He worked second shift and would be taking his lunch break sometime in the next ten minutes, like he always did. I’d gone to bed two hours ago, too tired to stay up to chat with Jo, yet too wrapped up in my own thoughts to sleep. Mostly, I thought about what Jo had said. Despite knowing about Jackson before Peter and I rekindled our relationship—around the same time Elle and Luke had rekindled theirs—I hadn’t put much thought into the concept of what I would become if Peter and I were to ever marry. Jo was right. I would be a mother. Just like that.
My phone rang, startling me away from my thoughts. Peter was right on time, as always.
“Landed just fine, and Jo is pissed that you won’t be coming here in two weeks. Quick recap of my night for you,” I answered.
“Sounds pretty much like I anticipated.” He paused to take a drag from the cigarette he always smoked during his few precious moments of freedom.
“Oh, and you need to put that cancer stick down.”
“You and I have been over this before. It’s going to happen … someday.”
“So is Armageddon. I would just prefer to be alive to see your someday happen first.”
“Christ, Mena.” He chuckled. “This conversation has quickly taken a dark turn.”
“That’s the way I like it.” I paused, my thoughts overtaking me once more, unsure of whether or not I should trouble him with what had probably been all too obvious to him from the start of our relationship.
“Are you okay? You’re not your usual chatty self. Did you contract laryngitis on the plane and it’s only now beginning to manifest?”
“I’m fine,” I answered, deciding to take the easy way out for the night, “just a little bummed that we have to go three weeks between visits this time.”
“Now I know you’re sick, because you don’t usually get sentimental on me. Maybe you should have Jo take you to the hospital.”
“Look at you trying to make the jokes, like you have some comedic game or something.”
“Don’t hate the player.” He took another drag from his cigarette, accompanied by an unusually long pause. “Are you having second thoughts about meeting Jackson?” he asked as though he had been using those extra seconds to build up the courage to ask that question. “Because if you are, we can postpone it for another time.” A subtle shake in his voice betrayed his otherwise cool, calm, and collected exterior. He rarely ever showed his vulnerability, and hearing it made me want to do whatever it took to assuage his fears.
“No! No, of course not, Peter,” I assured him in as soothing a tone as my voice could muster. “It’s just been a long day—a long weekend, really. A lot to process with Luke and Elle’s wedding. A lot on my mind, in general. Not to mention, I have work in the morning and I’m not the least bit tired with all the adrenaline from this weekend. It’s going to be a long night that will lead to me dragging major ass tomorrow morning.”
“I know how hard it is. I have the same problem getting back into the swing of things when I get back home, too. We just have to keep telling ourselves that this arrangement isn’t forever.”
“It’d better not be. Because as a woman in my thirties, I’m at my peak sexually, and this twice each month shit isn’t cutting it. I’m just about ready to don a habit and go by the name of Sister Mena Getsnodick.”
“Getsnodick, huh? Is that Polish?”
The spark had returned to his voice once more, his insecurities satiated for now. I wasn’t used to hearing him genuinely worried. It was like a snowstorm in the middle of June, jarring to anyone caught in the middle of it.
“So,” he began, “I’m regrettably going to have to get back to the place that keeps my lights on, but if you’re going to be up for a bit, I may know something you could do to keep yourself entertained until you’re tired enough to actually go to sleep …”
I could almost see the smug expression on his face through the phone. He wasn’t the greatest at being coy. Whatever was on his mind must be good.
“Oh yeah, what’s that?”
“Well, I was thinking, since we’re going three weeks between seeing each other this time, that maybe we could send one another a little something to tide us over.”
“Something like?”
“You’re seriously going to make me say it,