“You think I’m perfect? When have I ever been perfect? I just try, which is a hell of a lot more than I can say for this family.”
Her voice turned frosty. “I have done more for you than you could ever even understand. Amber has made sacrifices for you. The least you could do is give her some grace.”
“Mom, she is thirty-five andjustfound out that youhave topay taxes. I think the grace ship has sailed.”
Instead of responding, she picked up her fork and took a bite. We settled into an icy silence until she finally spoke up.
“How’s Lisa?”
That . . . was not what I expected her to say.
I had seen Lisa almost every other day, and made sure to text her on the days I couldn’t drive over.
“She’s hanging in there,” I said.
“That’s good.”
And then it was just silence again.
I leftthe restaurant after twenty more minutes of silent chewing and sporadic questions, since neither of us were willing to call the time of death on the lunch date after Amber stormed out.
After paying for my meal, Amber’s meal, and Amber’s plate, I slipped into my car, locked the door, and closed my eyes.
What was I still doing in Kansas?
I should have been on the road by now. I should have been writing a book set somewhere other than a fucking cornfield.
But something was keeping me here, and I wasn’t entirely sure it was the man in my bed.
I opened my phone and scrolled through the names until I landed on my dad’s. It couldn’t hurt to try again, even though the last two texts had gone unanswered.
Me
I think I’m going to stay in town for a few more weeks while I write this book. You should come over to the house. Or I can come to you. Or we can meet up for coffee or lunch or something. My treat.
I waited and waited for a response. I told myself he probably wasn’t looking at his phone because he was having lunch with Amber. After an hour of sitting in the car with the windows down, I told myself it was because it was a weekday and he was back at work after his lunch break. After two hours, I told myself that maybe his phone had died or he was in an important meeting and couldn’t check his messages.
When I pulled back into the driveway at Bev’s house, the silence finally hit me.
THE FORD METHOD: WEEK SEVEN
HAVEN
Let’s talk intimacy.
I know what you’re thinking.Finally. We’re going to talk about sex. Making love. Getting lucky. Knocking boots. Fucking. Banging.
Hate to break it to you, but intimacy and sex aren’t always synonymous. The kind of intimacy we’re talking about isn’t something you can bang out in a night. It’s the kind of connection that you’ve spent the last six weeks cultivating. A feeling of closeness and intrinsic trust you don’t even have to think about.
By now, I hope that you have laid the groundwork for open and honest communication.
Talking is one of the greatest forms of intimacy. It seems obvious, but spending time talking to your partner about your hopes and fears, your dreams and goals, and what keeps you up at night is imperative. You should alsodiscuss what you want your life together and individually to look like.
Now, I know what you’re thinking—seven weeks is pretty fast to start talking about the future. I’m not saying you need to be talking rings and wedding dates and his-and-hers hand towels. But now is a good time to ask those questions.
Happily ever after looks different for everyone.
Some people want the white dress and big wedding. Some people don’t believe in the institution of marriage. Do you both want kids? Is living close to family something that’s important to you, or would you like to move somewhere new? Are you fulfilled in your jobs? What brings you joy in life?
