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“It is. That was the last big one, though.” She smiles at me, her eyes full of contentment now. “We’re predictable, but I have no complaints about our marriage or how you treat me.”
I frown. “What the hell are you talking about? We aren’t predictable.”
She laughs. “Uh, yeah, we are. Every morning, you wake me up with some sort of touch, kiss, and you tell me you love me. I can’t ever remember to get everything from the grocery store, so you’re having to pick stuff up on your way home at least once a week. If the girls are with their grandparents, then we have a sex marathon, but the predictable part is that we go in the same order of which rooms we do it in every single time. Haven’t you ever noticed that? Laundry room, living room, hallway, bedroom, tub.”
“Okay, stop it, Sylvia. We’re old and set in our ways. Thanks for letting me know,” I grumble.
“I’m not complaining, Scott.”
Maybe not, but I don’t like knowing that I’m apparently an old dog who doesn’t know any new tricks. Our predictability could be what’s wrong with Sylvia—what’s giving her the anxiety and uneasy feeling. What if she’s subconsciously viewing our marriage and love life as stale because we follow a particular pattern and routine?
“Our predictability dies today,” I announce.
Sylvia’s eyes widen. Damn, is that fear in her eyes? “No.” Her brows furrow as she shakes her head. “No,” she repeats. “I think I need it, especially with how I’ve been feeling. I can always rely on you being, well, you.”
I still don’t like the idea of being this way, but if she doesn’t want to change, then life will go on as normal. Our food arrives. Sylvia eats slowly while we talk about the upcoming week. I have a preseason game in Indiana on Monday and then in Washington D.C. on Friday, which is when Sylvia’s doctor’s appointment is. I figure I’ll spring the news of her appointment on her tomorrow.
Our next stop is her favorite place to get her nails done. She doesn’t get them done too often, but she does like to indulge herself here and there and I fully recommend that she does. I’m all for anything that includes Sylvia taking some time to do something for herself after all she does for me and my little girls.
While she’s getting her nails worked on, I sit in a chair in the little waiting area and text Sylvia’s parents to check in on how they’re faring with the twins. Their response is a photo of the girls on the swing set in their backyard. Those two are the light of my world.
I always wanted kids, never as badly as Sylvia, though. But once we started having problems and I realized just how badly she wanted them, I wonde
red if I wanted kids more for her than I did for myself. All I have to do is think of Stephanie or Stella and I know that I want kids just as much for myself as I do for my wife. I wouldn’t mind more, to be honest, especially after holding EJ’s little girl, Bree.
I’ve thought about it a few times before, actually. But this is an iffy subject with my wife and things have been going very well in our lives. The last thing I want to do is send her into a tailspin unnecessarily. Sylvia would tell me if she wanted to attempt to adopt another kid. So far, she hasn’t, so I haven’t brought it up.
Thinking of Bree, I text EJ.
Me: Find a nanny yet?
He’s been looking all summer for one, so his mom won’t have to spend another season here. So far, she’s back in town and will remain until he finds someone. He’s been going through an agency as sort of a middleman. They find good potential nannies, screen them, and he interviews them.
EJ: Fuck no. That agency keeps sending me duds. They either seem like idiots, don’t seem interested, I don’t like them, or Bree doesn’t seem to like them. Losing hope.
Me: You’ll find someone.
He’s not settling for just anyone, it seems. He shouldn’t, but he doesn’t need to be so picky that he’s tossing good, legit choices out on their asses either.
“I’m ready, Scott.”
I glance up to see Sylvia standing in front of me. She flashes her navy and silver nails. “Team colors. Nice, Sylvie.”
“What’s next?” she asks as I stand, take her hand, and lead her outside.
“Feeling relaxed?”
“Yes.” She slips a hand underneath my shirt, the tips of her fingers trailing over the top of the waistband of my jeans. “Why don’t you take me home and give me a massage with your own two hands?”
I’m all on board for that plan. Anything to make my wife happy.
“I made you a doctor’s appointment for Friday.”
I frown as I glare at Scott. “Why?”
His returning look is dubious. “You need to see what’s happening. This has been going on long enough, Sylvie.”
“Did you have to schedule it on a day you were out of town?” My anxiety that left me yesterday is now back in full force. He was probably hoping for better results by telling me while still naked and right after an orgasm first thing in the morning. It could be best that he’s not coming, but I almost wish he was. I got used to him coming with me when we were going so much trying to figure out why I wasn’t getting pregnant.
