Page 174 of The Infiniteness of Yesterday
I carry two out near the edge of the water and wait for Harlow to join me.
“She went down easy,” she says, clearly pleased by this news. “I think she’s finally stopped fighting nap time.”
“Does this mean you’re ready for baby number two?” I joke.
She bursts into laughter. “Absolutely not.”
“Do you want another one day?” I ask. It doesn’t matter to me either way. I always saw myself with two or three kids, but I’d be happy if it was only ever Monroe too.
She purses her lips in thought and fixes the leash to her ankle before she yanks the board out of the sand. I do the same and we head into the water.
“Not any time soon, but yeah, maybe one day I could see that. But right now, I just want to make it through the toddler stage and get her into school before I even think about another.”
“You gonna marry me before the next one?” I tease.
I keep dropping marriage hints, trying to feel her out on the subject matter. I don’t want to push her to get married too soon if that’s not what she wants, even if I would’ve married her yesterday.
“Maybe.” She shrugs. “Does that mean you’re going to ask?”
“Maybe,” I mimic. “You gonna say yes?”
She laughs. “I might.”
“Good.” I grin at her, and we run through the water and hop onto our boards.
This is what I want—her, Monroe, and a house on the beach one day so I can surf any time I want.
CHAPTER 72
HARLOW
Therapy is a bitch.
I equal parts hate and love it.
I hate it because it exposes my deepest insecurities and the fears I’ve buried way down, and I love it for those same reasons, because it makes me confront the things I’ve been avoiding head on.
Drying my tears with a tissue, I lean my car seat back. I need a moment to gather myself before I pull away.
Today was particularly draining. I talked about how much I struggled after Roe was born. I didn’t feel like being a mother came natural to me, and it was incredibly frustrating.
But Dr. Michaels, Spencer’s therapist, is helping me see things in a new light. Reminding me that I was young and postpartum depression is not the fault of anyone who deals with it. Still, I’ve always blamed myself for it. Worried that part of the reason Roe cried so much as a baby is because she subconsciously felt that I wasn’t good enough.
A knock on my window startles me and I let out a yelp. I peek to my left and find Spencer outside my window.
“What the fuck?” I mutter, bringing my seat up again and roll down the window. “What are you doing here?”
“Dr. Michaels was my therapist first,” he reminds me. “I was about to go in and saw your car.” His eyes narrow on me and I’m sure my face is pink and blotchy from crying. “Are you okay?”
“Just dandy,” I reply with a thumb’s up. “It was a rough session.” It’s only my third time seeing the doctor, but it’s been surprisingly easy to open up to him.
“I’m sorry.” His lips turn down in a frown. “Is it helping?”
I appreciate the fact that he hasn’t bugged me about therapy beyond setting up my first appointment.
“I think so,” I reply, cranking my AC up. “I still feel like a worthless piece of shit, but we’re getting there.”
He cocks his head to the side. “I hate that you think that way about yourself.”
