9. Don’t Sign a Prenup
Chapter 9
Don’t Sign a Prenup
T he realization dawns that I’m being undressed by a blond man, wrenching my mind from what little sleep I had finally found. His hands roam over my breasts and I groan out loud, but not from pleasure. I squint at the alarm clock to find it’s only seven a.m. On a Saturday.
I will never understand people who wake up before it’s absolutely necessary to force themselves back into reality. And Sam knows this, so what the fuck is he doing?
Maybe I would be more accepting of mornings if I could fall asleep at an appropriate time. But the voices in my head are wired at night and exhausted in the morning, therefore so am I. Maybe it’s the threatening darkness at night, the unknown that fuels the anxiety, and the peaceful, bright mornings that calm it; I don’t know. Regardless, it’s too early for this shit.
Usually, after the deed is done, he leaves to shower or rolls over to his side of the bed, depending on the time of day. So I figure I can get this over with pretty quickly and be dozing off again in a matter of minutes.
Running my hands through his hair, I tug lightly on the golden strands. His darkened eyes meet mine right before he flips over onto his back and pulls me toward him, guiding my head between his legs.
His heavy breath increasing as I move my mouth and hand in tandem is when I feel most intimate with Sam. For obvious reasons, of course, but sometimes I wonder if he even finds me attractive anymore. If he ever liked my looks. Even if he doesn’t, at least I can still make his eyes roll back in his head and his body tense as he shoots a small boost of confidence into my mouth.
I swallow, expecting him to leave like usual. Instead, he pushes me backward until I’m lying against the pillows once again, and he makes his way back down my body. Each kiss is planted slowly, his tongue slipping out to stroke my skin before he moves lower. And the further south he gets, the more shivers course through me, sending hot waves of pleasure right to my center. Bumps erupt over every inch of my body as a moan escapes my throat.
Putting pressure on my knees until they fall open, he keeps his eyes on mine as he lowers his head and bites his way up my inner thigh. My breath comes out fast with anticipation. His lips land right where I want them, and he sucks until my back arches. My head falls back, my hand finding his hair again. Then his phone rings.
A blast of cold air hits me where his mouth was just a second ago.
“Seriously?” I ask, breathlessly.
“It could be for work.”
He answers the call while he slips on his underwear and pants, and disappears to his office. With my heart beating quickly from the cold water thrown on me, there’s little chance I’ll be able to go back to sleep, so I shower and get ready for the day. Once I’m dressed in fleece leggings and one of Sam’s t-shirts, I send Hailey another text to call me when she’s awake and we’ll make a plan to talk today.
I reach for the doorknob, but Sam steps inside and looks down my body. “You’re already dressed? I figured we could finish what we started.” He runs his hand down my back to cup my rear as he presses the front of his body into mine.
“The mood has sort of fizzled and I’m showered already.”
“Alright, suit yourself.” He goes to his closet and comes back out with a shirt. “Come on, I smell bacon. I think Nick is cooking breakfast.”
Sure enough, we find Nick laying platters of eggs, bacon, and pancakes, and a bowl of mixed fruit on the table, where Tyler’s already seated wrapped in a blanket.
Sam slaps Nick on the shoulder and says, “Good thing we’re going to the gym later to work all of this off. Wanna come with us, Cori? I’m going to train Nick, get him back into shape.”
Nick gives me a look that suggests he isn’t thrilled about this plan. I don’t blame him.
From what I see, Nick is still very much in shape. Broad shoulders that barely fit in his gray t-shirt, thick, defined arms that extend from the short sleeves, and thighs that could burst a watermelon. But if Sam’s focus is on Nick’s body weight, it isn’t on mine. He’s tried several different tactics to convince me to go work out with him, but I’d rather eat lettuce for a month than work out with Sam again. The one time I did, I found I hated his methods of screaming “One more!” on repeat until I threw up. I also found that the more he yelled, the more I wanted to sit down in defiance and eat a loaf of bread.
“No thanks.” I’m reaching up into the cabinet when Nick’s towering frame appears beside me, taking the handle of the cup out of my hand.
“I’ll get it, you sit and eat.”
“Oh, it’s okay, I can get it.”
“No, let me,” Nick insists. A peace offering to make up for the weirdness last night on the patio, maybe? Or, from the other night?
“Just let him get it, he needs to earn his keep,” Sam jokes from the table with a smirk aimed at his phone.
