Chapter Eight
I spend the next two days alone at home. Phillip’s at the university all day and a good portion of the evenings, and by day three of my “time away from Big Sky Grocer, AKA Brayden Wild,” I’m bored and irritable.
June was right. The one day I spent working at her store was the only day in the past month I didn’t obsess over my data and my thesis.
Plus, I’m out of granola, my only staple, and I’ve hardly seen Phillip at all. When he has been home, all we’ve done is talk about his research and stare into the microscope. No cuddling, no intimacy.
I really need my granola fix.
I reach for the phone and ask June to bring me by four spoonfuls of granola after she closes.
“Why?” she asks. “Can’t you just come get it?”
“I want to show you the newsletter,” I lie. “It’s easier if I can do it here on the desktop rather than transfer everything to the laptop. That way I can bring you the final edits, and you won’t need a new version.”
She sighs. “Fine. I’ll come by when I close, after ten.”
“Make sure it’s the nine-grain, please!” I call into the phone. “No flavors!”
* * *
It’s nearly ten-thirty when June knocks on the window to get my attention. I’m lying on our living room couch, wrapped in an afghan, and she waves at me through the glass next to the front door.
“Hey,” I say as I let her in. “Thanks for coming over.”
“Where’s Phillip?” She cranes her neck to peek into the kitchen.
“Working. He wants to finish his research before our honeymoon.”
“Is it a honeymoon or a science expedition?” She peers at me through her glasses. I’m so used to her contact lenses I forget she’s near-sighted sometimes.
“Please not now, June.” I walk back to the couch and take a seat. “You’ve made your opinion about Phillip clear. And I appreciate your concern. This just isn’t your business.”
She takes a seat next to me and places a paper bag on the coffee table. “Here’s your granola.”
“Thanks.”
“Are you sleeping down here?” She gestures to the pillow propped up at the end of the couch.
“Just until Phillip gets home,” I say. “I’ve been helping him watch the specimens through the scope the last few nights.”
“But you two do still sleep together, right?” she asks me pointedly.
I ignore her obvious insinuation, but she presses me again. “Do you?”
“Why are you so nosy about my sex life?” I say. “There are lots of ways to express love, you know. It doesn’t have to involve sex.”
“No,” she says. “It doesn’t. But when you’re about to marry somebody, I would expect you would want to show your love that way as well. At least sometimes.”
I fish in my pocket for an elastic and pull my hair back. “If you must know,” I say. “Phillip and I have sex as often as possible. We’re like any modern-day couple; sometimes life gets in the way.”
I peek into the bag of granola.
“June!” I shout, even though she’s sitting right next to me.
“What?” She peers into the granola bag too.
“This is that awful fruity kind! It’s swarming with apple chunks, and it’s too sweet!”
