Stuck with You: A ONE WEEK Novella

  Stuck with You

  A ONE WEEK Novella

  Roya Carmen

  Stuck with You - A ONE WEEK Novella

  Roya Carmen

  Stuck with You © Roya Carmen, 2019

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976. Copyright property of the author. No part of this content may be reproduced or distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes without prior written permission from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters and locations are either the product of the author’s imagination, or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, events or locales, is purely coincidental.

  Cover design and formatting: Calico Images

  Editing: CKMS Media

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  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Blurb

  Part I

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Part II

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Part III

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Epilogue

  A note from the author:

  About the Author

  Also by Roya Carmen

  The Ground Rules - Excerpt - Chapter One

  Acknowledgements

  Sometimes, two people have to fall apart to realize how much they need to fall back together. - Unknown

  Blurb

  Stuck with You

  A ONE WEEK Novella.

  Corrie MacMillan has been through a lot these past few years. Feeling down in the dumps, she packs up and gets away for a bit — her friends have lent her their beach cottage for a week. Corrie is looking forward to getting off the grid and having a quiet week with her two Pomeranians. On the week’s agenda: journal, walk on the beach, paint, read, relax and reflect on life.

  Unfortunately, her plans hit a snag when she finds her soon-to-be ex, Jacob, at the cottage too. Turns out they’ve been double booked.

  Jacob is as pig-headed as she is, and neither one of them is willing to give up the cottage. Ultimately, they decide that they can co-exist as long as there are a few rules in place. They both promise to behave.

  But when Corrie catches the sexy carpenter neighbor’s eye, Jacob gets a little jealous. Turns out he’s not so good at keeping promises.

  And apparently, Corrie’s not as over Jacob as she thought she was.

  Part I

  1

  “So how are the puppies,” Dr. Riley asks, an obvious attempt to make small talk and distract me from the very uncomfortable fact that she’s sticking a very cold steel contraption up my wha-hoo.

  I stare at my polka-dot sock clad feet pressed against the cold stirrups. “Um… they’re… good,” I reply, trying to focus on the conversation and not the fact that she’s now sticking a super long Q-tip in my sacred place — I hate pap smears but they’re a necessary evil. “Abby’s her moody self as usual, and I caught Baxter in my shoe closet again.”

  She laughs. “Oh, did he do any damage?” she asks with concern.

  Now I’m not only uncomfortable, but also peeved at the memory. “Oh, yeah. He destroyed my new studded T strap pumps.”

  Her eyes grow wide. “Oh my…”

  “They were my favorites,” I tell her, making sure she understands the gravity of the situation.

  She shakes her head as she wipes me up with an oversized paper towel. “I don’t know how you young ladies walk on those heels.”

  I smile. I love the fact that in her eyes, I’m still young. “Well, I’m no spring chicken,” I point out as I sit up. “As you know, I’m pushing thirty-seven.”

  “That’s young,” she says. “And you look great.”

  I swing my legs over the examination table and stare down at my very unfashionable paper dress. “Thank you… I needed that. I’ve been feeling like an old hag lately.”

  She takes a seat across from me, plops her rear down on her swivel chair. “You’re young and healthy, Corrie,” she reminds me. “Although I’d love to see you put on a few pounds. You lose just one or two pounds and you’ll find yourself officially underweight.”

  I blow out a breath. “It’s been tough… with the divorce and all,” I confess. “I have no appetite.” For many women, depression causes weight gain but for me it’s the opposite.

  Her eyes are full of concern when she asks, “And you’re still sure you don’t want to look into a mild antidepressant?”

  I nod. I’ve been on happy pills before but the side effects weren’t worth the slight rise in my mood. “No, I’ve been doing everything you suggested. Exercise… seeing my friends. I even took up art,” I tell her. “My friend, Gabbie, lent me some of her supplies.”

  Dr. Riley’s face lights up. “I’m glad to hear it. You’ve been through a lot. Divorce is not an easy process… I should know.” Her smile falls. “And infertility is crushing, and the fact that you’ve decided not to have children… that’s a tough thing to accept. You need to mourn the loss of those children, even if they never existed.”

  A painful lump slides up my throat threatening to break me apart. The last few times I’ve been in Dr. Riley’s office, I’ve balled my eyes out. I’m determined not to lose it this time. My voice cracks at the edges when I say, “Thank you, Dr. Riley. I really appreciate all you do for me.”

  “It’s my pleasure, Corrie.” She shoots me one of her bright contagious smiles. “Keep in touch.” And then in a flash, she’s out the door — busy lady.

  I scramble back into my clothes; skinny jeans, red peep-toe heels and a flowy silky white top. I love June, when you can start wearing spring and summer styles. I grab my red purse and hurry out of the office, so glad to be done with my appointment. I wave bye to the receptionist as I leave the doctor’s office.

