Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77717 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77717 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
“Yeah,” I mumble, watching beads of condensation roll down my beer. I felt kind of bad ordering alcohol when Lauren can’t drink, but fuck, I need it right now. I’m still mad as fuck about seeing my father and I’m trying to let it go.
For now, at least.
Lauren’s excitement for the shower is temporarily blocking her anxiety over vet school, and I don’t want to do anything to hinder that. So I don’t say anything. And even if the whole school thing wasn’t an issue, why upset her? Making Lauren happy is a top priority. Telling her about my shitty childhood will only upset her.
She’s still talking about the nursery, something about paint maybe? I can’t concentrate on her words. I’m not sure who I’m more pissed at right now: my father for all the shit he did in the past, or my mother for using my own daughter as a reason to call that prick up. Because she doesn’t care about him being involved in his grandchild’s life. She’s so desperate to get him back, even after all these years.
It’s fucking pathetic if you ask me. The man pushed her around, hitting her more than once, and did a lifetime of emotional damage and she still wants him back. I don’t want Ella around her, now that I think about it. Talk about a bad role model, right?
“Noah, are you listening?” Lauren asks.
“Uh, yeah. What?”
Lauren lets out a breath. “Never mind.” She finishes her lemonade, then gets up to use the bathroom. I look around the patio, eyes falling on a couple with a baby and a toddler. The mom nurses the infant while she eats, and the toddler sits on his father’s lap, stealing food off his plate.
Could that be us someday? Enjoying dinner with the kids, handling it like it’s no big deal? I swallow and drain the rest of my beer, then flag down the waiter to order another. I feel like a fraud, thinking I can be a good dad. I didn’t have a good dad. It’s like saying you’re a doctor without going to medical school, right? I’m not qualified to do this.
Our food arrives soon after Lauren gets back to the table. She talkative, telling me about birth stories and what to expect during labor. I smile and nod along, trying to share in her excitement.
She is so beautiful. So kind, so strong. She’s going to be the perfect mother, and she will be the perfect wife … a wife I don’t deserve. Because I can’t give back what she gives to me. I’m feeling all sorts of shitty about myself and my ability to make her happy.
“You’re quiet,” she observes. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, tired.” I force a smile and take her hand. The moment her skin touches mine, I relax. I can do this, right? Her green eyes meet mine and I give her hand a squeeze. Three words burn on my tongue, yet I don’t say them. Not now. Lauren likes fairytales and happily ever after. This isn’t the right setting to tell her I love her.
Maybe after the shower when the nursery is set up? Yeah, that seems about right. I see it now, standing behind her, arms wrapped around Lauren with hands resting on top of her belly. We’ll have just set everything up picture perfect the way she wants it. Then I’ll tell her. And then we’ll have sex of course.
I keep that vision in my head for the rest of dinner. It helps keep me from getting pissed, and it helps me from feeling like I’m going to completely fail at this parenting thing.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asks when we sitting on the couch back at her place. “You don’t seem like yourself.”
“I’m fine,” I snap without meaning to. Fuck. I put my arm around her, and she doesn’t immediately melt into me like usual. “I’m just feeling a little overwhelmed.” It’s not exactly a lie. “But it’s okay. And I’m glad you’re excited.”
“Yeah, me too.” She doesn’t sound convinced. “Want to watch a movie?”
“Sure.”
“Do you care which one?”
“No.”
Lauren sighs and flips through Netflix, finding an older Cinderella-ish movie. Halfway through, she’s dozing off and says she’s going to lay down in bed. I mean to join her shortly, but end up staying up. If I went and laid down, I’d be bombarded with self-destructive thoughts, which will only further cement how fucking scary it is that a parent can fuck up their kid’s life.
I don’t want to fuck up Ella’s. Suddenly I’m terrified of messing her up for life.
At three AM, Lauren comes out. “Noah? Are you coming to bed?”
I look up from the Adam Sandler comedy I’m watching. “Yeah. Once this is over.”
“Come to bed now? I don’t sleep as well without you next to me and I’m tired.”