Chapter 15
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
AVA
I got my period. – Ava
I send him the message because he asked for me to let him know, then throw my phone to the side because I’m feeling sorry for myself. As though nature likes to point out that she knows better than anybody else, my period has also arrived early. And heavy.
Myles and I have barely spoken since he told me about Endo getting the Macy’s Parade. It’s not that he hasn’t tried. But I’ve been feeling so weirdly upset about it. I was hoping it was hormones.
Turns out it’s just me.
This is why you shouldn’t mix your home life with your work life. My head is so messed up it’s hard to think straight. I feel like a failure at work and a failure at home.
I can’t even inseminate myself properly.
I knew that the chances were slim, especially for the first time. But it’s the hope that kills you in the end. I thought that for once in my life something would go right, and then life turned around and gave an evil cackle.
It’s okay, I’m feeling sorry for myself, and I know that. Tomorrow I’ll paint on a smile and hype myself up and stop being such a wet blanket.
But tonight I just want to sulk.
After ten minutes I realize Myles isn’t going to reply. I don’t know why I thought he would. He’s probably relieved that he won’t have to be permanently connected to my miserable ass forever.
His sperm had a lucky escape.
It’s only eight-thirty, but I decide to go to bed and sleep off the rest of this miserable day.
I shower and wash my hair before I drag on my period pajamas, the soft over worn cotton cool against my heated skin.
Then I brush my teeth and grimace at my reflection in the mirror.
My skin is shiny and blotchy. Even my complexion hates me tonight.
As I’m pulling back the covers, I hear noise from downstairs. It takes me a moment to realize somebody’s knocking on the front door. When I finally reach the door and open it, it’s somehow a complete surprise and yet not a shock at all to see Myles standing there.
“Hi.” I shift my feet, embarrassed by how bad I look.
His gaze flickers over me. “Nice pajamas. Can I come in?” He’s holding a plastic bag.
“I’m not great company.” I wait for him to say I never am, but he doesn’t.
“I assumed you wouldn’t be. That’s why I brought bribes.” He holds up the bag. “Ice cream, sweet tea, and a family pack of chocolate.”
“What kind of chocolate?” I ask, feeling ever-so-slightly better.
“Cadburys. The best.”
He knows about my Cadbury’s addiction? “Is it the stuff made by Hershey’s or the good stuff?”
He reads the back of the bar. “It’s imported from England. Bourneville, actually. Now, can I come in or do you want me to feed you on the step?”
I step aside to let him in, and his warm body brushes past mine as he enters the hallway. Closing the door behind him, I take a deep breath and catch his eye. “You don’t have to do this. I’m a grumpy ass bitch and you don’t owe me anything.”
“I figured it was this or an apology note from my sperm for not doing their job.”
My lip twitches. “It wasn’t your sperm. It was me. I probably did it wrong. I spent too long thinking about it and not enough time… well… doing the deed.”
“It’s only one month.” He shrugs. “We have plenty of time ahead of us.”
We. The way he says it makes my heart do a little twist. “Yeah.” I nod. “We do.”
“Were you in bed when I knocked?” he asks, following me to the kitchen and putting the bag on the counter.
“I was thinking about it.”
He checks his watch but says nothing about the fact that it’s not even nine o’clock yet. “Then go on up. I’ll follow you in a minute.”
“To my bedroom?” I lift an eyebrow.
He gives me the sweetest smile. And I swear if he wasn’t my kind-of-nemesis and also the donor of sperm, I’d be falling a little bit in love with him right now.
“Yes. Get into bed and I’ll bring everything up. You have a TV up there, right?”
I blink. “Yes.”
“Find something for us to watch on Netflix. Anything you like. Serial Killer documentary, romcom, whatever.”
“You’re staying?” I frown, because this is so not how I expected things to go.
He shrugs. “Haven’t got anywhere else to be.”
Ten minutes later, we’re lying under my covers watching a documentary about a woman who killed her husband and buried the different parts of his body all over her yard.
Myles winces when they talk about finding his appendage beneath the hydrangea bush, and I get a grim thrill from watching him.
He’s taken his jeans and socks off, but kept his shorts and t-shirt on, and our thighs are pressed together.
Somehow his arm has ended up around my shoulders, and I’m kind of nuzzling against his chest.
“Myles?”
“Yeah?” He swallows, his eyes still on the screen. His hand idly traces patterns on the top of my arm.
“I’m sorry I’ve been a bitch at work.”
His lip quirks. “You were angry. I get it. I was angry, too.” His voice is low and smooth but I can feel the vibration of it through his chest.
