Nope. It’s becoming all too clear to me that my wife is an eleven on a one-to-ten scale. If she walks in here wearing something like that, I’m not sure how I’ll handle myself.
Probably cry myself into a platonic puddle under my pillow.
The door to the bathroom creaks open. I grip the comforter next to my legs, and I lean forward, waiting to catch a glimpse of her in her sleepwear.
And then the door swings open, and, well, Lucy seems to be missing.
In her place is a bundled-up koala bear.
Big gray sweats, a giant sweatshirt with a hood pulled up, and her hands aren’t even visible—the sleeves are so long.
She’s wearing huge, fuzzy socks that she’s tucked the ends of the sweats into.
“Umm, is this what you usually sleep in?” I dare to ask as I take a steadying breath, trying my hardest not to burst into laughter. This was not the scenario I imagined in my head.
Lucy tips her head back and looks at me from under the hood. “I get cold at night, and I like to be cozy. What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”
“Absolutely nothing. It’s perfect.” I sigh, meaning every word. “You look like an Arctic explorer.”
She flops over to the bed—I didn’t know someone could walk so loudly in socks—and stares at the pillow I set up for her.
“Thanks.”
She slowly climbs onto the bed, and I leap up. “I’m going to brush my teeth.”
I sprint to the bathroom and do the most thorough teeth cleaning in history. I don’t want her to gag if she has to smell my morning breath.
When I return to the bedroom, Lucy is lying on top of the covers, staring at the ceiling. It’s a good thing it’s a king-size bed. We’ll probably even be able to avoid touching each other.
I slowly climb under the covers and lean back against my pillow.
“You know, when I agreed to marry you, it literally never crossed my mind that we would sleep in the same bed sometimes,” Lucy says, turning to look at me through the small hole in her sweatshirt.
I fold my hands and tuck them behind my head as I turn to stare at the ceiling. “Do you suppose we’re both likely to jump into things without thinking too much?”
Lucy chuckles. “I’d say that’s a safe assumption.”
“Do you regret it?”
“Well, I guess we’ll just have to see.”
I don’t know if I like the sound of that, but I also get where she’s coming from. This was just a smart move on her part—a way to pay off some of her student loan. I’m the one who’s doing this for absolute petty reasons. Lucy cares about survival. I care about pride. That definitely makes me the worst person in this duo.
“Does this make me a gold digger since I married for money?”
I think about it for a little bit before I answer. I finally say, “No. I don’t think so. Or maybe being a gold digger really isn’t that bad of a thing. I think that we forget the world is a fragile place, and sometimes, people do things out of necessity rather than what their feelings prefer. And I’m not about to look down on someone who does what they need to do. Besides, it was Ainsley and me trying to talk you into it. I was the one who proposed.”
A small hand pats my shoulder, and her fingers brush against my ear.
“I’m pretty sure I did the proposing. Remember, I was the one texting you about it. It’s very nice of you to take the blame. Although if we want to pass the blame, maybe we should just pass it to Ainsley.”
I turn to look at her and see a big grin on her face.
“What are little sisters for?” she says.
I chuckle at that. “I guess, sometimes, it does pay to be the oldest.”
She sighs and closes her eyes.
