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I watch as devastation creeps over his face. "I-I am so sorry, Janey. I...I didn't see it."
I search his face, truly not understanding how that's possible. "How could you miss it?"
He turns, sits next to me, and drops his forehead to his knees. He lets out a low sound of frustration. "I didn't see it because her smell annoyed me, but mainly because I couldn't think about anything but seeing my ring on your finger. I was so focused on you and the small noises you'd make when you saw a ring you like." He lifts his head and stares at the ceiling. "I knew you were quiet, but I thought you were still overwhelmed. Why didn't you say anything?"
I tuck my hands into my chest. "I didn't know I was supposed to. You seemed so businesslike, I just thought you wanted to get it all over with. And honestly, I just wanted to get out of there too."
"I see," he whispers, looking down at his hands. He turns to me and forces a smile. "I'd better get this mess cleaned up. I've lost my appetite for cookies anyway. Why don't you head to bed."
He stands easily and studies the kitchen, eyes sweeping over everything but me, and I wish I'd kept my mouth shut. I ruined everything.
"I'll help clean up," I say, pushing to my feet.
Jonas stares at my waist and shakes his head. "It's fine. I'd prefer to do it myself. I know where everything is."
I want to argue with him. I want to tell him that I love being around him and don't care if we're cooking or cleaning, I just want to be with him. But he's shut down. And I don't know how to go back and fix the last five minutes.
So I force a smile — not sure why, since he doesn't look at me — and say goodnight, turning for my room. This feels wrong. This is wrong. I'm hurt, he's hurt, and we're just going to go to bed like that? Isn't there some rule about married couples never going to bed mad?
But I'm not mad, and I don't think he is either.
There's too much sadness.
I stop in the hallway to my room, hands clenched, needing this to be different. Wanting to end the night on a better note. Hiding in my room isn't going to make anything better.
Determined, I turn and freeze when I see Jonas writing in the flour coating the upper cupboard. His finger moves deliberately through the flour, carefully forming a J. Then a plus sign and another J. The heart he draws around them makes my own heart clench. I'm about to go to him, but suddenly he wipes it away with an aggressive swipe of his arm.
Just like that, all traces of the sweet emotion are gone.
I wonder if the rest of our relationship will be as easy to erase when this is all over.
21
JONAS
I watch the sun rise from my spot on my bedroom carpet. I've been up too long. Normally, I sleep easy, if not long. Even when I dream of Janey, I feel rested. But last night, I couldn't settle.
I really thought I would be a good husband. I watched everything I could. I read everything. I learned how to please a woman. I learned how I'm supposed to treat a wife. I didn't think my diagnosis would be a problem.
I was a fool.
How the fuck did I miss so much? How can two people have such wildly different experiences of the same interaction? I fucked up. Badly. And I only have myself to blame.
I know women are attracted to me. I meet the Western standard for male attractiveness. I am tall. I am strong. And I'm rich. On the surface, that's all it takes. I am used to ignoring people, but never once did I consider what happens while I ignore them. They just cease to exist for me.
Groaning, I sit up, rub my hands through my hair, and slap my cheeks a few times. I'm exhausted. I grab my phone from next to the bed, and go back to my spot on the carpet as I pull up the contact.
"The fuck?” His voice is groggy, thick with sleep.
"Good. You are awake." I thought about calling my brother, but I did not want to wake Maya. My best options this early in the morning are my unmarried brothers.
Nick groans. "You're an asshole, Jonas. It's too early."
"It is 7:20 AM. We're up for work before this."
"It's Christmas Eve, Dickface. What do you want?"
"It's Christmas Eve day. It can't be Eve until tonight," I correct him automatically, then turn to the reason I called. "When we all go out, and women approach me, I ignore them. What happens after that?"
