No shit…
“I know that. It’s just hard. Drew is in Vegas, and I am going back to Dawson, aren’t I?”
“You may be going back to him, but the first chance you get, you’ll end up fucking him again. You know it, and I know it.”
“Shhhh,” I demanded, looking around the plane.
“You need to tell Dawson what you did, and let him decide.”
“I can’t, Lauren. I can’t hurt him any more than I already have.”
Lauren shook her head. She was disgusted with me, and I felt for the first time that she was looking down on me. I hated that our fun week was ending this way. I hated myself for jumping in bed with Drew. I didn’t jump I freaking dove. I lost all hope as soon as I saw him. Bottom line, I was pathetic.
***
Dawson was there through my first trimester. He
had gone to all three appointments with me. I truly did hope that he turned out to be the father. He was so excited.
I was almost tempted to tell Drew that I did have the paternity test, and the DNA was a perfect match to Dawson’s. Dawson would have raised it as his own, no matter what the outcome was. I knew he would. I didn’t do that, however. I may be crazy, but I wasn’t quite that crazy---Yet.
Lauren had forgiven me and was back to waking me up too early and helping herself to my food. Dawson pretty much lived at my house, and Drew had probably moved onto Celeste. I didn’t care. Yes I did. No, no, I didn’t. It was better if he had. I knew that we needed to talk and start the divorce procedures. I was procrastinating. I guess I felt like once I did that, it was done, which should have been what I wanted, but it wasn’t.
I hadn’t spoken to Drew for almost three months other than the occasional emails that he sent about business that I didn’t know anything about. I emailed him more than once and told him to do what he wanted, and that was why I had signed the power of attorney.
Dawson was raking leaves one evening when I was about five months pregnant. I walked back in the house to talk to Drew. He knew who it was and gave me a look, but continued to rake while I disappeared into the house.
“I need you to fly to Kingston,” he blurted without so much as a hello, how are you, how’s the baby?
“Kingston? Kingston what?” I asked.
“Canada. I just purchased a very prestigious jewelry store there, and I need you to sign some papers.”
“I’m not flying to Canada, Drew. Why can’t you do it? And furthermore, what the hell are you doing buying more stores? Don’t you have enough already?”
“I couldn’t pass it up. I can’t do it. I need your signature on this.”
“Drew. I can’t just pick up and fly to Canada.”
“Why?”
“Because, I have a life too,” I stated. Geesh.
“Morgan, I need you to do this. You can fly in and right back out. I will send a plane for you.”
“When, Drew?” I asked annoyed.
“Next Thursday.”
“I’m going to have to call you back and let you know.”
“Why do you need to let me know? Do you need permission?”
“Fuck you, Drew. I don’t think you want to talk about asking permission,” I replied. How dare him. I had to ask his fucking permission to go to the library. I wasn’t about to take his shit, not for one second.
“There will be a driver there to pick you up next Thursday. I will email you the details.”
“I’m not going to Canada, Drew,” I demanded to myself. He was gone, and his name was blinking across my screen.
“Well, what did he want now?” Dawson asked, coming in.
I was still standing there with my blank face, trying to make heads or tails out of Drew’s demands.
“He needs me to fly to Canada and sign for a new property.”
“No.”
“No?” I asked, now annoyed with him. Why the hell couldn’t people realize that I was twenty seven fucking years old?
“I’m not letting you go there alone, Morgan,” he demanded.
“Then go with me.”
What the fuck? I didn’t want him to go with me.
Where the hell did that come from?
“When?” he asked.
“Next Thursday.”
“I can’t. Matt is taking next week off. Reschedule it for the next week and I will.”
I knew that wouldn’t work. Drew didn’t wait on anyone. It was always on his terms.
“I’ll see what I can do,” I lied. I wasn’t even going to mention it to him.
I checked my email religiously for the next five days, and every day there was nothing. I had even told Dawson that he must have changed his mind.
I got the email late Wednesday night. Dawson was in the shower, and I checked it for about the hundredth time since I had last spoke to him.
“Driver will be there at nine in the morning.”
“Really Drew? You expect me to just jump on a plane with a twelve hour notice?” I emailed right back.
“You had five days’ notice.”