Page 11 of Beautifully Messy
“Oh, mine’s easy,” Ivy chimes in without missing a beat. “Brunch at Café Luna, shopping on Newbury Street, and ending with wine on a rooftop bar overlooking the Harbor.”
I glance at James, waiting, something in me wants to know whether his answer will be as superficial as Ivy's. He sits back, expression unreadable, then swallows hard and runs a hand through his hair.
“MOOOOOM!” one of the twins shouts from upstairs.
“Ugh, kids. Good night, y’all,” Jules rises, half-waving her apologies.
Tom follows, saying, “I’m coming too, babe.” He leans down to whisper something that makes her swat his hand with a laugh.
Ivy settles deeper against James. That flicker of heat in my chest? It twists.
“Well,” I stand abruptly. “I guess that’s my cue for bed. Good night.”
And I leave without helping clean up the game or looking back. Twenty minutes later, when Mason comes out of the bathroom and slides into bed, his hands find my waist. The physical has never been our problem.
“Mase, hold on. I want us to do this question thing Jules shared. It’s supposed to help couples connect.”
“Syd,” he pulls me closer, “I know how we can connect.”
“Please.”
“I’m tired. I thought we could fool around and go to sleep. We’re married. That questionnaire is ridiculous.”
“Okay, fine.” I throw back the covers. “I’m not in the mood for sex. I’ll go read in the sunroom if you’re going to sleep.”
Outside in the hall, I lean against the wall, clutching my book to my chest. The worst part isn’t Mason’s disinterest in the questions. It’s how unsurprised I am. Intimacy has always been reserved for below the waist rather than sharing what truly matters. This has been our life for the past decade.
I know better than to even open that door. Let hope build that he’d want to talk. Hope is a luxury I stopped affording myself long ago. No expectations, no heartbreak.
Instead of the sunroom, I head downstairs. The house is still, quiet enough that my footsteps sound louder than they are. Moonlight streaks through in long, silvery lines.
From the kitchen, a golden light spills out. Someone else is there.
Four
“Hey,sorrytointerrupt.”
James sits at the island, hunched over a book. A tendril of dark hair hides his eyes until he looks up and smiles.
“It’s okay. I don’t mind, but don’t judge my wine and tea combo. I couldn’t decide if it was too late or too early, so I went with both.”
“Rough night?”
“You could say that.” He hesitates, weighing his words. “I… I tried to talk to Ivy about that list Jules mentioned and how her ideal day didn’t exactly match mine. She blew it off.”
“The Wallises, everyone but Jules, could win awards for shutting down conversations they don’t want to have. Golden Globes for passive-aggressive conflict resolution.” I laugh dryly, but I slap a hand to my mouth as if I could capture the words and shove them back in. Why the hell did I say that?
He tilts his head, studying me. “What about you? What led you down here?”
The irony isn’t lost on me. I’m down here for similar reasons, but I can’t tell him about Mason, about how my attempt at conversation was met with a grope and a sigh. That is way too much to admit out loud, not even something I’d tell Jules.
“Couldn’t sleep. So, what is your perfect day if it doesn’t match with Ivy’s brunching and shopping?”
“There are these lakes near where my mom lives, and I’ve always thought about taking a day to go out on a boat and enjoy the sun. Read, swim, a cooler filled with simple food and drinks.”
I can see it, the lull of the boat, a sunny, hot day. Reading until sweat drenches you and jumping in to cool off. A soft sigh escapes as I smile and glance in his direction.
He clears his throat. “What about you? What’s your ideal day?”
