All Your Perfects
Page 41
I lean forward and press my arms into the counter, my face against my arms. I don’t tell him to stop, though. All I can do is cry. It’s the kind of cry I’ve experienced in my dreams. The cries that hurt so much, you can’t even make a sound.
“Quinn,” he pleads with a shaky voice. I squeeze my eyes shut even harder. “Quinn.” He whispers my name like it’s his final plea. When I still refuse to ask him to stop, I hear him move the box closer to me. I hear him insert the key into the lock. I hear him pull the lock off, but instead of it clinking against the counter, it crashes against the kitchen wall.
He is so angry right now.
“Look at me.”
I shake my head. I don’t want to look at him. I don’t want to remember what it felt like when we closed that box together all those years ago.
He slides his hand through my hair and leans down, bringing his lips to my ear. “This box won’t open itself, and I sure as hell am not going to be the one to do it.”
His hand leaves my hair and his lips leave my ear. He slides the box over until it’s touching my arm.
There have only been a handful of times I’ve cried this hard in my life. Three of those times were when the IVF rounds didn’t take. One of those times was the night I found out Graham kissed another woman. One of those times was when I found out I had a hysterectomy. Out of all the times I’ve cried this hard, Graham has held me every single time. Even when the tears were because of him.
This time feels so much harder. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to face this kind of devastation on my own.
As if he knows this, I feel his arms slide around me. His loving, caring, selfless arms pull me to him, and even though we’re on opposite sides of this war, he refuses to pick up his weapons. My face is now pressed against his chest and I am so broken.
So broken.
I try to still the war inside me, but all I hear are the same sentences that have been repeating over and over in my head since the moment I first heard them.
“You would make such a great father, Graham.”
“I know. It devastates me that it still hasn’t happened yet.”
I press a kiss to Graham’s chest and whisper a silent promise against his heart. Someday it’ll happen for you, Graham. Someday you’ll understand.
I pull away from his chest.
I open the box.
We finally end the dance.
Chapter Twenty-seven
* * *
Then
It’s been five hours since we said I do on a secluded beach in the presence of two strangers we met just minutes before our vows. And I don’t have a single regret.
Not one.
I don’t regret agreeing to spend the weekend with Graham at the beach house. I don’t regret getting married five months before we planned to. I don’t regret texting my mother when it was over, thanking her for her help, but letting her know it’s no longer needed because we’re already married. And I don’t regret that instead of a fancy dinner at the Douglas Whimberly Plaza, Graham and I grilled hot dogs over the fire pit and ate cookies for dessert.
I don’t think I’ll ever regret any of this. Something so perfect could never become a regret.
Graham opens the sliding glass door and walks onto the balcony. It was too cold to sit up here when we were here three months ago, but it’s perfect tonight. A cool breeze is coming off the water, blowing my hair just enough to keep it out of my face. Graham takes a seat next to me, tugging me toward him. I snuggle against him.
Graham leans forward slightly and places his phone next to mine on the railing in front of us. He’s been inside breaking the news to his mother that there won’t be a wedding.
“Is your mother upset?” I ask.
“She’s pretending to be happy for us but I can tell she would have liked to have been there.”
“Do you feel guilty?”
He laughs. “Not at all. She’s been through two weddings with two of my sisters and she’s in the middle of planning the last one’s wedding. I’m sure a huge part of her is relieved. It’s my sisters I’m worried about.”
I didn’t even think about them. I texted Ava on the way here yesterday, but I think she’s the only one who knew. Ava and all three of Graham’s sisters were going to be bridesmaids in the wedding. We had just told them last week. “What did they say?”
“I haven’t told them yet,” he says. “I’m sure I won’t have to because ten bucks says my mother is on the phone with all three of them right now.”
“I’m sure they’ll be happy for you. Besides, they met my mother on Easter Sunday. They’ll understand why we ended up doing it this way.”
My phone pings. Graham reaches forward and grabs it for me. He naturally glances at it as he’s handing it to me. When I see the text is from my mom, I try to pull the phone from him, but it’s too late. He pulls it back to him and finishes reading the text.
“What is she talking about?”
I read the text and feel panic wash over me. “It’s nothing.” Please just let it go, Graham.
I can tell he isn’t, because he urges me to sit up and look at him. “Why did she text you that?”
I look down at my phone again. At her terrible text.
You think he jumped the gun because he was excited to marry you? Wake up, Quinn. It was the perfect way for him to avoid signing.
“Sign what?” Graham asks.
