Page 25 of Eternally London

She shrugs, her glassy expression focused on the annoying yellow sponge singing from the television.

“Did you finish your article?”

She shakes her head.

“It’s due tomorrow, right? Your editor said Wednesday,” I remind her softly.

“I got an extension,” she says quietly before handing me another wrapper.

“You actually found one that says,Treat a Tuesday like a Friday?” This time, I do let out a chuckle. “Sometimes, your Dove magic eight ball is kind of freaky. So, this is what you want to do on your Friday?” I ask gently.

She nods. “When you’re sad, just be gross, watch cartoons, and be miserable.”

“Really?” I ask.

“Yep,” she says dramatically, allowing the P sound to pop. “That’s my new catchphrase.”

She hands me a foil wrapper that says,Coin a new catchphrase.

I can’t help but grin. “Oh, babe…I don’t think that one’s going to catch on. But we can wallow for tonight.” I hand her the basket of goodies.

She looks down to the gift I set in her lap. “You got me a wallowing basket?” she asks with something resembling a smile.

“I did.”

She goes through the contents. “Aw, Loïc…you’ve included all my favorites. Fuzzy socks! I needed new fuzzy socks. Oh…I love50 First Dates. We’re going to watch it tonight?”

“Yep,” I answer while scanning through the discarded foil wrappers on the couch. I find one that works. “Here.” I hand it to her.

“Sweep them off their feet,” she reads aloud.

I take out one of the lavender bath bombs from her gift basket, put the basket beside her, and lift her from the couch.

She squeals as I take her into my arms. “What are you doing?” she asks, laughter lining her voice.

“I am sweeping you off your feet.” I shoot her a wink. I start walking toward the bedroom. “So, this is what’s going to happen. We’re going to run you a bath. While you relax, I’m going to go pick up the mess in the living room.”

“It’s not a mess. It’s my therapy, my advice column.”

“Well, your therapy is getting chocolate all over the couch, and the used tissues are probably spreading your snot around.”

“Ew…that’s gross,” she says as I set her down in the bathroom.

“It is.” I chuckle.

I start the bath water and help her remove her clothes. “So, as I was saying”—I wipe away a piece of hair that was stuck to her face—“while you take a bath, I’m going to clean up, order Chinese, and put in50 First Dates. We’re going to spend the evening wallowing on the couch. Then, tomorrow, we’re going to call around and make us an appointment with a fertility specialist—the best one we can find.”

I lightly kiss her lips and take her face in my hands. “We’ve done it all right. We’ve tracked your temperature and taken ovulation tests. You’ve tried modifying your diet, and we’ve had sex in certain positions. After doing it, you’ve held your butt up in the air for an hour to make sure all the swimmers got to where they were supposed to go.” My last statement earns a small smile and chuckle from London. “We’ve done it all, London. It doesn’t always happen right away, but at this point, I think it’s time we ask for some help. Okay?”

London nods. “So, a one-night pity party, and then tomorrow, we search for answers?”

“Yes.” I nod and kiss her on the forehead.

“Okay,” she agrees.

A couple of hours later, I’m spread out on the couch, and my arms are wrapped tightly around London as she leans against me. Our bellies are full with chicken lo mein and crab rangoons. Every few minutes, London raises her arm and dangles a gummy worm in my face, and I catch it with my mouth.

She wears no makeup. There are no fancy products in her hair, just a light scent of lavender from her bath. She’s sporting one of my old T-shirts with nothing on under it but panties. She feels soft and warm in my arms.

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