Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 89238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
“That last one sounds like your wife.”
I slow my pace as we near the bridge, absorbing that observation for a moment. “That’s true. They have a lot in common,” I say, maybe smiling, maybe sounding a little hooked. Or a lot. “This run with you this morning—it was Elodie’s idea,” I say, giving him more insight into why I’m able to run with him.
“And you’re letting this woman get away at the end of the year?” he says.
It’s like a punch in the gut—the reminder of the end of the year.
“I can’t keep her just because she helps out with the kids…I mean, my kid.”
“But it sounds like you meant kids plural.” That’s the problem with having a therapist as a friend. They can read between the lines far too well.
“Look, it’s nice, all right? There. Are you happy?”
“Aww, was it hard for you to admit your feelings?”
“Nope. It’s more than nice. It’s great,” I say easily, just to prove I can talk about my emotions, even if they’re going nowhere. But I don’t want to spend too much time on things I can’t have so I take a detour. “Business is going great.”
I barely want to breathe this out loud, but I’m finally feeling like the security I’ve been seeking is in my grasp. “I’ve got a meeting with Celeste later in the month about the second location. I still need to make sure my ideas for her are amazing.”
The truth is I haven’t really added any marketing ideas beyond the fairy lights. Beyond the games. I probably should. I definitely should. But I’ve been having too much fun with the girls and with the woman in my brother’s house to think about more than them.
“I’m sure you’ll impress her,” Monroe says as we reach the mouth of the bridge, weaving past other morning warriors as we run through the fog. “And all I can say is this domestic life is treating you well.”
It is. But soon it won’t. Soon it’ll end. A weight sinks in my gut. I don’t want to think about the end of the year. “What about you? What about the crush you’ve had on your fellow podcaster for years?” I ask, turning the convo back on him.
Monroe’s brow knits, like I’ve tossed him a math problem he can’t untangle. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Juliet. I listen to the two of you. You have that frenemies vibe,” I say.
“You listen to me. That’s so sweet.”
“Don’t change the subject,” I say.
“Don’t you change the subject. What are you going to do at the end of this year, Gage?”
There it is again. The inevitable end. The end we’ve always been moving toward since before we were married. Since we were just fake fiancés.
But it’s an end I want less and less each day.
I drag a hand through my hair as my lungs work hard, my breath coming fast.
The end of the year is the expiration date I don’t want to face. “I’ll figure it out,” I say as casually as I can. “There’s a lot happening before then. In a week I’ll be taking a trip with Eliza when she finishes the semester. I always take her to Darling Springs for the night. She loves it there.”
Monroe shudders at the mention of the small town along the coast.
“Come on. Your hometown isn’t that bad,” I say.
“Maybe,” he grumbles.
But as I think about the annual trip, for the first time I feel like something is missing. Or maybe someone.
I run harder, faster through the fog on the bridge, and as I peel off the miles I start to wonder—what if we don’t end? And what can I do to romance my wife before time runs out?
34
THE MESSY ME
Elodie
I walk Amanda and Eliza to school, and the girls do what girls often do—speak in their own language with acronyms and did you see this, and I have to show you that. Eliza is telling Amanda she can teach her to make soap, which leads to them bent over phones, watching time-lapse soap-making videos, then Amanda tells Eliza she can take her to the pottery studio again that afternoon, then Eliza asks if she’s heard from the art school.
“Just a few more days,” Amanda says, and I can tell she’s trying to be stoic but she’s barely hiding real nerves.
“I can’t wait to celebrate,” Eliza says, ever the cheerleader.
Amanda’s school comes first, so I wave goodbye to her—hugs are verboten—and then I echo, “Just a few more days.”
She offers a hopeful smile, then says to Eliza, “Ally and I are getting boba after school. Want to come with us?”
Eliza says yes so fast.
Over the next eight blocks, Eliza’s a chatterbox. I barely get a word in edgewise, but I don’t need to since she’s rolling on, telling me about a new TV show she found to stream, then how someone in her class got a hedgehog and named it Gary, and then there’s a new glove she wants for softball, and before we know it, we’re at her school.