Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
By the time we finally escape to our room, I feel like I’ve run a marathon.
My face aches from genuine laughter and polite smiles.
Jett, bless him, needed to hug me two times before he’d let me leave.
Once normal and then again “Superman-style,” which involved quite the impressive leap from the sofa.
I have a feeling my body won’t thank me for that tomorrow.
I close the door behind us and let my back rest against it. “I’m dying,” I announce, my eyes squeezed shut.
Simon sighs, and when I open my eyes, he’s peeling off his shirt, smiling in that unfair, boyish way that makes it impossible not to smile back. Impossible not to love him. “You’re crazy about them.” He turns away from me, slipping his ring off his finger and dropping it on the nightstand.
“I really, really am,” I admit, pushing off the door and wrapping my arms around him from behind. I rest my cheek against his warm skin. “But I’m also dead.”
“Well, that was fast. Didn’t even get to say goodbye.”
I roll my eyes, shoving him away. “Oh, ha ha.”
He laughs, warm, low, and quite pleased with himself, then turns to kiss my temple. “Just think what it’ll be like when it’s our kid. Or kids.”
“Chaos,” I whisper, wrapping my arms around him again.
I almost tell him.
The words are right on my tongue, resting, waiting.
“Come on. Let’s get you into pajamas before you collapse. Unless you want to join me in the bath.”
“Too tired.” My smile is softer, sadder. This isn’t the right moment. I know it isn’t. And yet, for the briefest moment, I see a glimpse of what life will be like after he knows.
We only have eight months to enjoy this together.
Is it selfish to wait?
We do the soft, domestic dance we’ve done a thousand times—he runs his bath water while I sit on the edge of the bed taking out my earrings. I slip into my oversized T-shirt while he digs through his drawer for a pair of pajama pants.
It’s easy and familiar. The sort of routine that makes me love our life even more. I never thought anything would feel so safe. So gentle.
While he brushes his teeth, I unzip my toiletry bag and reach in. My hand searches around, slipping across the canvas fabric.
I pause, frowning.
My perfume isn’t here.
I dig deeper, turning the entire bag over and dumping the contents onto the bed. Flossers, toothpaste, nail polish, moisturizer, contacts case, lip balm. Everything but the perfume.
I move to the bathroom, checking the sink.
“Huh,” I murmur, one hand on my hip.
Simon spits and rinses, watching me in the mirror. He spits again. “What’s wrong?”
“I…well…” Is this really real? Actually happening? “I can’t find my perfume.” I move back to the bedroom, checking every compartment of my bag again. “It’s not here.”
He appears in the doorway between rooms, drying his mouth with a hand towel. “Are you sure you packed it?”
“Yes, of course, I…”
“We were running around like crazy. You probably left it on the counter with your hairbrush.”
“No,” I say, quieter this time, my thoughts happening in slow motion. “I definitely packed it.” But did I? I can’t remember if I’ve used it since we arrived. I sniff my wrist, then pull my shirt away from my chest, tuck my nose inside, and inhale deeply.
I can’t tell. I don’t remember…
He disappears back into the bathroom for a minute and returns without the towel, plugging his phone in at his nightstand.
“Well, it’s a small bottle. Did you drop it under the bed or something?
” He eases down to his knees, checking. When he sits back up, he looks around the room. “Did you look in the suitcase?”
“I didn’t put it in the suitcase.” I check there anyway, kneeling next to where it sits by the window and scanning my hand along the inner walls of my luggage. Nothing. “This is so weird.”
He watches me. “What is?”
“This is the second thing to go missing.” My eyes find his, and his face shifts, like he’s thinking.
“Maybe the kids got in here and moved stuff?” He walks to the dresser, searching each drawer.
“Maybe…” I say softly, though I can’t really imagine Polly or Vic allowing them to rummage through our rooms. Although, at the same time, I guess they have a lot on their plate without the staff here to help watch the kids while we’re all busy cleaning.
Regardless, I can’t make sense of why they’d only take my things. And I can’t decide how to bring it up without seeming like I’m accusing the kids of stealing from me.
“We can check with everybody tomorrow,” he says, giving me that calm, unbothered smile that always puts me at ease. Tonight, it doesn’t. “Honey, it’s fine. If we don’t figure it out, we’ll replace it. No big deal.”
“No, I know. It’s not that.” At least, not mostly. We’re already a year into our marriage, and the “we’ll just replace it” energy is still weird to me.
I think back to one of my first memories with him.
I’d only known Simon a few weeks when my laptop quit working.
I was devastated. Stressed. I needed a laptop for work, and neither the nonprofit I worked for nor I could afford to fix it.
Simon didn’t even blink an eye. He just showed up with a new one like it was the obvious thing to do for someone you barely know.
I wasn’t even sure I liked him yet—I’d only agreed to a handful of dates and still thought he was kind of obnoxious—but there he was, fixing my entire world. Just because he could.
To him it was nothing, like dropping spare change into an outstretched palm on the sidewalk, but to me it was everything.
My walls came down then, and I fell for him hard, for his warmth and selflessness.
I finally believed in everything he seemed to already know about us and how great we could be together.
Still, we come from different universes entirely.
And I’m starting to wonder if Simon’s universe will always feel weird to me.
“It’s fine. You’re right. I’m sure it’s somewhere.
” Why am I being so ungrateful? I used to appreciate his willingness to fix my problems. If we have to replace the perfume, it’s not the end of the world.
I take out my contacts in the bathroom and brush my teeth, watching my reflection in the mirror, unease settling over me.
I’m sure he’s right. I’m sure I’ll wake up tomorrow and find it waiting at the bottom of my bag, tucked into a pocket I didn’t check.
There’s no other explanation that makes sense, and for the moment, I’m too tired to think about it anymore.
I move past the bathtub, where he’s resting in the water, and bend down to press my lips to his. “Love you.”
“Love you. I won’t be long.”
I slip out of the bathroom, shutting the door behind me. My eyes are tired, and my head throbs, but still, I grab my laptop before slipping into bed.
Later, when I hear the water drain, I unplug the flash drive I’ve been working on and tuck it back into the side of my bag, plugging the laptop in to charge.
Moments later, Simon opens the door. Steam pours out into our room as he moves around the bed and lies down next to me. He flicks off the lamp, wrapping his arms around my stiff body. I settle into his warmth, his chest rising and falling against my skin.
“I’ll check the trunk tomorrow. Maybe they fell out of your bag,” he says sleepily.
I’d nearly forgotten about the perfume.
“Maybe,” I whisper, my eyes closed. I try to think of anything else, but my thoughts keep circling the empty space where answers should be, where my perfume bottle should be, and where the little girl’s voice echoes, calling for help.