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"I'd say this was a successful date." Nick chuckles when he moves away from my lips. I chuckle and look down, my forehead brushing against those luxurious lips. He takes the opportunity to press a kiss onto it.
"I think so," I agree. His gaze burns hot, and those two pools of liquid gold attract me like a magnet and melt me with them until we're one bubbling puddle.
"Was it good enough for a second date?" he whispers. His finger guides my chin up so I can feel his breath beating against my mouth. My lips part a little so I'm breathing his words in, savouring them on my tongue like sweets.
"I—absolutely," I whisper with a sly smile.
"Good." He reaches down and claims my lips again with his marshmallow ones. Marshmallows taste good in every way: on their own, heated on a fire, in chocolate, melted, on hot chocolate. Just like marshmallows, I imagine Nick's lips would taste sweet in any and every way.
His hand snakes around my waist, but not before slipping underneath the hem of my blouse. My skin tingles underneath his touch, and I feel my nerves singing to life as his other hand follows suit. My tongue dives into his mouth, needing to feel more of him, needing to feel more than just his marshmallow exterior.
I feel him guiding me towards the seat behind him. His hands leave my skin as he pulls me with him so I'm on top of him. My hand does what it's been craving for ages, and tangles in his blonde angelic curls as I get lost in the taste of red wine, pasta, and desire. His hand brushes up my skin like a paintbrush, making sketches on my skin and watercolour puddles on my insides as the nerves and desire become one with every touch.
"Aspen, wait—" he breathes, breaking away from me. An involuntary whimper leaves when he does, though I can see the hunger in those golden eyes.
"What?"
"You said you wanted slow. This isn't slow," he reminds me. "We carry on and I'm going to want more. I, uh, already do."
I slump and reluctantly pull myself off him. He smiles as he stands up.
"I usually wait for the third date," he jokes.
"How very gentlemanly of you! If we're going down that route, we're basically on our seventh date." I snort.
My phone buzzes, and I see it's my mum. 'How is Joel doing? We have been praying for him.' I roll my eyes and put it away.
"It's not that I don't want to," he assures me.
"I know that; I could quite clearly, uh, feel that you wanted to," I tease, and move my eyes down to the evidence. "You're right, though. I made the mistake of rushing before. I don't want to make the same mistake twice."
"Shall I take you home? You probably need sleep before tomorrow."
"He wants me to visit, says he wants to discuss stuff." I sigh, annoyed by the shift in conversation. Despite the heavy conversation we had in the restaurant, I've been flying above the clouds in this happy bubble with Nick. The thing about bubbles is that eventually they have to pop, and he pops mine with the reminder of my reality with Joel. Every bubble leaves behind some sort of residue as evidence of its existence, though, and Nick is that residue with his halo of golden curls, touch that lingers, and love that leaves a hymn in my heart.
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My phone rings as I get ready for my dreaded visit with Joel the next day. I already swear things can't get any more stressful than they are until my mum proves me wrong by ringing.
"Mum?" I answer with annoyance.
"Aspen, you didn't answer my text yesterday," she sings.
"Sorry, Mum, I was busy," I answer. "Joel is... Joel is doing okay."
"That's good, my love."
I sigh, debating on whether to tell her the truth yet, or whether to leave it until the divorce papers are signed. I suppose it won't change anything whenever I do it: Joel and I have decided what is best and no number of yells of sin or pressuring can change our decision. If the Huntington's disease, coma and revelations of the past three months have done anything, it's solidified my independence from both my mother and her religion. I've lived in her shadow long enough.
"Yes, it is," I answer.
"Your father and I were thinking of coming down to see him. He is our son-in-law after all," she says.
I sigh. "I really don't think that's a good idea, Mum. I'll let him know you're thinking of him, but I think it's best to wait until he's at home."
I listen to her think it over, her breaths coming in abundance. She's annoyed and trying to think of the best way to argue.
"I think we'll come to visit this weekend, Aspen. That would be best for everyone," she says eventually.