I press my hand against his heart and try to find the words, but they’re somehow even harder to find tonight than they have been the last three months I’ve avoided talking about it.
“She’s talking about a prenuptial agreement.”
“For what?” Graham says. I can already hear the offense in his voice.
“She’s concerned my stepfather has changed the will to add me to it. Or maybe he already has, I don’t know. It would make more sense, since she’s been wanting me to talk to you about it so bad.”
“Why haven’t you?”
“I was going to. It’s just . . . I don’t feel like I need to, Graham. I know that’s not why you’re marrying me. And even if my mother’s husband does leave me money in the future, I don’t care that it would go to both of us.”
Graham hooks his thumb under my chin. “First, you’re right. I don’t give a damn about your bank account. Second, your mother is mean to you and it makes me angry. But . . . as mean as she speaks to you sometimes, she’s right. You shouldn’t have married me without a prenup. I don’t know why you never talked to me about it. I would have signed one without question. I’m an accountant, Quinn. It’s the smart thing to do when assets are involved.”
I don’t know what I was expecting, but I wasn’t expecting him to agree with her. “Oh. Well . . . I should have brought it up to you, then. I didn’t think the conversation would be this easy.”
“I’m your husband. My goal is to make things easier on you, not more difficult.” He kisses me, but the kiss is interrupted by my phone going off.
It’s another text from my mother. Before I can finish reading it, Graham takes the phone from me. He types out a text to her.
Graham agreed to sign a postnup. Have your lawyer draft it up. Problem solved.
He sets the phone on the railing and, similar to the first night we met, he pushes the phone over the edge of the balcony. Before my phone lands in the bushes below, Graham’s phone receives an incoming text. And then another. And another.
“Your sisters.”
Graham leans forward and gives his phone a shove, too. When we hear it land in the bushes below, we both laugh.
“Much better,” he says. He stands up and reaches for my hand. “Come on. I have a present for you.”
I grab his hand and jump up with excitement. “Really? A wedding present?”
He pulls me behind him, walking me into the bedroom. “Have a seat,” he says, motioning to the bed. “I’ll be right back.”
I hop onto the center of the bed and wait giddily for him to get back with the gift. It’s the first gift I’ve ever received from my husband, so I’m making a way bigger deal out of it than it probably needs to be. I don’t know when he would have had time to buy me something. We didn’t know we were getting married until half an hour before we came here.
“Quinn,” he pleads with a shaky voice. I squeeze my eyes shut even harder. “Quinn.” He whispers my name like it’s his final plea. When I still refuse to ask him to stop, I hear him move the box closer to me. I hear him insert the key into the lock. I hear him pull the lock off, but instead of it clinking against the counter, it crashes against the kitchen wall.
He is so angry right now.
“Look at me.”
I shake my head. I don’t want to look at him. I don’t want to remember what it felt like when we closed that box together all those years ago.
He slides his hand through my hair and leans down, bringing his lips to my ear. “This box won’t open itself, and I sure as hell am not going to be the one to do it.”
His hand leaves my hair and his lips leave my ear. He slides the box over until it’s touching my arm.
There have only been a handful of times I’ve cried this hard in my life. Three of those times were when the IVF rounds didn’t take. One of those times was the night I found out Graham kissed another woman. One of those times was when I found out I had a hysterectomy. Out of all the times I’ve cried this hard, Graham has held me every single time. Even when the tears were because of him.
This time feels so much harder. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to face this kind of devastation on my own.
As if he knows this, I feel his arms slide around me. His loving, caring, selfless arms pull me to him, and even though we’re on opposite sides of this war, he refuses to pick up his weapons. My face is now pressed against his chest and I am so broken.
So broken.
I try to still the war inside me, but all I hear are the same sentences that have been repeating over and over in my head since the moment I first heard them.
“You would make such a great father, Graham.”
“I know. It devastates me that it still hasn’t happened yet.”
I press a kiss to Graham’s chest and whisper a silent promise against his heart. Someday it’ll happen for you, Graham. Someday you’ll understand.
I pull away from his chest.
I open the box.
We finally end the dance.
Chapter Twenty-seven
* * *
Then
It’s been five hours since we said I do on a secluded beach in the presence of two strangers we met just minutes before our vows. And I don’t have a single regret.
Not one.
I don’t regret agreeing to spend the weekend with Graham at the beach house. I don’t regret getting married five months before we planned to. I don’t regret texting my mother when it was over, thanking her for her help, but letting her know it’s no longer needed because we’re already married. And I don’t regret that instead of a fancy dinner at the Douglas Whimberly Plaza, Graham and I grilled hot dogs over the fire pit and ate cookies for dessert.