I cave and take my seat, giving Nick a thankful smile, but he’s glaring at Sam. “I pay rent, asshole.”
I spoon a small amount of eggs and some fruit onto my plate, but as I lift my fork to stab a strawberry, my plate disappears. I look up to see Nick loading it down with more eggs, a pancake, and three strips of bacon.
“Syrup?” he asks, lifting the bottle.
“Uhh,” I look over at Sam, but he’s not paying attention. “No. Thanks though.”
Nick considers my answer, probably wondering if I’m declining because Sam is there, but finally sets my plate down in front of me.
I turn to Tyler after biting into the strawberry. “Please tell me you at least have underwear on under that blanket.”
He grins. “Nope.”
“At the breakfast table? Do you have no shame?”
His eyebrows fall. “Did you not know that already?”
I shake my head and Sam chooses that moment to look up and glance at my plate. “Damn, Cori, don’t you think that’s a little much?”
“No,” I challenge, but I’ll probably leave the pancake uneaten.
The silence is thick until Sam starts talking about some client from work. I’m not listening, though, because, for every second until my plate is clean, I feel the burn from Nick’s watchful stare.
I’m often confused around people in general, but this is one of Sam’s best friends. Or, he used to be before he left college. Nick has seen women much more beautiful than I on Sam’s arm. Women who don’t struggle with socializing, who don’t have to practice a remark in their head ten times before saying it. Women who are much better suited for a witty, poised, elegant man.
But his gaze doesn’t feel the same as Kenna’s menacing leer did last night. It feels knowing. Intimidating. Intrigued. It feels… risky.
* * *
T yler offers to drop me off on his way home after breakfast, and when I walk into my apartment, I find my parents sitting on the couch. Unfortunately, they see me and it’s too late to back out of the door and run for the hills.
“Well, look who finally decided to come home,” Mom says as I lean down to hug her and Dad.
“I didn’t know you were coming today.”
“I texted you,” she says, with a lift of her shoulder.
I take my phone out, but there’s nothing there. “I didn’t get anything, but I’m here now. Sorry.”
“We just figured we’d take you both to lunch. Since you never call or visit, we have to make the drive to make sure you’re both still alive.” I know there’s a hint of truth behind her playful tone. Mom has to guilt-trip me for something at least a few times a week. “It’s a shame you didn’t bring Sam with you.”
“Again, I didn’t know you were here.”
Sage points to a couple of boxes stacked by the front door. “Now that she’s here, can I finally know what’s in those?”
Mom answers, “Now that I’m finally making progress going through your Grandmother’s things, we brought some stuff we thought you’d want.”
“Why don’t you let us help go through her things?” I ask.
“I wouldn’t want to burden you with helping us.”
“Mom, you know it wouldn’t burden us. We’d love to help you.” Mom doesn’t respond, and I know it’s because she’d rather do it herself. She likes to be in control and, of course, wants first dibs. But again, guilt-tripping is her favorite thing to do.
Sage opens the box with her name scribbled on the side in black marker and scrunches her nose up in disgust. “Yeah, and if you let us help, we could pick out things we’d actually want.”
I peek in her box and my heartbeat picks up at the sight of Grandma’s books. “Mom probably got the names mixed up.”
“Well, excuse me, it’s a lot of work to do by myself. Plus, I’ve got several boxes to keep track of, one for each kid and your father, a trash box, and a giveaway box, then I have my own boxes.”
“I know, I wasn’t criticizing you,” I reassure her.
I’ve admired Grandma’s books ever since I was a kid. There are so many classics, so many old editions passed down to her from her parents and grandparents. And there are always treasures to be found within the pages—other than the story, I mean. Grandma was a stasher. If she came across a magazine or newspaper article or picture that made her think of the story, she’d fold it up and stash it in the book. She used the most random things for bookmarks, like receipts, photographs, even strips of fabric from her sewing projects, and most of them lie forgotten between the pages.
“Well, are you going to change, Cori, so we can leave?”
My attention is snapped back to Mom and I look down at the leggings and t-shirt I’m wearing. “Right. I’ll be back.”
Sage is wearing a long, white dress with pink flowers, and Mom is wearing light gray pants paired with a coral blouse. Even Dad is wearing khakis. So I choose a gray t-shirt dress that hits just below my knees and my off-brand leather sandals instead of my typical jeans and canvas shoes.
Mom has always been critical of my looks and my clothing. I was never much of a girly girl; I tend to gravitate toward comfort more so than looks, and Mom has always wished I was more like Sage in that way.
