"That night, did Benson--?"
"Okay, I'm gonna stop you right there," she cuts me off. "You shouldn't be here, Bowie."
"Raelyn, I'm sorry. I--"
"I have company coming. I don't have time to chat."
The somber look in her eyes snaps my heart in half like...
"The only reason I don't believe in happy endings is because I don't believe in endings." - Edward Abbey
SEVEN YEARS LATER
"Babe, my parents are gonna be here any minute!" I yell up the stairs, although I doubt Zayna can hear me over the humming of the blow dryer.
"We'll be right down!" she hollers.
I shake my head, chuckling slightly. I know my wife, and her "right down" can vary from two minutes to two hours.
Zayna and I got married five years ago, right after I graduated from college. It was a simple ceremony at the courthouse. Our families were the only people in attendance, and that was the way we wanted it.
"I'm not into big shindigs. I haven't been planning my Cinderella wedding since I was a toddler or any dumb shit like that," she told me the night I got down on one knee and asked her to be my wife—a very Zayna-esque response, if I do say so.
"Whatever you want, baby," I assured her, admiring the way my ring looked on her delicate finger. To this day, she only takes it off to shower.
I hear the clacking of her high heels as she speed-walks down the wooden steps, our six-month-old daughter, Aurora, perched on her hip.
Йой! Нажаль, це зображення не відповідає нашим правилам. Щоб продовжити публікацію, будь ласка, видаліть його або завантажте інше.
"Hand her over," I say, lifting Aurora over my head and then bringing her down to my chest. She has my light blonde hair, but she has her mother's golden eyes.
"See, I was quick," Zayna teases.
"There's a first time for everything," I retort, pinching her butt as she walks past me.
God, my wife is hot as fuck.
I stick Aurora in her high chair and begin helping Zayna chop celery. For dinner, we're ordering pizza—my mom is gonna be ashamed, I know—but we figured veggies and dip would be a healthy way to hold people over until our cheese-slathered carbs arrive. Plus, we're trying to get our oldest, Wyatt, to eat something green other than sour apple candy.
Wyatt is four and a half. He was born exactly nine months after our wedding—a "honeymoon baby," my mom calls him. With wavy blonde hair and dark blue eyes, he looks like a mini me.
Йой! Нажаль, це зображення не відповідає нашим правилам. Щоб продовжити публікацію, будь ласка, видаліть його або завантажте інше.
