AllFreeNovel
Share Us
A steady throb begins between my eyes, and I pinch the skin there, trying to make it go away. “So, just to recap, you took a wedding invitation that was addressed to me––a wedding that happens to be my ex-husband’s––you opened it, RSVP’d yes on my behalf, and sent it back. And you think you were doing me a favor?”
Holly’s hands drop from the sides of Penny’s face, and she looks at Marty disapprovingly. “Honey, you didn’t.” Glad she’s finally listening.
“See, even she thinks it’s fucked.”
Holly mouths “language” at me, and it takes all my willpower not to fling a handful of lo mein at her.
Marty sits back down and stabs the broccoli on his plate. “I don’t know what else to tell you. I thought you were friends.”
Eventually, I calm down enough to take my seat. “Next time, let me handle my own mail, okay?”
“Fine.”
“It’s pretty last-minute, but I’m sure you can tell him your plans have changed, and you can no longer attend,” Jackie suggests.
It’s definitely last minute with the wedding two weeks away, but I can’t imagine actually going. Nate and I might be on somewhat friendly terms, but I haven’t seen his family since long before the divorce, and his mom and sister are not fans of mine. They never were. They blamed me for everything that went wrong in our marriage, and the moment I filed the papers, they turned ice cold.
I also received some pretty nasty emails from them, telling me what a mistake I was making and “what kind of woman would put her career above her husband?” I’d rather take a piece of sandpaper to my clit than have to make small talk with them over bacon-wrapped shrimp and cheap champagne. “Yeah, I’ll text him tomorrow or something.”
“You’ll still need to get him a gift,” Mom notes, unhelpfully.
“Thanks, Mom,” I say with a sigh.
The rest of dinner passes without incident, and Mom is delighted when Jackie lets her eat a fortune cookie. Marty and Holly take the kids home, with him muttering an apology under his breath before he leaves, which I appreciate.
I help Mom climb the stairs to the bathroom, her grip tight and her legs shakier than usual. When I come back down to clean up the dishes, Jackie pulls me aside.
“Hey, take tonight off,” she says quietly. “I got this.”
My heart leaps at the thought of getting a jump-start on my weekend off, but I need to make sure Jackie isn’t messing with me. “Are you sure?”
She nods. “This isn’t a sprint, it’s a marathon. I can’t have you burning out. Marty and I need you to keep being her primary caregiver. And I can tell today was…a lot. So, go out. Blow off some steam. I’ve already let Dan know I’m staying over tonight.”
I bite my lip to hold back tears as I pull her into a smothering hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
She chuckles. “You’re welcome. Now get outta here.”
I race into my room to change, and once I reapply my perfume, I text Mylo to let him know I’m on my way over.
He sneaks me through the side door, as usual, but when we reach the top of the stairs, I hear footsteps heading toward us.
“Mylo, have you seen my new guitar pick?” Zev asks from down the hall. Mylo holds up a hand, telling me to stay right where I am on the steps behind him. I hold my breath in an effort to remain as still and silent as possible. Intense cramps have me clutching my stomach, but I resist the urge to double over with a loud groan.
“No, I have not seen it,” Mylo tells him. “Maybe it’s in Axil’s room.”
Smart suggestion on his part since Axil’s room is on the first floor and away from us. Zev’s footsteps retreat, and when the coast is clear, Mylo gestures for me to follow.
“That was close,” I say with a sigh once the lock on Mylo’s bedroom door clicks into place.
“Indeed,” he mutters as he pulls me against his hard body.
His hands are quick as they tug my shirt and bra off, but when he reaches for my pants, I stop him. He needs a warning before my high-waisted period panties are revealed. “It’s day one of my period, so my downstairs is closed tonight.”
His brow furrows as he looks down at my crotch, then back up to my face. “I don’t understand. You don’t want to have sex?”
I do, but the desire to curl into the fetal position is much stronger than my sex drive. Anger during dinner earlier kept the PMS-related discomfort at bay, but now it feels like my ovaries are being flattened in a panini press. “It’s not that,” I explain, “I’m not feeling great at the moment.”
His eyes widen in concern as his hands land on my shoulders. “What is it? What can I do?”
