Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 98321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
“Maybe she just needs some time to work through the disappointment.”
“We don’t really have time. I’m telling you, this fertility stuff is such bullshit. You have to be so precise with the timing, and even then it might not work. What if I can’t deliver on the promise I made?”
“Then I guess you guys get a divorce and go your separate ways.” He glanced at me. “Wasn’t that the plan?”
“It was, but—I feel like I’m abandoning her or something. It’s fucked up.”
“Do you want to stay married even if she doesn’t get pregnant this month?”
My heart thudded hard. “I don’t know. If you’d have asked me a week ago, I might have said something different. We were having so much fun—she was happy. I was happy. There was a part of me that thought maybe we should stay together, but then this week is the total opposite. I feel angry and useless and pretty fucking miserable. Not as miserable as she is, but Christ . . .” I shook my head. “I’m remembering all the reasons why I never wanted to get married in the first place. She’s not talking to me. I have no idea if she wants me around or not. I’m too anxious to even touch her. We’re not fighting, but I even miss the goddamn fights.”
“I’m sorry, man. I wish I had some advice. Somehow I figured it out, but . . .” Griffin rubbed the back of his neck. “I feel like Blair must have done a lot of the work.”
“But how did you know?” I asked. “Seriously, how did you know you could do it, the whole marriage thing, just you and her for the rest of your lives? How did you know you would be good at it?”
“I didn’t,” he said with a shrug. “But it was either try it or lose her, and I knew I couldn’t lose her.”
I nodded, feeling even more confused and despondent. “I thought I’d like the certainty of knowing it would end at a certain point. Now it feels like the clock is ticking faster every day.”
“So what now?”
“I think we can try again middle of next week. She takes this pill for five days, which she’s doing now, and then we wait for five days, then we have sex every other day for like a week. I’m telling you, it’s like a fucking math problem trying to get this woman pregnant.”
Griffin chuckled. “Sounds like it.”
I said goodbye and got behind the wheel. As I drove home, I racked my brain, trying to think of something, anything, that would bring back the moxie of the old Bianca. I remembered our wedding night, how we’d sat up talking and drinking champagne and eating chocolates, how surprised I’d been when she whispered to me in the dark. I wanted that back.
On a whim, I turned around and headed back toward a drugstore that was still open. The champagne wouldn’t be high quality and the chocolates would be mass-produced, but maybe they’d make her smile. Maybe she’d get tipsy and open up a little bit. Maybe she’d invite me to kiss her, touch her, hold her. I didn’t need sex—although I wouldn’t turn it down—I just wanted to feel close to her again. I wanted to promise her everything would be okay and have her believe me.
And I wanted to keep that promise.
She was already in bed when I got home, but she wasn’t asleep. She was sitting up in bed reading, glasses on, makeup off, hair in a messy pile on top of her head. She wore the navy plaid flannel top, but unbuttoned this time, and under it a little white tank. The room smelled like her lavender body lotion—a scent I was now attached to.
“Hey,” I said, entering the room carrying a tray holding a bottle of sparkling strawberry wine, two glasses, and a box of chocolates shaped like a heart. “I brought you something.”
Her lips curved softly and she set her book aside. “What’s this?”
“It’s a picnic,” I said, “to celebrate our seven-week anniversary. I bet you didn’t even realize it was today.”
“I didn’t,” she confessed, watching me set the tray on the mattress.
“Well, lucky for you, I’m a romantic. And nothing says Happy Fake Seven Week Anniversary like some delicious jampagne and chocolate that’s probably left over from Valentine’s Day.”
That brought a little laugh. “Who could say no to that?”
I grabbed the wine bottle and popped the cork, which shot up and hit the ceiling, then landed directly in one of the wine glasses.
Bianca looked at it in surprise. “Impressive.”
“What did I tell you about my long shot, babe?” I plucked it out and poured her some sparkling pink wine. “I think that means our luck is about to change.”
She took the glass I handed her without comment.