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I recoil. “John?” I say, wounded, but he flaps a hand irritably, dismissing me, and carries on his way, getting in the elevator. And he doesn’t look up as the doors close.
Cunt?Definitelyprefer motherfucker.
I shut the door and lean against it, sighing, trying not to think about the fact that John is always right. And back down the pan goes my mood as I trudge to the kitchen and toss Ava’s keys on the side.
I settle at the computer and stare at the blank screen for a few moments. Then wake it up and type something into the search bar, scrolling through the results. And every place I click on tells me it’s not available until next year. Some even the year after. “Fuck me,” I breathe. At this rate, I’ll be drawing my pension before I get my girl down the aisle, and that won’t do.
Make it official.
Get on with life.
“Here, I forgot to give you these.”
I look up from my peanut butter and find Ava holding out some post. “You open them,” I say, and she frowns, thrusting them forward, obviously not comfortable with that. Damn it. She’s leading by example. Teaching me some manners. I take the envelopes and toss them aside, going back to my screen, frowning. Churches, manor houses, town halls. Where do I even start?
“My car’s back?”
“John dropped it off.”And joined Van Der Haus in ruining my morning.“Are you religious?”
A small hesitation, and for a second I’m worried she’ll hit me with the news that her parents—whom I am yet to meet—are church goers. “No,” she eventually says.
“Me neither.” That’s helpful. The churches seem to be the busiest, and I doubt I’d be accepted into the house of God anyway. “Do you have any preference on dates?”
“What for?”
Her obvious confusion pulls me away from a viable option—a country club on the outskirts of Kent. “Is there any particular date you would like to become Mrs. Ava Ward?” God, that sounds amazing.
Recognition dawns on her, and we’re quickly both on the same page. “I don’t know, next year, the year after?” She plucks some bread out of the toaster, happily slapping some butter on, and I stare at her, alarmed, oblivious to the jar slipping out of my hand. It hits the marble with a clang, getting Ava’s attention and knocking me from my inertness.
“Next year?” I splutter.
“Okay, the year after.” Sinking her teeth into her toast, she smiles. She fucking smiles like waiting two years to get married is something to celebrate.
“The year after?” she adds tentatively.
“We get married next month.” And that’s going to be a painful wait. “Next fucking year,” I say in disbelief, getting more peanut butter. Apparently, we’re not on the same page. Not even the same book. Hell, she’s in a completely different genre to me.
“Jesse, I can’t marry you next month,” Ava says, laughing.
“Yes, you can and you will,” I grunt when the lovely country club just outside Kent shows there’s nothing available for the next eighteen months. This is ridiculous. Why the hell would anyone wait so long to tie the knot? So much can happen in that time. For example, one person could change their mind.
“No, I can’t.” Ava’s still laughing. Like...this is funny?
I put my jar down with a heavier hand than intended, and Ava jumps. She can’t? No, shewon’t, and that’s different territory. “Excuse me?”
“Jesse,” she says, exhaling, and I can see she’s falling into a pacifying state. “My parents don’t even really know about you. You can’t expect me to call them up and break this sort of news down the phone.”
Fuck it all. The parents. If John was here, he’d smash my head onto the counter. I’m tempted to do it myself. “We’ll go and see them. I’m not pussyfooting around, Ava.” God, listen to me. Yes, I am hearing myself. No, I can’t help it.
I stare at her, as she stares at me. I hate that she’s so worried about me meeting her parents. What the hell does she think I’ll do? Bang my fists on my chest, toss her onto my shoulder, and steal her away from them? I’m a rational man. I would never come between Ava and her parents.
“You’re being unreasonable.” She looks at me with too much disdain for my liking, nibbling at her toast.
“Do you love me?” I ask.
“Don’t ask stupid questions.”
“Good.” So let’s get on with this. “I love you too. We get married next month.”