"Look, Mum, I have to go, okay? But please, just wait until he's home," I insist. "I have to go. Bye." I hang up before she can carry on and grab my keys to head straight for the hospital.
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I wash my hands in the bathroom sink of the ward. I hear the undeniable sound of puking from behind the only other closed bathroom stall. For a split second, I want to knock on the door and ask if whoever she is needs help. When it stops and the toilet flushes, I guess I wouldn't be needed even if I asked.
The door opens, and immediately I hold back an annoyed groan.
"Shit."
"Summer!" I greet when my eyes hit those wide-eyed baby blues of hers. The shock and fright are clear on her face, but I watch her quickly recover like an actress caught off guard on stage. "How are you?"
"Good, thanks," she answers. She washes her hands and rinses her mouth in the end sink so she's not close to me.
"I'm surprised you're here and not at work, after all, they sent you a few weeks ago now. I spoke to Elliot the other day to tell him how Joel is," I mention. We both know I know, and out of pure spite, I want to make it as uncomfortable as possible.
She doesn't answer.
"See, I never believed they sent you to check on him," I add. "It didn't make sense because what good will that do for Joel? Why wouldn't Elliot just send some coffee vouchers for me, or some flowers or something to help him out? When I found out the truth, the one thing I couldn't get through my head is why you only turned up when he was in a coma. Where were you when he got his diagnosis? When he had the seizures? Where were you, Summer? You claim to be his girlfriend, yet you've been so... absent. Because if that was me, I wouldn't care about the wife that Joel clearly doesn't love."
She looks into the mirror and her eyes meet mine through the reflection. She'd be good at playing poker with the neutral look on her face. The indifference she gives me is quite impressive.
I'm being horrible. I know I am. But I want to know, and my mouth just doesn't want to cooperate with my brain.
"For a woman who was never in love with him, you sound bitter, Aspen," she says. I expect a hint of bitchiness, but she's composed as hell, and I admire it about her already.
"Because to an extent, I am. What he did hurts, but that's because we're husband and wife. I don't care that he doesn't love me, I understand why. I'm bitter he didn't tell me about you; he never told me you were his ex before we met, he didn't tell me you came back, and he never told me about the affair."
"From what I hear, you wouldn't have divorced him even if he did," she says. I watch her fold her arms. "You got married under the pressure of your parents, who don't believe in divorce. From what I hear, your agreement to said divorce is because you found someone else, so even if he asked for one before he got ill, you wouldn't have agreed to it."
I nod. "That's a fair point, but who said we had to get divorced at that point?"
"True, but you still will have felt hurt, Aspen. Look, I'm not here to argue with you. I think his behaviour... well, I'm not perfect, but I think under your circumstances he should've said something, but I can see why he didn't," she says. She holds her hands up as if to display innocence.
"What're you doing here? Visiting him?" I ask.
"Yeah, but he told me you were coming, so I was going to get a drink until you left," she answers.
"Sounds like you better go home," I mention. "You sound sick."
She looks at the floor, and for a moment, I swear she's laughing, but I hear the sob she chokes on. She covers her mouth as the tears flow from her eyes, and for a moment, I don't know what to do. Like a deer in headlights, I walk to her and half-open my arms for her.
She's my husband's Other Woman, yet here she is crying in the bathroom. I expected her to be this bitter, jealous cow when, actually, she seems like any other girl in love.
An idiot who fell for Joel Watkins' charm, like I did.
"What's the matter?" I ask when she cries into my shoulder. "Look, I'm not... if you're worried I'm some bitter old cow spurned by her husband, you couldn't be more wrong, Summer." I chuckle to myself, and she laughs into my arm, the crying still coming out of her mouth.
"I mean, that's not it, but... that helps," she jokes.
"I'm actually thankful. You're right; it's taken this whole... thing for me to realise that I'm my own person. I guess... I guess he felt trapped because of my inability to stand up to my parents and tell them to do one."
"It's not as simple as that," she says. She stands up properly and wipes her eyes with the sleeve of her cardigan. "Joel told me everything... and I think... it sounds to me like the both of you have just been coasting along, and he was just as afraid of the repercussions as you were. Whoever this other man is, Aspen, he's been your freedom. Well, both of your freedoms."
