymore.
"I want a divorce," I say as my own tears begin to fall.
"So, you remember dragging me into the employee lounge at the reception just because you couldn’t wait a minute longer to make love to your husband?" he asks roughly, planting his hands on his hips.
"Please don’t do this. I don’t remember these things the same way you do. Just stop," I beg. My memories don’t pain me, but hearing his memories destroys me. I want to be Sarah Sharp again. However, just figuring out the Sarah part is hard enough.
He continues as if his words can force me to feel something. "So, you remember holding me so tight during our first dance that you joked that we were going to meld together?"
Suddenly, my frustration with the whole fucking situation overtakes me. "What do you want from me? Lies? I fucking hate that you do this to me. You can’t make me feel it, so I’d rather just forget every single minute of the past with you. Every tear. Every kiss. Every fuck! I want to erase it all. Maybe then you will leave me the hell alone. I am not that woman anymore. No matter how hard you fucking try, no amount of cake or fancy dinners in the world will make me magically come back to you."
My chest is heaving, but if Brett heard me at all, he
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