44. June
44
JUNE
S o I don't have a job. Who needs a career anyway?
I do. Damn it.
Maybe I shouldn't be getting my self-esteem from my job. Maybe I should have a better sense of my intrinsic self-worth. But the fact of the matter is, I like having a job. I like being respected by my colleagues. I like feeling valued at my place of employment. I enjoy impressing clients.
So, sitting at home and taking care of the small apartment isn't quite enough for me.
It would be one thing if we had kids to take care of. But sitting around, surrounded by these four walls—four admittedly beautiful walls in an amazing apartment building—but still, it's not … it's not the same as having a job. Or even a hobby.
Somehow I have managed to read almost every book on my Tbr list, a task social media would have me believe is impossible. I've started hitting the gym in the apartment building twice a day. I've even watched some of the cooking shows that Anderson was hooked on during his recuperation, but I still can't get sucked into them. That is firmly a him thing.
Maybe I'm going stir-crazy. Or just crazy, crazy. I'm not sure.
Weirdly enough, I've started to come to grips with who my father is. And the fact that he's defrauding Andre is kind of funny, given what that sociopathic bastard has put me through. I wouldn't exactly call it closure, but it might be closure-adjacent. Whatever it is, it feels like that chapter of my life is complete.
Given that it's complete, what the hell else can I do with my time?
I was already short on options when I went to work for Andre in the first place. Elliott West had gone scorched earth on me before then, and it seems pointless now to try and find work when I’m on everyone’s blacklist. It's funny. Thanks to my soon-to-be father-in-law, I can't get a job and must depend on his son more, which is antithetical to what he wants.
Well, he did that to himself.
I don't depend on Anderson just financially. Every day, when he comes home, I feel like one of those new moms who's excited to talk to an actual adult. He walks in, and I take his coat and hang it on the rack. “How was your day, sweetie?”
“Fine, thanks. No new news from the cops, so that's always good.”
“Glad to hear it. Ready for dinner?”
“Oh, who did we order from this time?”
I give him a mock scowl. “No one. I actually made dinner. I can cook, you know.”
He smiles at that. “Then I look forward to trying your dinner. What did you make?”
“Nothing fancy. Just pork schnitzel, homemade applesauce, and coleslaw.”
His lips part in a gasp. But then his brow furrows. “You made applesauce?”
“The store had some Braeburns that smelled really good. Didn't make sense to buy premade.” I trot off to the kitchen. “I also picked up a bottle of Riesling to go with the German-themed dinner. You hungry?”
“I'm pretty sure my stomach has an erection right now, so yes.”
I snort a laugh. “What?”
“That meal sounds amazing. I was wondering why the apartment smelled so good.”
“Don't get too excited, I haven't made schnitzel since I was a girl.”
“How come I'm getting it now? What's the special occasion?”
I shake my head. “Nothing all that special, really. Talking to my dad the other day made me think about Granny. Pork schnitzel was one of her favorite things to make.” I portion out our plates and get us set up on the kitchen island-slash-breakfast bar while he changes into his lounge pants and a tee shirt. “I know we normally eat in front of the TV, but you kind of need a fork and knife for this. Oh, the bread.” I duck to the oven to get it out.
“You made bread?”
“Well, we got you that stand mixer when you were doing all of that cooking, and it hadn't been used in a while, so I figured I'd give it a shot.”
After I slice the bread and bring over the butter, he looks at me funny.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“First of all, that smells and looks amazing. Secondly, we really need to get you a job, don't we?”
I laugh, but it's only to hold back the tears. I'm so relieved that he understands. “Yeah.”
He pulls me onto his lap, wrapping me in his big, muscular arms. “I am sorry that my father fucked you over so bad. We will make this right.”
“That sounds great and all, but I don't understand how. Your father hates me. He keeps trying to make you break up with me.” I shrug. “I don't think that there's any way we can fix that.”
“First of all, we should eat. Once we have full stomachs, we can have full brains and come up with a plan.”
“Is that your polite way of telling me to get off of your lap so you can eat?”
“Baby, it just looks so good, and I'm afraid I'm going to start drooling on you.”
I giggle and go to my chair, and we dig in. “There's sauerkraut if you want some. I never got a taste for it, but I figured it goes with the meal if you like it.”
“I prefer my fermented cabbage kimchi style. I like the spice.”
I'm not sure how to say what I want to say. “You're right about me needing something to do during the day. I would prefer to be able to contribute to the household one way or another.”
“You're cooking and cleaning. I can't ask for more than that.”
“You know what I mean. Either financially. Or domestically.”
“I just said?—"
“I was thinking more domestically.”
His brow drops. “You lost me.”
“For all intents and purposes, the case is over. We can start living our lives now. It's not out of the realm of possibilities for us to consider having a child. We've talked about it before.”
He smiles, but it's tentative. “I absolutely love where your head's at.”
“But?”
“No, but . That said?—"
“Fancy but .”
He smirks. “Yes, fancy but . I think things are still too up in the air at the moment.”
“I had a feeling you'd say that. And you're right. But it is on my mind.”
“Mine too. It's a big part of why I want all of this behind us.” He takes my hand in his. “I am overwhelmingly thrilled that I get to start a family with you. If I could start that tonight, I would. But I don't think we're in a good situation for it just yet. Soon. As soon as possible.”
“I'd like that.”
He gives my hand a squeeze, and we go back to eating. “Are we good?”
“Why wouldn't we be?”
“That's a touchy subject. I was hoping that I handled it to your satisfaction.”
I smile warmly at him. “I'm touched that you're trying to be sensitive. But I'm good. You handled it just right.”
He breathes a sigh of relief. “I never would have pegged you for baby fever.”
“I wouldn't say I have baby fever.”
He grins. “Says the woman who was looking at baby clothes last night.”
I laugh at him. “So you knew this was coming?
“Or you could just call it intuition.”
“Nope, you already let the cat out of the bag. Now I know my fiancé spies on my computer.”
“You were sitting right next to me. I was looking down your shirt. I happened to glance at the screen?—"
I giggle. “I'm not mad, Anderson. I think it's funny. Wait, you were looking down my shirt?”
“Well, I was trying to, but you were wearing one of those high-collar crewneck T-shirts. Don't be surprised if those things disappear out of your laundry. It's impossible to check out your tits in them.”
“Don't you dare! They're very comfortable.”
“We will see.”
After supper, we go to the living room for our usual routine of scrolling online while watching TV. But he pulls me against him, so I have to lay my head on his shoulder. He kisses the top of my head and murmurs, “I really am glad you’re thinking about babies. I hope I didn’t make you think otherwise.”
“I’m fine. You don’t have to try to make me feel better about not thinking it’s the right time?—"
“Maybe I’m not.” He sighs. “Pretty sure I’m trying to convince myself of it.”
I sit up to look at him. “Really?”
He nods. “I’ve wanted to start a family with you for a long time, baby. If things were different, I’d have already made it happen.”
“Right, well, the cops?—"
“It’s not entirely about them.” He rakes his fingers through his lush, dark hair. “It’s my father.”
“How so?”
“You’re right about him. He doesn’t see you the way that I do. I think it’s time we change that.”
I laugh. That asshole has hated me from day one. Changing his mind about me would be impossible by now. “How do you propose we do that?”
“A little work, a little luck, and a PowerPoint presentation.”
“You can’t be serious.”
He smiles. “I’m not.” Then he pulls me close again, and I nuzzle into him. “It’ll be the raw documents.”
“Please tell me you’re joking.”
“When it comes to dealing with my father, I do not joke.”
I exhale worry and inhale potential trauma. This should be fun.