Page 8 of Consummation

Bye-bye, carrot cake.

Lovely.

So far, being a mommy is super-duper fun.

I rinse out my mouth and run cold water over my face and then sit on the edge of the tub, my head in my hands. I can’t believe this is my life. I quit my job yesterday, thinking I was gonna spend the next year building a business—but, instead, it turns out I’m gonna spend the nexteighteenyears unexpectedly raising akid. Without any desire to do so, I’ve trapped Josh exactly the way he’s always feared some gold digger would do—and at a time when he’s so unsure about our potential future as a couple, he didn’t even tell me about his impending move to my city.

I put my hands over my face. This is a freaking nightmare.

My phone buzzes with an incoming text.

I wipe my eyes and look down at my phone, my vision blurred by tears.

“This ‘total asshole’ just booked you a first-class flight to L.A. on Thursday,” Josh writes. “I get why me not telling you about Seattle hurt your feelings. You’re entitled to that. But I’m not gonna let you torture me with it forever. Go ahead and ‘think and regroup’ all you want for exactly five motherfucking days, but that’s all you get, Madame Terrorist. After that, I’m gonna fly your tight little ass down here and give you no choice but to forgive me.”

Three

Josh

I crane my neck, scrutinizing the passengers filing through the gate, my skin buzzing with anticipation, my heart clanging in my chest. Not her. Not her. Not her. Did the entire city of Seattle board Kat’s flight to L.A.? Jesus.

I can’t wait another minute to see her. I’m wrecked. Out of my mind. These past five days, I haven’t been able to sleep. Think. Eat. Laugh. I fully expected Kat to break down and call me at some point this past week—or at leasttextme—especially in light of all the ridiculously expensive flowers I’ve sent her every day—but she didn’t. Nope. I didn’t hear a goddamned peep out of Kat (unless, of course, you count texts that said: “Thank you for the beautiful flowers and for continuing to give me time to think and regroup.”). Fucking terrorist. I’ve been physically sick with loneliness and yearning and regret all fucking week. If she wanted me to know what my life would feel like without her in it, well, now I know: it’s fucking torture.

Not her. Not her. Not her. I’m dying here. I shove the bouquet of red roses I’m holding under my nose and inhale deeply, trying to calm myself down with a little aromatherapy. Where the fuck is she? She was seated in the first-class cabin on the plane—so she should be one of the first people off the flight. Is she waiting to de-board just to prolong my torture a bit more? Motherfucker, I’mdyinghere.

Oh, good God, no—I just had a horrible thought: could Kat possibly have missed her flight? Or worse, did she decide not to come to visit me, after all? Oh God, that would crush me. In all honesty, it might even kill me at this point—I’m just that desperate to see her.

All I did this past week was play and replay our post-karaoke conversation in my head—only not the real conversation as it trulyhappened, but a revised, fantasy-version in which Kat said, “My heart’s on the line, Josh,” and I smoothly took her into my arms and replied, “My heart’s on the line, too, babe.” If only I’d said that, maybe things would be different now.

My heart stops. Oh, thank God. There she is.Katherine Ulla Morgan. The one and only. My unicorn. Long legs. Golden mane. Head held high. Just the sight of her jumpstarts my aching heart and makes me feel half-alive for the first time in five days.

“Kat!” I yell. I wave at her. “Kat!”

She looks toward the sound of my voice and her eyes light up when she spots me. Oh my God, I feel euphoric. She’s here. Thank God. She didn’t leave me for good. My heart can beat again. Everything’s gonna be okay.

“Kat,” I say when she reaches me.

But she looks upset. She’s pressing her lips together. Her face is tight. Her eyes are moist.

I hand her the flower bouquet, wrap her in my arms, and kiss her deeply, crushing the flowers between us. Oh my fuck, she tastes like heaven. Minty. Like she just brushed her teeth. I press myself into her and devour her lips, feeling like a junkie who’s finally, blissfully,blessedlygetting his next fix.

When we finally pull away from each other, Kat’s eyes are dark with desire and I’m hard as a rock.

“Josh,” Kat breathes, her cheeks flushed. She licks her lips and tilts her face up like she wants another kiss.

I put my fingertip under her chin. “I know we’ve got a shit-ton to talk about, butpleasegive me one night to—”

“We have nothing to talk about,” Kat says curtly, cutting me off.

I shoot her a look of blatant skepticism.

“I’m serious, Josh,” Kat says. “From this day forward, all I wanna do is be in the moment with you. No talking about the future. No talking about our feelings. Just kiss me and let’s pretend this past week never happened.”

Four

Kat

“Scrabble?” I ask. “Not quite what I was expecting as our first activity of the weekend.”

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