  About a dozen people are waiting for the elevator — it’s a busy Wednesday. When it finally pings and opens, we all hurry inside. I’m shoved and squished at the rear, my face pressed against the back of a giant man. I always feel like a kid in elevators — everyone towers over me.

  The elevator stops at another floor. “Is there room?” a woman asks.

  “No there isn’t!” I want to scream, but of course I don’t. As she wiggles in, the giant man presses harder against me, flattening my face, his big behind a bulky shelf for my tiny breasts. The last time I was this close to a man was when I last had sex with Jacob — forty-eight days ago. I don’t know why I’ve been counting the days. I suppose I’m having a tough time getting over my soon-to-be ex.

  The elevator dings again. I hear a man’s voice. “Can ya’ll let me squeeze in?” I roll my eyes as I get flattened even more. A tin of sardines is what we are.

  When the elevator dings once more, I worry I might lose my mind — we can’t possibly fit another soul. “You reckon you have room for a little old lady?”

  “Nooooo,” I call out. “For the love of God, we can’t fit you in, lady. Sorry.”

  Oops… did I say that out loud?

  “Sorry,” a man says apologetically and as the doors close slowly, a heaviness fills the elevator. Still pressed against the giant man’s bac
k, I can still spot the evil eyes people are shooting me.

  C’mon, people.

  But seriously, why do people insist on shoving into elevators, no matter how cramped they are? Room for one more?

  Hell, no.

  When I finally escape the elevator, I inhale a deep breath of air. Thankfully, the day is only going up from here. I’m going home to see my puppies, and then I’ve got a coffee date with my best friends. Life could be worse.

  * * *

  I usually scribble down in my journal so hard, I leave impressions on the next pages. It’s not your typical journal… it’s more of a rant book. Abby and Baxter are both staring at me sweetly — they are, like most dogs, fascinated by pretty much everything I do. And they love to sit at my feet when I stretch out on the sofa.

  Today’s rants:

  Why is there so much yapping on FM radio? I thought that was what AM radio was for. Who do I need to blow to hear some fucking music already?

  People… the car engineers did not put those blinkers in just because they like pretty blinking lights. Use your fucking signals already.

  Why are speculums so damn cold? It’s bad enough getting the thing stuffed up your girly bits. The least doctors could do is warm them up a little.

  Elevators stuffers. People…. have some common courtesy already. No, we can’t stuff ‘just another person’. We have no desire to get intimate with your various sweaty, occasionally smelly body parts. So rude.

  I throw my journal on the coffee table with a huff. “That feels much better,” I tell the kids (Abby and Baxter). Yes, I have a seriously low tolerance for other humans, and a very short fuse. Jacob used to always say I was like a grouchy old man in the body of the sexiest woman he’d ever met. Sigh. He’d always call me Grouchy Geezer. I can’t remember the last time he said that to me.

  I hate that I miss him.

  My cell sings, and when I pick it up and see his name on the screen, my silly heart skips a beat, despite the fact that I really don’t want to speak to him. I just want him to move on and leave me alone. Admittedly, a big part of me doesn’t really want that, but the pragmatic side of me knows it would be for the best, for both of us.

  “Hello,” I deadpan.

  “Hey, Corrie,” he says. I used to love his smooth sexy voice, but now I kind of hate it. Every time I speak to him on the phone, it pulls at me. “What are you up today?”

  I exhale. “Uh… well, if you must know, I had a doctor’s appointment and I’m heading for coffee with the girls.”

  “Is everything all right?” he asks. “Why did you see the doctor?”

  “Just a routine checkup, Jacob,” I reassure him.

  “That’s good to hear,” he says. “I’m doing great too. Not that you asked, but I thought I’d keep you in the loop. The leg’s almost one hundred percent. But the physio is a killer.”

  He always does this. He calls me, and tells me his whole life story. How am I supposed to move on? Don’t get me wrong… I do care, especially since I’m the one who took care of him after his motorcycle accident. Just as we were about to jump into divorce proceedings, he goes and gets himself thrown off that stupid bike.

  “Did you get rid of it yet?” I ask.

  He laughs. “Nope. Actually, I was just shining it up today. It’s a great day for a ride.”

  I roll my eyes. “You’ll never learn.”

  “You’re probably right,” he concedes.

  “So as much as I’m enjoying this lovely conversation, what do you want, Jacob?”

  “I need to set up a meeting with Greg to go over our finances?” he tells me. “I know you hate that stuff, but you should really be there.”

  I sigh. I’m really not in the mood for a meeting with our financial advisor. Being an attorney, Jacob is very good at making sense of all those statements. It’s always been over my head. Yet I’m very happy to see that he’s not dragging his heels anymore, that he’s finally moving the process along. He’s been pushing it back forever, not willing to accept the fact that I want a divorce.