However, when I walk out to the living room, Mom looks me up and down. “You look cute. I never see you wear dresses anymore.”
I blush and look at the ground, suddenly embarrassed by the compliment. “Thanks, Mom.”
I follow Dad out to the car, with Mom and Sage behind me.
“Cori, you have stretch marks on your legs.” I stop and sigh at the sky. That’s why I never wear dresses. “You know what that’s from, right?”
I yank open the back door to their SUV. “Yes, I do, I don’t need the lecture.”
“I’m just saying, it’s from gaining weight. I keep telling you to watch what you’re eating.”
Tune out. Disassociate. Breathe.
We get situated in our seats and Dad pulls out of the parking lot.
“Ugh, Cori,” Sage complains, pulling a loose hair off her dress. She rolls the window down, letting it fly off with the wind.
“How do you know that’s mine?”
“Because it’s brown?” she states sarcastically. “And your hair is all over the apartment.” I’m the only one in the family who inherited Mom’s brown hair, except she dyes it blonde now to cover the gray, and Sage dyes her blonde locks a different color every few months—it’s currently lavender.
“Hopefully, it doesn’t find its way to a crime scene. If I’m brought in for questioning for a murder I know nothing about because my hair was found around the body, I’m telling them you framed me.”
She and Mom shoot confounded looks at me, identical in almost every way, except for the light lines around Mom’s eyes.
“What is wrong with you?” Mom asks.
“Anxiety,” I state, plainly. “I thought we all knew that already.”
“No, it’s all those books you read. Your imagination is too active.”
“So, Mom, Dad,” Sage starts, looking nervous for probably the first time in her life. She repeatedly smooths the nonexistent wrinkles in her dress. “The lease on our apartment is up next month, and I’ve been thinking that it’s time for Cori and I to go our separate ways. It’s probably time for her to move in with Sam, anyway. Don’t you agree?”
Mom turns around in her seat, brows furrowed, as Dad looks at her in the rearview mirror. “And where will you be moving?”
She hesitates. “With Brian.”
“ Brian? You just started dating him, what? Two months ago?” Mom asks.
“Yeah, so? I practically live there already.” Her head whips to Mom’s face; I don’t think she meant to say that last part out loud.
Mom rolls her eyes and flips back around in her seat.
“You always jump into things, Sage, without thinking it through. Look what happened with college.” Sage had a full scholarship to play volleyball at Sam Houston, but left after one year because she was “sick of school.”
“Yeah, well, life is too short to keep doing what makes you miserable. Or to not do something just because it may not work out. Like it or not, I’m an adult now and can make my own decisions, so I’m not asking for permission.” The tension has a strong hand around each of our throats. While I’m proud of Sage for sticking up for herself, I’m also glad the attention isn’t on me and my horrible life choices for once.
I reach a hand over to hers to show my support, but I can’t help but wonder how we have such different personalities after having been raised in the same household. It’s as if God got us mixed up and sprinkled confidence into her ingredients twice, leaving me too scared to even tell the barista she got my coffee order wrong.
“Well, I guess there’s one thing we can celebrate about all of this,” Mom starts. “You moving in with Sam.” She turns in her seat again, her smile emanating warmth and pride.
I’m not sure that I am moving in with Sam, but I don’t have the strength to let her down just yet. I smile back instead of answering and enjoy the sweet moment with Mom.
But Sage ruins it.
“Except she doesn’t want to ask him. She’s been thinking of ways to make it work, either by herself or with a new roommate.”
“Why don’t you want to ask Sam?” Dad asks.
I wonder if I’ll traumatize my family too much by jumping out of this car simply to avoid answering. “Because, while Sage doesn’t give much thought to her actions, I give too much thought.” I relay my list of concerns: I’m not in the same league as him, I’m not sure he’d want me to be there all the time, Nick just moved in, then I admit to them what Sam did last night.
In line with the usual dismissing of my concerns I’ve come to expect, Dad scoffs. “Sam is the only thing you’ve done right in your life. Don’t throw him away because you’re insecure about your job, especially when you have that job because you gave up trying to find anything else. A man like Sam isn’t going to wait for you forever, and if you lose him I doubt very much you’d find someone else as good.”
My cheeks blaze with embarrassment as Dad’s verbal slap rings through the air. I stare out the window, head throbbing from every word I want to say but keep locked inside out of fear of being disrespectful. Besides, I know he’s right. He’s only repeating the very song I sing myself to sleep every night.
