Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 100466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Even the mature, married lawyers.
The motherfucker does martial arts.
Sure enough, he stares at me with the focus of a hero in a kung fu flick. He could kill me with his bare hands. If he wanted.
But, no, he's the better person. He follows the non-violence of the practice.
He fully intends to spare me.
"How's Dad?" he asks with a calm, even voice. But then he always has a calm, even voice. The guy must be a great negotiator. He's got an intimidating poker face.
"The same as always," I say.
"How's Laurel?"
"You should ask her."
He half-smiles. That was the right answer, I guess. "And you two?"
"The same as always."
He nods that's what I expected. "Well, come in. The couch is made up for you."
"Thanks. I appreciate it." I offer my hand.
He looks at me funny, but he still shakes. "Don't fuck with her. Please."
"Of course."
"Thanks." He pulls me into a hug and pats me on the back.
I expect him to whisper a threat, but he doesn't. That's all in my head. Too many action movies. Too much awareness I fucked up royally.
But it was nearly ten years ago now.
Does she have to hold it against me?
I roll my suitcase inside. Sure enough, a set of sheets, two towels, two pillows, and one blanket are folded neatly on the blue couch.
The rest of the apartment isn't quite so neat. It fits Jackson's wife better than it fits him. Framed pop-art prints, plus posters of all four Matrix films, and furniture in bold colors.
A TV, two overflowing bookshelves, a couch, a kitchen table, and a little kitchen in the back.
A nice size for New York, I'm sure, but smaller than what I'm used to these days.
"Do you prefer Rome or Roman?" Jackson's wife, Daphne, greets me with a smile and a hug. She's wearing a cherry-blossom print silk robe over a pink nightgown. It looks like silk too. Not that I can tell the way Laurel can.
I used to tease her about her interest in fashion, but these days, I'm jealous. I can't tell cotton from bamboo from polyester.
"Rome," I say as she releases me.
"Welcome, Rome." She smiles as she looks to Laurel. "I'm so glad you're here."
"You wouldn't rather have Cassie?" Laurel asks.
"Of course, I'd love to have Cassie," she says. "But I'm glad to see you too. I need help with this—" She pats her stomach.
"No." Laurel's jaw drops. "You're pregnant?"
Daphne beams as she nods.
Jackson too.
They're the picture of happy parents to be.
"Since when? You said you were going to wait," Laurel says.
"We were," Jackson says. "Then someone wanted to play truth or dare."
"You dared him to get you pregnant?" Laurel asks.
It would be a stupid question if Daphne hadn't dared him to marry her. But according to their one-year-anniversary card, she did. (I guess I made the list by virtue of attending the same trip to Las Vegas).
"Not exactly." Daphne laughs. "He, uh, he dared me to stop putting my life on hold. I loved my first year of residency, but it took over everything, and I missed having that time for me."
"So, you thought, if I have a baby, I'll have more free time?" Laurel laughs.
"Is that not how it works?" Daphne asks.
Jackson laughs. "It was an experiment, of course. She wanted to see if sex felt different if we were trying."
Laurel's nose scrunches in distaste. Too much information about her brother's sex life.
Daphne notices and raises a brow. "If Zack saw that…"
"If you don't tell, I won't tell." Laurel mimes zipping her lips.
"Did it feel different?" I ask.
"Very," Daphne says. "But I'll spare my sister-in-law the details." She hugs Laurel again.
This time, Laurel refuses to let go. "Are you working tomorrow? I have a really great maternity idea for you. And no charge because I need a portfolio. Maternity styling is huge business. And I… I'm so excited." She releases Daphne and talks directly to her stomach. "Your Aunt Laurel loves you already."
"I don't think she can hear yet." Daphne rests her hand on her stomach.
I guess, now that I'm really looking, I can see the world's smallest bump. But it's hard to notice. She can't be that pregnant.
"Wait. You're having a girl?" Laurel asks.
Daphne nods.
"That kicks ass!" Laurel claps. "Do you have a name?"
"We're debating," Daphne says. "But we're not debating the amount of pink. The spare room is already halfway to nursery."
"Did you tell Cass?" Laurel asks.
"Not yet," she says. "She's coming in two weeks. I want to surprise her."
Laurel nods of course. She smiles a big, pure, honest smile. It's as inviting as her glare. Inviting in a whole other way.
She's beautiful. There's really no other way to say it.
"Does that mean you're staying in New York long term?" Laurel asks. "And I can crash on your couch if I decide to move here?"
"Maybe on point one," Daphne says. "Yes on point two. Jackson is setting up on both coasts." She looks to me. "How has it been, working with my husband?"