Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 157175 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157175 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
I yank the cupboard open and search for the coffee. Finally, I locate it, pour it in, and fiddle with the stupid fucking machine, cursing my way through it. I don’t even know how to work the fucking thing. I don’t know if I’ve done it right, but I switch it on, hoping for the best, and silently will it to hurry the hell up to rid the kitchen of the god-awful quiet.
I collect a cup, add milk, and then tap my fingers impatiently on the worktop while I wait, scowling down at my scuffed knuckles. My eyeballs feel like they’re being scratched every time I blink, my lack of sleep catching up with me. I think I got an hour last night. An hour slumped in the chair by our bed, the rest of the night spent watching her sleep, desperate to crawl in behind her and cuddle her in my usual fierce way. But I dared not.
As I pour coffee, I hear my phone from across the kitchen. I fetch it and answer without looking at the screen. ‘Morning, Elizabeth.’
‘How are things? She settled in okay?’ Her voice sounds as desperate as I’m feeling.
No. And things are fucking awful. ‘As well as can be expected,’ I say. ‘How are the twins?’
‘Joseph has taken them to the driving range. We’ve got lots planned – surfing, crabbing, fishing.’
I smile as I sip some caffeine down. ‘Thanks, Elizabeth. I really appreciate you doing this.’ I don’t think I’ve ever sounded so sincere when speaking to my mother-in-law.
‘Oh, Jesse.’ Her voice cracks under the pressure to remain strong, and for the first time in my existence, I wish she were here so I could give her a hug.
‘Listen to me,’ I say as sternly as I can muster. ‘You’ve known me for twelve years, Elizabeth. So you should know that I’m not going to let those years slip away like they were never there.’
She coughs over a little laugh, sniffling. ‘I know we’re both terribly silly with our bickering, but you do know I adore you, Jesse Ward.’
On the inside, I’m toasty warm with appreciation, and yes, I did know that deep down. But at the risk of breaking down, too, I’m forced to pull my arrogant self back to the surface. I can’t cry on Ava’s mother. She’s depending on me. I can’t cry on anyone. ‘Yeah, well, my heart belongs to another.’
‘Oh, stop.’ She laughs, and it’s so good to hear. ‘You’re still a menace.’
‘And you’re still a pain in my fucking arse, Mum. Look after my babies.’
‘Okay.’ She doesn’t argue, doesn’t even question my order. ‘Keep in touch, won’t you?’
‘Every day,’ I assure her, hanging up and sliding my phone onto the counter, my shoulders immediately dropping. The energy to be strong is draining me. How long can I keep this up?
On a sigh, I wander over to the fridge and pull it open, snatching down some peanut butter from the shelf. I remain where I am, just set on having a couple of scoops, something familiar and comforting in this foreign world.
A few minutes later, I’m halfway through the jar.
‘Morning.’ Her soft, unsure voice hits me like a cricket bat in the back of the head, and I whirl around with my finger in my mouth to find her at the entrance to the kitchen, her hands playing nervously where they’re linked together at her midriff. The lace nightwear has been covered with a cream satin dressing gown, her dark hair fanning her shoulders. She’s a vision. And I can’t touch her.
I suck my finger clean and swallow, quickly screwing the lid back on as she frowns down at my hands.
‘Peanut butter?’ she questions. Is that humour in her tone? Would now be a good time to tell her that one of her favourite pastimes is smothering her boobs in it and letting me indulge in my two favourite things all at once?
‘It’s a vice.’ I put it back in the fridge and grab some orange juice, pouring her a glass, nervous and shaky in my movements. ‘Did you sleep well?’ Not once in twelve years of marriage have I ever had to ask that question. Because I’ve always been right by her side, aware when she’s sleeping peacefully or when she’s fidgeting because something is on her mind.
‘Not really.’ She pads towards me and takes the glass from my hands, smiling a little, before settling on a stool at the island. ‘It felt like something was missing.’ She looks away, as if ashamed to admit it. ‘I’ve concluded that it must have been you.’
What? Hope flourishes within me again, and I’m not sure whether to welcome it or not. With no hope, there can be no disappointment. But I can’t help it. Moving to the stool beside her, I take a seat. ‘Ava, you should know that—’