I say nothing, the forever understanding girlfriend.
What would I say? Don't be a father? Don't answer her when she dangles the baby like a leash?
The photo of us on his socials? It disappeared. Why? The baby didn't like it. He agreed it was inappropriate given the moment.
I just nod at everything—play the part, pour the tea, wait in the empty bed that's now forty minutes away from him, since I moved.
You know what's worse than going to sleep without the love of your life? Waking up without him when he was there the night before. When you're still drowsy and expect him to be folded into you, comforting you before the cruelty of our world kicks in.
So sometimes, when he's unexpectedly gone again, when my phone screen is black for hours while I wait for him to at leasttext me, I scream into my pillow, full blast, tearing the patience right out of me.
Because I don't want to be the good woman. I want to be the only one.
That's what happens when silly girls like me think they can soar close to the sun and grasp it. My life has literally become a paper burning from all sides, and I'm waiting for it to get to the middle so I can maybe rise from the ashes. I snort at the thought.
By the way, I did get my dream apartment—it's close to Lu, close to the harbor, and I can see the water from my office window, just past the pink neon sign humming against my brick wall, spelling outIt's Time To Write.
It's small. Like, smaller than my old living room with Richard, altogether.
I could've easily afforded something bigger since it turns out I've made more money over the years than Richard ever let me know, but I don't want bigger.
It's easier to wait for someone in a small apartment than to echo through a huge one alone.
At least Ben's parents haven't freaked out that much when they found out about the baby news.
Okay, correction: they absolutely freaked out.
Carmela called Ben on repeat, full Italian-mother meltdown, and honestly, it was chaos.
However, Mara—amazing as ever—absorbed the blast by dropping her own pregnancy news.
She called me after, laughing, saying, "Crisis averted, you're welcome." Then she promised she'd smooth everything overbefore Christmas and said that Carmela and Antonio even got me a Christmas sock to hang on the fireplace. So it can't be that bad?
"You're one of us now. Prepare yourself for some screaming, maybe some emotional casualties, but don't worry, there'll be presents at the end," she said.
Our plans are set, and I'm excited that we get a chance to redeem what happened four years ago, when Ben had to go alone. This time, I'm part of the family, and we'll finally get our midnight photo.
And nothing will ruin my mood today, because Ben has the day off, and we're going back to our beach.
My phone buzzes.
Ben:Out front. Car's warm. So am I. Come ruin me a little
Biting back my smile, I peek through the curtain, and there he is—leaning against his parked Spyder, wearing the usual all-black. Hands in his pockets, he gazes out toward the waterfront with that lazy posture and half-lidded eyes.
My heart skips a beat as I type.
Me:Can you look a little less brooding? You're scaring my neighbors
Smirking, he glances up at my window, though he can't see me, and his thumbs fly over his phone.
Ben:No. I'm sad. Hurry. Bring that mouth I like
I grin—actually grin—because of course he'd text that and ruin me with a handful of words.
One last check in the mirror: new red dress, thin straps, fitted through the bust and waist, hem skimming the top of mythighs. Now that I'm no one's wife—though officially not yet—I can finally wear whatever I damn well please. Freedom looks good in cherry-red.
I practically fly down the stairs, skipping two at a time, and nearly snap an ankle, but who cares.