  “Okay, text me the time and place, and I’ll let you know if it’s good,” I tell him. “I need to go now,” I add briskly and end the call.

  Abby and Baxter are both staring at me curiously.

  “Yep… that was your boyfriend, Abby,” I tell her and her little pointy ears perk up. Jacob’s never been a big fan of my babies, but little Abby is madly in love with him. Despite his objections, she’d always follow him around and cuddle up close to him. Jacob’s more of a big dog person (Pomeranians are not his thing), but I know he secretly loves her.

  I check the time on my phone and realize that I’m running late. I scurry to get myself together. Abby and Baxter shoot me sad little faces — they know I’m heading out and they make me feel guilty about it every time.

  “I won’t be long,” I tell them and blow them air kisses as I step out the door.

  2

  The scent of freshly baked goods permeates the café, and I’m compelled to buy a blueberry muffin with my latte. The place is quiet, as it usually is on a weekday afternoon. I spot Gabbie, already sitting at the back, in our usual spot in front of the fireplace, and we wave hello. I’m sure Kayla is milling about in the back — her fiancé owns the place.

  Just as I’m about to pay, Kayla pops out of the back. “Don’t let her give you a cent,” she tells the young lady at the cash register. She rounds the corner and swoops in for a hug.

  As we head to our table, the doorbell clangs and Maeve makes an appearance, all smiles. We are all thrilled to see her because she now lives two hours away, and we don’t get to see her as often as we’d like.

  Hugs all around, and we take a seat on the sofa and two cozy arm chairs.

  I smile at little Charlotte, who is sitting in her stroller, hugging a juice bottle. She has her mother’s big brown eyes and wavy dark hair. “She’s so darn adorable,” I tell Gabbie.

  She smiles. “Thank you. She’s a lot of work, but she’s worth it.”

  Gabbie is very lucky. She has three beautiful kids; two with her first husband, a girl and a boy, and Charlotte, whom she had with her new husband, Eli, or Mr. Perfect, as we like to call him behind her back. She truly has it all.

  I enjoy a sip of my latte, dig into my muffin, and pull my gaze away from Charlotte. Kayla and Maeve are already in full chat mode, talking about Maeve’s clothing store and sharing entrepreneur battles. Kayla is swamped these days; she’s a massage therapist, she teaches yoga, and now she owns a coffee shop too. Gabbie, like me, is a homemaker. She paints, and I make jewelry. We’re both creative.

  “So who’s manning the store?” Gabbie asks.

  Maeve blows out a breath. “We just hired a new girl… Jessica. She’s great. I’ve got two girls helping me out now,” she says, full of excitement. “And I’ll need it because…”

  Gabbie and Kayla are both sitting at the edge of their seats. “Because?” Kayla says. “Because why?”

  A huge grin practically splits Maeve’s face in two, and I suddenly realize that she’s glowing. “Because I’m pregnant,” she announces. “Three months along.”

  Kayla and Gabbie both immediately swoop in for a hug. “Congratulations!” Gabbie cheers. “I’m so happy for you and Blake. It’s the best thing you’ll ever do.”

  As she pulls away and leans back to her seat, she catches my expression and her smile fades. Her big brown eyes are apologetic. She realizes what she’s just said, and regrets it. She doesn’t know what to say now I’m sure. Neither do I.

  I’m happy for Maeve. I really am, but I’m also devastated. I stand slowly and reach for her. I give her the best squeeze I can manage. “Congratulations, Maeve. That baby is going to be the best looking human on the planet,” I add, and everyone laughs.

  I settle back on the sofa. “Seriously, I can’t wait to see him… or her.”

  Gabbie is quiet now, averting my gaze.

  “I didn’t even realize you two’ve been trying,” Kayla says.
“You’ve been holding out on us, girl.”

  Maeve laughs. “Well, you know how I can be a bit of a ditz sometimes. It was an accident… I’ve been forgetting to take my pill.”

  An accident?

  “Uh-oh,” Kayla says. “How did Blake react when you told him you were pregnant?”

  She smiles. “He was over the moon. Everyone is. My mom… my sister, Mandy…”

  She goes on but I don’t hear her anymore. I hate feeling this way, but I’m completely devastated. I’m such a horrible person. I should be happy for my friend, but all I can focus on is how unfair life can be. She wasn’t even trying, just going on with her life, oblivious, and just like that… she gets knocked up. She’s young and healthy, and she has years to have a whole gaggle of little ducklings. And here I am, old and barren. Jacob and I have been trying for ages… and nothing. Even after my surgery to remove scar tissue from my tubes, we still weren’t successful.

  Suddenly, I feel sick. I stare at my half-eaten muffin and I have no desire for another bite. I hear their chatter but I don’t hear their words. I don’t want to be here anymore. I throw my hand against my face. “Oh… crap.”

  The chatter stops and they all turn to me, beckoning me to tell them what’s going on.