I don’t think I’ll ever regret any of this. Something so perfect could never become a regret.
Graham opens the sliding glass door and walks onto the balcony. It was too cold to sit up here when we were here three months ago, but it’s perfect tonight. A cool breeze is coming off the water, blowing my hair just enough to keep it out of my face. Graham takes a seat next to me, tugging me toward him. I snuggle against him.
Graham leans forward slightly and places his phone next to mine on the railing in front of us. He’s been inside breaking the news to his mother that there won’t be a wedding.
“Is your mother upset?” I ask.
“She’s pretending to be happy for us but I can tell she would have liked to have been there.”
“Do you feel guilty?”
He laughs. “Not at all. She’s been through two weddings with two of my sisters and she’s in the middle of planning the last one’s wedding. I’m sure a huge part of her is relieved. It’s my sisters I’m worried about.”
I didn’t even think about them. I texted Ava on the way here yesterday, but I think she’s the only one who knew. Ava and all three of Graham’s sisters were going to be bridesmaids in the wedding. We had just told them last week. “What did they say?”
“I haven’t told them yet,” he says. “I’m sure I won’t have to because ten bucks says my mother is on the phone with all three of them right now.”
“I’m sure they’ll be happy for you. Besides, they met my mother on Easter Sunday. They’ll understand why we ended up doing it this way.”
My phone pings. Graham reaches forward and grabs it for me. He naturally glances at it as he’s handing it to me. When I see the text is from my mom, I try to pull the phone from him, but it’s too late. He pulls it back to him and finishes reading the text.
“What is she talking about?”
I read the text and feel panic wash over me. “It’s nothing.” Please just let it go, Graham.
I can tell he isn’t, because he urges me to sit up and look at him. “Why did she text you that?”
I look down at my phone again. At her terrible text.
You think he jumped the gun because he was excited to marry you? Wake up, Quinn. It was the perfect way for him to avoid signing.
“Sign what?” Graham asks.
I press my hand against his heart and try to find the words, but they’re somehow even harder to find tonight than they have been the last three months I’ve avoided talking about it.
“She’s talking about a prenuptial agreement.”
“For what?” Graham says. I can already hear the offense in his voice.
“She’s concerned my stepfather has changed the will to add me to it. Or maybe he already has, I don’t know. It would make more sense, since she’s been wanting me to talk to you about it so bad.”
“Why haven’t you?”
“I was going to. It’s just . . . I don’t feel like I need to, Graham. I know that’s not why you’re marrying me. And even if my mother’s husband does leave me money in the future, I don’t care that it would go to both of us.”
Graham hooks his thumb under my chin. “First, you’re right. I don’t give a damn about your bank account. Second, your mother is mean to you and it makes me angry. But . . . as mean as she speaks to you sometimes, she’s right. You shouldn’t have married me without a prenup. I don’t know why you never talked to me about it. I would have signed one without question. I’m an accountant, Quinn. It’s the smart thing to do when assets are involved.”
I don’t know what I was expecting, but I wasn’t expecting him to agree with her. “Oh. Well . . . I should have brought it up to you, then. I didn’t think the conversation would be this easy.”
“I’m your husband. My goal is to make things easier on you, not more difficult.” He kisses me, but the kiss is interrupted by my phone going off.
It’s another text from my mother. Before I can finish reading it, Graham takes the phone from me. He types out a text to her.
Graham agreed to sign a postnup. Have your lawyer draft it up. Problem solved.
He sets the phone on the railing and, similar to the first night we met, he pushes the phone over the edge of the balcony. Before my phone lands in the bushes below, Graham’s phone receives an incoming text. And then another. And another.
“Your sisters.”
Graham leans forward and gives his phone a shove, too. When we hear it land in the bushes below, we both laugh.
“Much better,” he says. He stands up and reaches for my hand. “Come on. I have a present for you.”
I grab his hand and jump up with excitement. “Really? A wedding present?”
He pulls me behind him, walking me into the bedroom. “Have a seat,” he says, motioning to the bed. “I’ll be right back.”
I hop onto the center of the bed and wait giddily for him to get back with the gift. It’s the first gift I’ve ever received from my husband, so I’m making a way bigger deal out of it than it probably needs to be. I don’t know when he would have had time to buy me something. We didn’t know we were getting married until half an hour before we came here.
