Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 126296 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 631(@200wpm)___ 505(@250wpm)___ 421(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126296 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 631(@200wpm)___ 505(@250wpm)___ 421(@300wpm)
I study him with my watering eyes. That slant of his jaw and that stubborn chin, his perfect nose and those stormy eyes.
“I’m your snowflake.”
“Fuck yes, you are.”
“I love you. I love you so much, Simon.”
And then, he kisses me.
I love this man with every piece of my brain, heart, and soul.
This man who thinks I’m beautiful and a warrior. Who doesn’t know that he’s so getting laid in the backseat of his car like a teenager. And that no matter what, we’re definitely getting married over my Christmas break.
Five years later…
I’m losing my mind.
Well, not really but it feels like it. And of course, it’s happening at a birthday party.
Her birthday party, no less.
It’s not my usual bad day. At least, it didn’t start out as one. I was perfectly calm when I woke up this morning.
I opened my eyes with a purpose, a clear goal set in my head. I’d taken the day off from my job at the local high school where I work as a guidance counselor, since I had a few things to get done before the party.
Over the past few years, I’ve learned that whenever I get overwhelmed, making lists helps. It started out as an exercise for Columbia when my exams overwhelmed me. But now I use it for almost every aspect of my life.
My husband seems to find my little lists amusing and sexy, all at the same time. But that’s beside the point.
So yeah, I had my list and I was ready to face the day and the party but then she started crying.
God, the sounds she made.
They were so excruciating, so painful to hear. Her soft chin wobbled and her beautiful face scrunched up as big, fat tears streamed down her pink cheeks.
And the worst of all was that she wouldn’t stop.
No matter what I said to her, she wouldn’t stop crying. She went on and on. I tried everything. Talking to her, soothing her, playing her music, reading to her. But nothing.
I even thought of calling my mother, which in itself shows how frazzled I was. I never call my mom for help. Mostly because she thinks my life is a series of bad choices. Besides, Simon hates it if I reach out to her for things.
“You’re coming to me with anything and everything from now on. You got it?” he said to me once.
I remember being mad and, obviously, turned on by his authoritative statement. “Oh yeah? Why?”
He looked at me like I was crazy, and not the useless kind. “Because you’re mine, Willow, and I’m yours.”
Needless to say, I jumped his bones. I almost always do that when he says things like this.
But I didn’t want to bother him today. He was at a meeting with his editors that he couldn’t get out of, and in any case, he was going to be home soon for the party.
Somehow, I got her to calm down enough so she could tell me why she was crying. Turns out, it was because she’d lost her favorite toy and she couldn’t find it.
And here I thought her world was ending.
It would be a hyperbole to some but it’s a very real thing to me.
We did find her toy – a little snow owl inspired by Harry Potter – but her gut-wrenching cries knocked me off my positive mojo. I needed space and I needed happy thoughts.
All the fucking happy thoughts.
I hear footsteps, sure and confident. His.
He’s back.
My ears perk up. In fact, my entire body has perked up as I hear him climbing up the stairs and walking toward our bedroom. He knows that if I’m not downstairs, helping with the arrangements, then this is where he’ll find me.
When we moved to this house, I remember having one of my ugliest bad days. I couldn’t get out of bed. I didn’t even have the energy to breathe. The sun was burning me, sucking off all my energy. So I hid myself in here where it’s all dark and the air is saturated with his rainy smell.
He knows this is my happy place, or at least this is where I go to find it.
The door to our bedroom opens and in three short steps, he’s here. He opens the door to the closet, bringing the sunlight in.
I blink a few times, trying to adjust to the light even though I’ve only been inside for about fifteen minutes. I’m much more suited to darkness and closed spaces. But strangely, I don’t mind the sun now that it’s illuminating my husband’s massive, toned body, his dark hair, the sharp, mature lines of his face.
He’s wearing a light blue shirt that brings out his eyes. I picked it out for him this morning before his meeting. He also wore a gray tie to go with his gray suit, but he isn’t wearing the tie or the jacket right now. Probably took them off on his way back home.