“I swear you two are so fucking sickening.” Jenny rolls her eyes and gulps down more of her drink that got replaced while I was blabbering.
I point a finger at her. “Hey, you fucking asked.” She rolls her eyes again—clearly, it runs in the family. “And in my defense, it’s the first cute thing he’s done in a long fucking time.”
“The first? Really?” Ellie asks, eyebrows raised.
My eyes narrow at her calling me out in front of the others like that.
“Basically.” I cross my arms over my chest, then take a swig of my drink.
“Mmmm,” she muses, staring at me with those innocent eyes that know too much.
“Fine, he also took me out a couple weeks ago, but I’m done telling stories. It’sEleanor’sturn.” Using her full name means business. She knows I’m not humoring her with that story tonight. It’s her turn to embarrass herself for the cause.
“Ugh, why couldn’t I get a good peniswitha good man. I swear, Chrissy won the fucking lotto.” Lola knocks back her second glass in irritation, and I fight back the urge to tell her all the reasons she’s wrong.
Not about the penis part.
It’s immaculate. No complaints.
Just, you know, his other head isn’t always as perfect.
FIFTEEN
CHRISSY
After a night of belly-aching, tear-wrenching laughter, I walk into the house through the garage door and my good mood is instantly killed by the sight I see.
The living room is a disaster. There’s a laundry basket overflowing with clothes next to the couch, toys and books are strewn all over the floor, a few empty bottles of Mich Ultra litter the coffee table, and Chance is sitting on the couch, leaning forward with the Xbox controller in his hand, laughing into his headset while taking out some enemies on the screen.
Halo night with the boys.
While the house looks likethis.
He glances up quickly when I come into the room, only able to break his eyes away from the screen for just a second.
“Hey, baby,” he mouths quietly at me, his smile not faltering in the least.
I can feel the rage simmering inside as I take in the state of the living room, how many chores I will still have to do tonight, and the fact that he is having a bro night instead of pitching in around here.
Here’s the thing, and I need you to know this.
I don’ttryto be a bitch to my husband.
I know that he works hard all day, he makes good money and he does a lot to make sure we all have what we need in life. He is really involved in the kids’ lives, and there’s a lot I reallyshouldn’tbe complaining about. Especially when I hear about marriages like Lola’s. Relatively speaking, I have it pretty fucking lucky.
But sometimes, I see something he’s done wrong (aka not howIwant him to do it), and it just sets me off. Like a chain reaction, I mentally fly through the last two-hundred-plus things he’s done that have pissed me off in the blink of an eye, and I go from zero to about an eight point five in, like, three seconds flat. I think I might have made it there in two seconds tonight.
That saying happy wife, happy life is so trite, but in Chance’s case, unhappy wife can meanveryunhappy life, so I guess there is some truth to it.
He must see my nostrils flaring and my intake of breath as I try to calm myself down and he speaks into the headset. “Guys, I gotta go. I know, I’m sorry, man, I gotta gonow.I’ll come back if I can. Over and out.”
He sets the controller on the table and removes his headset, placing it down as well, and then he stands, walking over to me with his arms outstretched, like he’s going to wrap me in a hug or something.
Not. Happening.
“How was your night?” he asks me, treating me as if I’m not a bull about to charge a red flag.
“It was really great until about twelve seconds ago, thanks for asking.”
