Total pages in book: 225
Estimated words: 218500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1093(@200wpm)___ 874(@250wpm)___ 728(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 218500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1093(@200wpm)___ 874(@250wpm)___ 728(@300wpm)
I ate my dinner over the sink, did the dishes, and watched some television alone while mindlessly scrolling on my phone after that. And now I’m on my side of the bed, he’s on his.
“Goodnight,” I say softly, but it sort of comes out like a question.
“Goodnight,” he replies without turning over to kiss me.
The chasm between us has never been more gaping.
“Are you marinating?” Adam asks a while later.
He knows I’m not asleep.
I clear my throat.
“Well…” I start.
“Keep doing it. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
“I just-”
“Chloe, please. Do what I ask. Think about it. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
I bite my tongue. Literally. I’m not going to be able to fall asleep any time soon. I’m going to toss and turn because he put this out there and won’t talk about it. And this is typical Adam.
It’s not the first time I’ve gotten exasperated with Adam always being the one to decide when we do and don’t get to talk about things. This isn’t a new problem. He’s been like this since the beginning. I used to point things like this out and he’d listen. Sometimes he’d compromise. Sometimes we’d agree to disagree. I know this is one of his character traits, but until six months ago, it never stopped me from standing up for myself.
Of course I’ve outwardly had the patience of a saint these last months as we’ve adjusted to a new reality. I’ve avoided things escalating into an argument at whatever cost.
I stare at his back. In less than ten minutes, his breathing evens out. He’s always been able to fall asleep in a snap.
I, however, stare into the void between us for half the night. I do it missing how we were together before the accident. I miss the closeness. I miss the banter. I miss our life and I miss who I was, too.
But this isn’t Adam’s fault. The accident changed everything about our lives, who he is, and what life will be like going forward. And it’s nobody’s fault. It’s just… life.
I’ve been unwavering in my commitment to finding the same happiness we’d have had if Adam’s world hadn’t blown apart when his car rolled multiple times after he lost control on an icy night after working late.
But tonight, staring at his back, I’ve allowed a small amount of bitterness to creep in. And now that I’ve done that, I’m worried that the dam might burst.
I set his coffee mug and bowl of oatmeal on the table and ask, “Fruit today or just plain?”
He doesn’t answer straight away; he’s got his eyes on his phone.
“Oh, I got more of those blueberries you like yesterday,” I add, but he still doesn’t look up.
“Hm?” he asks belatedly, then looks at his oatmeal and lifts his mug. “Oh, thanks.”
“So, what’s on tap today?” I ask. “Writing for money or pleasure?”
“If I ever get this novel done, maybe writing will become both.”
“Making progress with–” I start to ask, but he cuts me off.
“I don’t want to know about it when it happens, Chloe, but I just want to know you’ll do it. Accept my offer.”
“Adam,” I say and massage my temples, deflating.
He sets his phone down. “Just tell me you’ll accept my offer. Say it and then we can get on with our lives.”
“Oh, am I allowed to address this now?” I fire back, impatiently.
He looks taken aback. This might be the first time I’ve been coarse with him since the accident.
His eyes search my face.
“You’re angry with me,” he says.
“I’m not accepting an offer to cheat on you, Adam. Give me a break.” I spin to rinse the blueberries, turning the water on full blast over the pint.
“It’s not cheating if we come to an agreement. If you follow the rules I laid out,” he calls over. “I don’t want anyone to know about it, but… can you turn that off and sit with me a second, Chloe?”
I grind my teeth.
“Chloe?” he prompts.
I slap the lever down and tuck a plate under the fruit pint so I can carry it to the table without getting water everywhere.
“It’s not gonna happen, so might as well drop it.” I dump some blueberries into my oatmeal and nudge the pint his way. “Anyway, you did well this morning,” I change the subject the way he often does when he wants to shut a topic down. “Progress. You’re getting more and more ripped, too.” I plaster on what’s probably a poor attempt at a smile and run my hand along his bicep.
He’s got a great physique, always has. I’ve seen more definition in his upper body in the last few months because he’s working so hard at physical therapy. Although he’s worried about retaining muscle in his lower body, so maybe I shouldn’t have remarked on it. Heat floods my face and I worry his mood will take a dark turn. Not that his current mood is good either, but Adam’s dark moods are quiet. He doesn’t yell. He doesn’t pick fights. He just shuts down for long periods of time. And with all he’s been through, I’ve been doing my best to keep things light so that if a dark mood descends, it’s not my doing.