Chapter 3: Refusals and New Beginnings

When I was at the dealership with Natalie for a test drive, the delivery guy called me.

“Mr. Bennett, the recipient refused to accept the package. Should I send it back to you, or what should I do?”

The delivery guy sounded a bit troubled. Just as I was about to answer, Natalie grabbed the phone from me.

She flipped her ponytail and rolled her eyes, not bothering to lower her voice. “If she doesn’t want it, just toss it. She’s lucky she doesn’t have to move it herself.”

Natalie was annoyed. I sulked and said nothing more. The showroom smelled like new leather and coffee, sunlight bouncing off polished hoods. Natalie’s laughter cut through the hum of salesmen and ringing phones. When buying the car, I added a lot of extras according to Natalie’s wishes. Natalie liked cars, and so did I.

She trailed her fingers along the steering wheel, checking the leather stitching. “Babe, let’s get the upgraded sound system. You know I can’t live without my playlists.” Her grin was contagious, and soon I was piling on features I’d never have splurged for before. It felt good—decisive. Like being young again.

“When we pick up the car, let’s go on a road trip to celebrate.”

I nodded. I’d wanted this car for a long, long time. The first time I brought up changing cars, Rachel didn’t even ask—she just refused.

She’d closed her laptop with a sigh, her brow furrowed. “The gas mileage is terrible, and it’s not practical. If you have to get one, at least look at a hybrid.”

In Rachel’s eyes, practicality was everything. But Natalie wasn’t like that. She supported all my decisions, and we had so many hobbies in common. Natalie was a woman of action. That night, she’d already mapped out our road trip route. When I came out of the shower, she had just closed her laptop.

She grinned, sliding her phone across the coffee table to show me a color-coded Google map. “We’ll hit Nashville, Memphis, and New Orleans—eat barbecue every night. I even found a couple of those weird Airbnbs you like.” She snuggled closer, her bare toes curling under my thigh as she scrolled through photos.

“Babe, my parents want us to come over for dinner this weekend.”

Natalie never called me ‘babe’ before. Even in bed, she refused to use that word. She said only after I divorced Rachel could we truly be together—just like now. I pulled Natalie into my arms, excited and thrilled. Not exaggerating at all: if she wanted the stars, I’d find a way to get them for her.

Her giggle filled the room. “Maybe just a slice of chocolate cake at my parents’ place for now,” she teased, and I laughed too, not caring if the neighbors heard through the thin apartment walls.

I stared at the phone, the delivery guy’s words echoing. Why wouldn’t she want her things? Was she really that eager to cut me out? I told myself it didn’t matter, but something sharp twisted in my chest.