sure about you," he said. "And about Joy. And Taylor. Rachel, Mia, Zoe..." He grinned, not offering another word.
"You've forgotten someone," she grinned.
"Oh, yeah," he said. "Sugar."
"Who could forget Sugar?," she laughed. "But... oh, Micah. He's just..."
"Just being a good son," Brian said. "Babe, it's just going to take him a little longer. And that's okay."
He called her Babe. All the time. That was a new thing. Every time she felt like this was going to be familiar, like this new marriage was going to be just like the marriage she had known most of her life, she'd feel a new thrill that she hadn't felt before.
Different. Life with Brian was going to be different.
And she'd thought marriage was perfect just the way it was.
She smiled at this thought.
"I take it from your smile that you're choosing to believe me," he said, still holding her close.
"I am," she said. "It's all going to be okay."
"It's all going to be great," he corrected, kissing her again. "I love you."
"Me, too," she murmured against his lips. "Sleep tight, okay?"
"Will do," he said, backing away, letting go of her hand at the last possible moment. As he stepped into his room for the night, she turned away to go back to her room.
"Hey, Natalie?"
"Yeah?," she asked, turning back.
"Counting down the days until we don't have to say good night and go to separate rooms, you know," he said, raising his eyebrows.
And of all that she'd agreed with so far that night, she most agreed with this.
Yeah, sometimes love felt like they were seventeen all over again.
Madison
She'd snuck into the kitchen and eaten half the pan of tiramisu.
Binge eating. She'd done plenty of that in her past. Having her husband tell everyone around them that he didn't want to take a trip to paradise with her had been emotionally taxing enough that she'd felt no shame in returning to the dirty little habit of stuffing her face as full and she could get it, finding solace in food.
In tiramisu, ironically enough. Her mind drifted back to all the late nights spent at the bar at his restaurant, long after everyone else had been cleared out, eating bite after bite, in between talking about their lives, about their dreams, about faith, all as they'd grown to be better friends. Then, after the wedding, it was more of the same, but it always ended with Grant leaving the dishes on the bar, pulling her along gently by the hand, up the stairs to the small room that was hers now, too, the taste of tiramisu still on his lips as he'd gotten her inside, pulled her close, and murmured, "only a few hours until I've got to open for breakfast, but we'll make every minute count."
Yep. Every remembrance that night had been reason for another bite of tiramisu, shoved in her mouth and nearly swallowed whole so that she wouldn't have to taste it and remember Grant's lips, the words he'd said, the promises he'd made.
She loved and hated tiramisu all at the same time.
The dish that had symbolized her relationship with Grant, now stuffing to be swallowed whole in an attempt to drown out the rejection he'd dealt her.
She'd taken the other half of the pan upstairs to the extra girls' room, where she continued eating it as she sat on the bed, even as Grant came in, still on the phone with the restaurant.
"All those turkeys," he moaned, just as soon as he finally hung up. "What are we going to do with all those turkeys?!"
The Christmas Day offering at the restaurant was going to be a fixed menu. Traditional Christmas dinner. Simple, easy, lucrative enough -- Grant had told her months ago when they were still sharing these details -- that it would bring in the money to finish off the debt. They'd joked that they were going to burn off the last mortgage statement right there with the turkeys he was going to
"You've forgotten someone," she grinned.
"Oh, yeah," he said. "Sugar."
"Who could forget Sugar?," she laughed. "But... oh, Micah. He's just..."
"Just being a good son," Brian said. "Babe, it's just going to take him a little longer. And that's okay."
He called her Babe. All the time. That was a new thing. Every time she felt like this was going to be familiar, like this new marriage was going to be just like the marriage she had known most of her life, she'd feel a new thrill that she hadn't felt before.
Different. Life with Brian was going to be different.
And she'd thought marriage was perfect just the way it was.
She smiled at this thought.
"I take it from your smile that you're choosing to believe me," he said, still holding her close.
"I am," she said. "It's all going to be okay."
"It's all going to be great," he corrected, kissing her again. "I love you."
"Me, too," she murmured against his lips. "Sleep tight, okay?"
"Will do," he said, backing away, letting go of her hand at the last possible moment. As he stepped into his room for the night, she turned away to go back to her room.
"Hey, Natalie?"
"Yeah?," she asked, turning back.
"Counting down the days until we don't have to say good night and go to separate rooms, you know," he said, raising his eyebrows.
And of all that she'd agreed with so far that night, she most agreed with this.
Yeah, sometimes love felt like they were seventeen all over again.
Madison
She'd snuck into the kitchen and eaten half the pan of tiramisu.
Binge eating. She'd done plenty of that in her past. Having her husband tell everyone around them that he didn't want to take a trip to paradise with her had been emotionally taxing enough that she'd felt no shame in returning to the dirty little habit of stuffing her face as full and she could get it, finding solace in food.
In tiramisu, ironically enough. Her mind drifted back to all the late nights spent at the bar at his restaurant, long after everyone else had been cleared out, eating bite after bite, in between talking about their lives, about their dreams, about faith, all as they'd grown to be better friends. Then, after the wedding, it was more of the same, but it always ended with Grant leaving the dishes on the bar, pulling her along gently by the hand, up the stairs to the small room that was hers now, too, the taste of tiramisu still on his lips as he'd gotten her inside, pulled her close, and murmured, "only a few hours until I've got to open for breakfast, but we'll make every minute count."
Yep. Every remembrance that night had been reason for another bite of tiramisu, shoved in her mouth and nearly swallowed whole so that she wouldn't have to taste it and remember Grant's lips, the words he'd said, the promises he'd made.
She loved and hated tiramisu all at the same time.
The dish that had symbolized her relationship with Grant, now stuffing to be swallowed whole in an attempt to drown out the rejection he'd dealt her.
She'd taken the other half of the pan upstairs to the extra girls' room, where she continued eating it as she sat on the bed, even as Grant came in, still on the phone with the restaurant.
"All those turkeys," he moaned, just as soon as he finally hung up. "What are we going to do with all those turkeys?!"
The Christmas Day offering at the restaurant was going to be a fixed menu. Traditional Christmas dinner. Simple, easy, lucrative enough -- Grant had told her months ago when they were still sharing these details -- that it would bring in the money to finish off the debt. They'd joked that they were going to burn off the last mortgage statement right there with the turkeys he was going to
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