“Yeah, but I didn’t need to take it out on you. I know New York has the final say.”
He exhales deeply. “Yeah, but they’re wrong on this. We both know that Dandy has the longevity that Endo doesn’t. Sure, he’s flying high now, but he won’t be a treasured favorite in thirty years.”
“You think Dandy will?”
He looks down, his blue eyes catching mine. Being this close I can see a tiny scar on the corner of his lip. It takes all the strength I have not to reach out and touch it.
Don’t spoil this. He’s come here to take care of you, nothing more.
“Yeah, I do. Dandy’s iconic. He’s like Curious George and Paddington and all those other characters who stand the test of time. He’s got the right mixture of heart and soul.”
“Naomi’s a genius,” I say, referring to the author.
“It’s not just Naomi, it’s you.” He’s still drawing circles on my arm. It’s distracting in the best kind of way. “I know how closely you work with her. How she only ever listens to you. Why do you think New York wanted you in the offices there? They know you get the best out of her.”
“Yeah, well now you know why I don’t want to move to New York.”
“Because of the baby?”
“I can’t afford to live in New York with a baby. I’ll just about manage here.”
“I still don’t get why you didn’t move there ten years ago,” he murmurs, lifting the remote control and pausing the documentary. “Didn’t you want to climb the ladder?”
“I like it here. Everybody knows everybody. People smile at you.”
“I noticed. At first I thought they were all grimacing.”
I smile and he smiles back at me and my chest does another squeeze. Why can’t we always be like this?
“And what’s with the cum trees?” he asks me. “Those things stink.”
“Cum trees? You mean the Callery pears?”
“Yeah.” His brow dips. “I gag every time I walk past them.”
“They’re a Charleston fixture. You just have to remember not to park near them while they’re in blossom. That’s how we can tell the out of towners from the locals.”
“I guess I failed.”
I tip my head at him. “I can’t imagine you’ve ever failed at anything.”
He has this intense look on his face, like he wants to say something but has no idea how. And then I realize that he’s probably thinking about the donation. Maybe he feels like he’s failed, too.
But he shouldn’t.
I open my mouth to tell him that, but my lower abdomen chooses that moment to squeeze like a vice. I wince and grit my teeth, the breath knocked out of me.
“You okay?” he asks, concerned. “Is it cramps?”
“Yeah.” I nod. “Sorry, I told you I’m not great company.”
He climbs out of bed and I try to not look at the thick ropes of muscles on his thighs. They’re not stupidly huge, just defined and in proportion with the rest of him. And as he turns around I get a glimpse of his ass beneath his boxers and my breath catches again.
He pulls his jeans on and I feel a sense of disappointment wash over me. So he’s going. I know I have no right to feel disappointed. He’s been so sweet, bringing food over and cuddling me in bed.
Like a boyfriend without the emotional attachment. Something about that thought makes my chest ache.
“Thank you for coming,” I say softly. “I appreciate it.”
He looks back at me and frowns. “What are you talking about? I’m just going to get you some Tylenol and a hot water bottle. I assume you have one.”
“Do you have a sister?” I ask.
He frowns at the abrupt turn of conversation. “No. Why?”
“How come you know about hot water bottles making things feel better?” And then I realize it’s not a sister, it’s probably a girlfriend. Or a wife. Has he ever been married?
“I was the oldest son of a single mom. I’ve been buying tampons and Midol on the way home since junior high.”
“You were?”
He shrugs. “It’s no big deal. It’s just a period, right? I don’t think I can catch cooties from it.”
My throat feels tight, but I say nothing as he finds some Tylenol, then five minutes later is back from the kitchen with my fluffy hot water bottle. I only really use it in the depth of winter when the wind whips around the house and gets in through the many cracks in the walls.
He hands it to me before he shucks his jeans off again. It looks like he’s staying for a while. I put the hot water bottle on my stomach and within a few minutes it works its magic, loosening the tight muscles and soothing the ache.
“I should put your next ovulation window in my phone,” he says, as I nestle back against his hard chest. “When is it?”
“Between fourteen and eighteen days from now,” I say. I’m a clockwork kind of girl. I guess there’s something to be grateful for.
He scrolls through his phone and opens the calendar app, moving his finger over the dates and clicking on the one two weeks from now. Then he frowns, his finger hovering but not moving.
“Shit. I’m away that week.”
“You are?”
“Yeah. Remember I told you about taking a vacation?”
“It’s okay. We can try the following month.” If he hasn’t come to his senses and decided to pull out of our agreement by then.