Page 23 of Doing It for Love

“Have you…I mean, you really want this right now? You’re so young.”

“I love him, Mom.”

“What about college? I thought you were planning on picking a backup this semester.”

I click off speaker and put the phone to my ear. “I’m not sure if college is for me.” I check the doorway, because I haven’t exactly told Landon this either.

“Why not?”

“I have no idea what I want to do, and it’s kind of a waste of money until I figure it out. We’re still paying off Landon’s loans, and we kind of need us both working right now.”

“You’re just going to drop what you want for what he wants? You’re prepared to keep doing that?”

“I want him to be successful. I have no idea what I want for myself yet.” It’s not completely untrue. What I want is Landon, but I know my mom will want me to have something other than a guy. I should be more than someone’s wife. I’m not up for the lecture.

She takes a deep breath. “Well, maybe your father and I should fly out there. I’ll help with wedding plans and save you some money.”

It’s probably the best I’m going to get. “Sounds good.”

“I’ll email you my calendar.” Her nails clack against what must be her keyboard. I yawn and sink farther into my sheets.

“Love you, Mom, but I was up late…”

“This conversation isn’t over.” She says it with a tone that’s half teasing, like she knows how trite she’s being. “And I love you, too. Talk soon.”

I hang up and toss my phone back onto the nightstand. Before I can overthink or worry about defending my decisions, I stuff my face into my pillow and drift back to sleep.

—

If I thought being sick made my apartment a complete hole, being a blissed-out, airheaded mess for the first week of my engagement made it a million times worse.

Landon’s been working all day every day. If not at his job that actually pays us, he’s on the movie set. He comes home totally beat after midnight, then crawls out of bed at six in the morning to head to work.

I think even if we didn’t bet on no sex, it wouldn’t be happening anyway. And forget my Hurdle List. I haven’t had time to jump over any of them.

I start up my vacuum after taking out the very full trash. Every dish is clean. Every item of clothing folded. The pictures from the engagement party are up on our collage wall—an entire wall in our living room full of pictures we actually got printed—and I pinned up our wristbands and one of Landon’s painted shoelaces. I shake my hips to “Backstreet’s Back”while I vacuum, really proud that I’m finally back to normal. If I don’t clean the apartment, no one does. What’s it going to be like when I’mreallypregnant? Or when I have a kid? I’ll be cleaning up even more, I guess. Landon’s uncleanliness must be a test.

The door swings open and Landon rushes in, stripping out of his work clothes and leaving a trail on the way to the bedroom.

“You get your ass back here and pick those up!” I shout over the vacuum. Good grief.

“Sorry!” he calls from the room. “I got stuck on a call and I’ve gotta be on set in twenty.”

I sigh and turn the vacuum off. Grumbling a few choice words under my breath, I swipe up the laundry and stuff it in the hamper.

Half of Landon’s mouth lifts in the corner as he tugs on a fresh pair of jeans. “Did you just call me a manchild?”

“No,” I lie, but my phone’s going off in my pocket so I don’t want to start an argument. My brow furrows as I look at the bank notification on the screen. “Hey, did you spend money?”

“Yeah. We ran out of blood for the shoot yesterday.”

“Landon…it overdrafted the checking account.”

He pulls open his dresser drawer, unfolding everything Ijustfolded as he digs for the one plain T-shirt he owns. “Sorry, babe. Can we cover it with savings?”

“I can’t keep doing that.” I sigh as I transfer the money. “ ’Cause you know, pretty soon that bet won’t mean a damn thing because we won’t have any money for a honeymoon.”

A long silence fills the room. I just watch him get ready, trying to pour cold water on the flames licking the back of my neck. This is argument three-thousand-eighty over our bank account. I took over finances when I moved in, because I’m anal about these things and it’ll be good for us—his words, not mine. And every few weeks it’s the same thing. He needs something, asks if we have the money. I say no, and he spends it anyway. In his defense, I’m frugal. I like a nice savings balance and a strict budget. But inmydefense, we’re poor and weneeda strict budget.

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