"I'm still scared of them. My parents, I mean," I admit. "But... the other thing is with Joel's illness, he deserves happiness. You clearly give him that."
She smiles. "I hope so."
"This is gonna sound weird, but this isn't going to get easier for him, or you if you stick around," I say.
"Yeah, I know. I've been doing a lot of reading... I... Aspen, I'm pregnant."
My first reaction to this is to march into his room and slap him. But then I think about it logically: slapping him will achieve nothing, and yelling will do nothing to help. Has he seriously never heard of a condom? Did he not learn from what we went through?
The only thing I can do is mention the logical thing.
"I assume you're upset because of the Huntington's?" I question. She nods. "How far along are you?"
"Twelve weeks," she answers. "He doesn't know."
I sigh, and she falls into my arms again. When I found out about Joel and Summer, I always imagined I would be the bitter wife, burnt up by jealousy and bitterness. I never imagined I would stand in the hospital bathroom, comforting her.
"Did Joel tell you about Gabriel?" I ask. She nods against my shoulder. "When I found out I was pregnant with him, Joel knew he had the Huntington's gene. He found out the same week, so when we were deciding on our options, he knew all along. His dad, Frank, had the disease. Frank killed himself because he didn't want to become dependent on Monica. He... because of Frank, Joel knew since he was sixteen that he had the potential to have the faulty gene. He made the decision when he was eighteen to have that test because his dad told him. Any child of Joel's has a fifty-fifty chance of getting the disease too. I didn't know when I saw those two lines."
She sniffles and stands up again. We watch each other, and I lean against the wall and look at her. I want to say I'm surprised by this news, but I'm not.
I remember that monumental moment when I saw those two pink lines of doom... I remember wondering how in the world two tiny, tiny pink lines could mean my entire world crashing down. At that point, I had absolutely no idea that it would literally mean the world around me caving in, firing and... well, coming to an end just like it did in Pompeii. I stood there on my wedding day wondering if the ashes of my sins would ever be found like Pompeii eventually was. Little did I know, they would be found. At this point, they're being found and brought back to life by a man called Nick. Though some of those ashes can't be put back together, and I don't ever think they can.
"Aspen, what do I do?"
"I can't give you that answer. I didn't have the facts when I was in your position, but you do. You need to seriously weigh it up. First, you need to decide whether you're ready to be a mum. If you are, then you need to think about whether you want to have the test to see if the baby has the gene. If you don't feel ready to be a mum, you need to decide if you want to keep it or not. Only you can make that decision, Summer."
She nods and wipes her tears. "I'm already twelve weeks though. I didn't get any symptoms until a few days ago. I have a scan next week—to terminate would be cruel, right? But... the disease... do I tell him?"
"That's your choice. What I will tell you is that... Joel has ten to fifteen years left; if he's lucky. He could defy all odds and live longer, but you need to face the reality on every side here. He might not be around that much longer. Your child might have the same fate. They might not. It's even odds. It might be easy now while he's in the hospital, but... it might not be this easy forever. Well, it won't."
"If Joel had told you when you were pregnant, what would you have done?"
I sigh. "I've thought about this so much and I just... I don't know. I'd like to think I would've gotten the test. I would like to say I would've saved Gabriel the stress and had a termination to save him the pain if he does have it. But hindsight is a wonderful thing, and I didn't know. It's easy to sit where I am and spout off all the truths, but I'm not the one in your position. This decision isn't easy. It wasn't for me, and I didn't have the facts. No one: not me, not Joel, not your parents, not a doctor or nurse can make this decision for you. All we can do is give you what you already know."
She sighs and smiles. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For not being a bitter old wife?" She chuckles and wipes her tears.
"You're welcome." I smile. Reality comes crashing down when we stop speaking. "I better go see the idiot."
She nods. "I'll go grab a coffee and calm down. Good luck."
"I'll need it!" I joke.
We both give each other a small smile before I walk out of the bathroom and head to see my idiot of a husband.
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