“Is Sam cruel to you?” Mom asks.
“No, why?”
“Does he brush his teeth?”
I draw out my answer, unsure where she’s going with this. “Yeah?”
“Is he lazy? Does he cut his toenails? Is he racist, sexist, unkind to people different from himself?”
“No, yes, and no.”
“Then, what’s the problem?”
I refrain from mentioning how basic those qualities are. Shouldn’t a person I might live with require a little extra?
* * *
A fter a painful lunch, during which I was praised for hardly eating and scolded for being closed off and unsociable, we’re waiting for the server to bring the check when Dad brings up the diner.
“I’ve debated selling it. Just get it off my hands, so I don’t have to worry about it. But if Mike can get sales up, I might consider putting some more money into it. I need to see that it’s worth the investment first.”
I look around the table at Mom and Sage, their eyes glossed over as they daydream about literally anything besides the diner, and clear my throat. “You know, Dad, I have tons of ideas for the place. Grandma did great running the diner, but obviously, times are changing and the town is growing-”
Dad holds up a hand. “Cori, we’ve talked about this.”
“I know, but you haven’t even heard my ideas. We need fresh ingredients. Whatever food you want on the menu, fine. Just use fresh ingredients wherever possible. And I think we could really do well with an expanded coffee menu. There’s no coffee place in town-”
“Costs. It’s all about costs. And unless I see how your ideas won’t break the finances, I won’t consider them.”
“I can get that information for you. And we can add to the menu with ingredients we already have. I make flavored drinks for customers all the time that aren’t officially on the menu.”
His eyes widen. “You charge them, right? A cup of coffee is $1.49. If you’re using extra ingredients-”
“Yes, I add a charge for everything I use. But it’d be a lot easier if we already had a button for those drinks and a set price…” I smile, hoping to sell the idea, but Dad scowls.
The server drops off the check and Dad slides his glasses on. “It’s not a coffee shop. Just leave the brainstorming to the professionals.” He looks at the check and gets his wallet out, signaling the end of the conversation. But I’m not done.
“You work for an auto parts factory. What would you know about running a restaurant?”
His head snaps up to mine. “I grew up in that diner, young lady. I grew up in that town. I know much more than you think.”
“You tell me all the time that I don’t have ambition or drive. I do. But I don’t have anywhere to put it.”
“Use it to finish your bachelor’s and get a real job.” Like a judge’s gavel, his words slam down silencing my defiance. “And move in with Sam. Before he moves on to someone else.”
* * *
I escape to the bathroom to wash my hands. I’m scrubbing my hands for the third time, only to stall leaving the peace, when Mom walks in.
She waits for me to shut the water off, then turns me around by my shoulders and dries my hands with a paper towel as if I’m a child.
Pulling me in for one of her bear hugs, she says, “I’m sorry, honey. Sometimes we forget how sensitive you can be.” I almost pull back, but I don’t have the energy. “We just worry about you. Stephanie is married now with a doctorate to fall back on if anything happens to Adam’s job, and Sage is confident and scrappy and can figure out her own problems. But we know how difficult it is for you to talk or make friends. It would be a relief to know that you were secure in your relationship with Sam.”
There’s too much to unpack in that statement, but I start with, “Why do you worry about me? I’m doing fine.”
“Are you? The only reason you have an apartment is because Sage dropped out of college and needed a roommate. The only reason you have a job is because your Grandmother took pity on you and hired you.”
Okay, that fucking hurt.
“Even if I moved in with Sam, that’s no guarantee that it will last. Marriage isn’t even a guarantee.”
“Maybe not, but moving in with him is the next step towards marriage, and if the marriage doesn’t work out, then you leave with loads of money.” She raises her eyebrows and points her finger at me. “So don’t sign a prenup.”
Rolling my eyes, I turn towards the mirror, taking in my dull brown hair, thrown lazily into a ponytail, and my full round face. Honestly, I don’t hate what I see in the mirror. My hooded eyes and my lips thinner than the standards of beauty are beautiful to me. But I know that most people don’t agree.
“I want to ask him. I’m just scared he’s going to say no.”
“Well, maybe we’ll go shopping soon and give you a makeover. Some new clothes and a new hairstyle?” She tilts my chin up, looking at my skin. “Maybe a facial?”
I yank my chin out of her grip. “Ugh, Mom.”