Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 48032 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 240(@200wpm)___ 192(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48032 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 240(@200wpm)___ 192(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
In that prettier reality, he yanked my door open and demanded answers. Then he pulled me out to kiss me without permission, using his perfectly defined mouth to taste all the words I struggled to say.
His face appears in my mind again, clear as day, as he’s the type of beautiful that a person never forgets.
I wonder if he saw my face…
“Do you think he saw your face?” Nate’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts, and I realize he’s back, placing our to-go bags at my feet.
“What?” I look at him. “Who?”
“Mr. Lauren, our old neighbor with the cats.” He nods to an elderly man who is smoking by the door. “Do you think he remembers you?”
“No.” I shake my head. “I barely remember him.”
Nate turns off the hazard lights, but he doesn’t pull out of the lot. Instead, he leans over and tucks a few strands of hair behind my ear.
“I would like us to talk about something important, Autumn,” he says. “I think we both know how difficult a conversation it will be, but I guess it’s inevitable.”
So, he wants a divorce, too? Good.
“Well, maybe we can talk about handling the legal stuff sometime this week?”
“There shouldn’t be any legal stuff.” He shrugs. “This is pretty clear-cut to me.”
Confused, I raise my eyebrow. “What exactly do you want us to talk about?”
“Having a baby.”
My jaw doesn’t have time to drop to the floor.
“I think it could fulfill you,” he says. “It’ll also keep you busy at home. You seem to need something to do with your free time…”
The whiplash between possibly escaping this dead marriage and carrying his child is too much for me to process at once. There’s no way he can’t tell that our relationship is hanging by a thread, that it would take years of change to spin our lives into a new story that doesn’t need to be written.
Unless this is all in my head, after all… No, it can’t be.
“I still have love for you, Autumn.” He cups my face in his hands, and what was left of my world falls off its axis. “We should finish this talk tomorrow.”
He presses a kiss against my forehead and finally drives—taking the long way home.
As if we’re young-and-dumb-in-love again, he stops at an ice-cream shop to buy a pint of my favorite flavor: Pralines ’N Cream. He even requests two bright pink spoons.
“I guess I should get used to making night runs for sweets, huh?” he asks, smiling.
Somehow, I tuck my shock and confusion under my tongue and force a laugh.
When we make it home, he eats his dinner in front of the living room television.
I stuff mine into the back of the refrigerator.
Stripping down to my panties, I crawl under our cold sheets, hoping that when I wake up, this night will all be a dream.
As I roll over to turn off the lamp, my phone sounds against the nightstand with a ringtone I only hear once every blue moon.
My mother.
She and I haven’t spoken since the day of my wedding, when she called me crying and told me that she and my father weren’t coming.
They never even boarded the plane.
Although the memory of that day still hurts, it hurts even worse to admit that she was right…
I grab my phone and unlock the screen, finding myself face to face with the same message she sends on my birthday, year after year.
Mom: Happy birthday, Autumn. I love you to the moon and back & I always will. Hope Nate is treating you well, and I’m so damn sorry. I was wrong. I also hope that one day you’ll call me back and forgive me…
I save her message and fall asleep with tears in my eyes.
The following morning, I awake to the sound of lapping waters. Not the relaxing kind, though.
These waters are choppy and inconsistent, and for some reason, they sound as if they’re coming from our bedroom.
Opening my eyes, I see Nate’s head bobbing between my legs.
What the…
“Your sweet kitten tastes so good, babe.” He’s licking me like a dehydrated dog. “It also tastes… fertile.”
I don’t give him a series of fake moans this time; I can’t.
Instead, I shut my eyes and try to convince myself that this man is the same man who once bragged about how sex with him would change my life.
“Damn… You’re still so tight.” He continues, slipping his fingers in and out of me, poking and prodding my pussy for approval. “Guess I should stretch you out as much as I can… Nine months from now, we may not have the chance to do this.”
Oh, fuck that…
Against my better judgment, and to avoid any further conversations about a baby, I give in and gift him the fake moans.
An overabundant supply.
When I’m finally “Oh my goddd, there,” I tell him I’m exhausted so he can run off to work and I can think alone in peace.