April lets it go, but I can hear the smile in her voice.
“Well, we’re pumped to visit next Saturday. The whole crew’s coming. It’s going to be a blast.”
I smile. “What do y’all want to do while you’re here?”
There’s a pause. Then April giggles.
“What was that?”
“Maya did some investigating...”
“April…”
“Did you know,” she says sweetly, “that there’s one of themost exclusive—ahem—sex clubsin the country about thirty minutes from your house?”
My jaw drops. “No, I didnotknow that.”
“We were thinking it might be fun to check it out.”
I snort. “There’s no way I’m going to a sex club.”
April hums like she’s not convinced.
And honestly?
Neither am I.
* * *
Later in the week,after a late shift, I water the plants behind my parents’ house and think about how this past week has gone.
I tried throwing myself into work, but it hasn’t helped. I’ve been distracted, frustrated. On edge. My heart’s been on a roller coaster ever since Keith and I last spoke—if you can even call itspeaking.A few awkward texts don’t count.
Is this really how I want my future husband to act?
I feel like I have so much love to give—so much I’vealreadygiven. This is what he does with it?
I’m carrying around a brick in my chest. And no one knows the full story but April. My parents don’t have a clue. I can’t bring myself to tell them—it would break my dad’s heart.
The truth is… ever since Keith and I did the whole shebang, I’ve been dying to do it again.
It was fun. And honestly? I wantmore.
More practice. More connection. More of whatever that was supposed to be.
Maybe it’s corny, but I want to be areally goodwife someday. And to me, that includes pleasing my husband—inallthe ways he wants to be pleased. I might not be experienced now, but I’m not naive. Iknowhow important sex is in a relationship.
One of my roommates in college used to say,“As sex goes, goes the relationship.”
And I think she was right.
But ever since Keith’s little stunt last weekend—since the Rumspringa Declaration—he’s been even weirder over text. Now that he’s off in D.C. for the summer, I’ve got all this energy and nowhere to put it.
I sigh, set down the watering can, and head back inside.
My dad is still up. He’s in his robe at the kitchen counter, sipping water when I come in through the back door. I’m still in my work uniform.
“Sweet pea, you’re watering the plants at this hour?” he asks.
