Page 52 of A Temporary Forever

How is married life? LOL

Me

(eye roll emoji)

Cora

I’m sure it’s better than my work life.

Me

What’s wrong?

Cora

Lily is a disaster.

Saar

No surprise there. Back to my inquiry: is my brother still alive?

Me

Disposing of his body now.

@Cora I’ll come to have a coffee later. Moral support.

Cora

Love you.

Saar

I’m stuck in Stockholm.

Cora

Not feeling sorry for you at all (kiss emoji)

Ijerk my hand to lock the portafilter in Caleb’s fancy espresso machine that has more functions than a cockpit’s control panel.

The two weeks after our wedding have been the longest in my life. And I’ve been through some shitty times.

Like when I moved to New York and lived on the streets. And that was an improvement compared to my life in France.

Never would I have imagined I’d be more unsettled living in luxury, with no care or need in my life.

Actually, therein lies my problem, because all those tough situations before sparked the strength and desire to improve my living conditions.

There’s nothing to improve about my gazillion thread-count sheets, the most comfortable mattress, or the space in my room that could double as a dance studio for my practice, if it wasn’t for the soft carpet.

And yet… anytime I’m out of my room, it’s like I’m walking on eggshells. Because my roommate/husband is everywhere.

In his low-hanging sweatpants and a tight tee on the sofa.

In his bespoke suits before leaving to negotiate his deal.

In his running shorts going to or from the gym.

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