Page 64 of Fumbled Into Love

She rises, shoulders slumped. Even when her apartment flooded, Nathalie still held a spark of joy.

Right now, her joy is gone.

I want that back. I want my girl back.

In a single swoop, I launch her over my shoulder and drop her on the couch. She squeals, and the sound is music to my ears.

“Deon, what are you—”

“Stay right there,” I command, digging through the cabinets she can’t reach. I was waiting to give these to her for our show, but it’s clear she needs them now.

Nathalie curls in on herself as she sits on the couch, knees pressed tightly against her chest. Her eyes brighten when she sees what I’m holding.

“Will these help?” I ask, extending the box of macarons I bought from a store in Los Angeles and had rush shipped.

They’re supposedly the best on the West Coast.

Nathalie deserves the best.

She sniffles—once, twice, three times—before she cries anew, clutching the box to her chest.

“This is too nice,” she rises and pulls my sweatshirt, drawing me in. “Artichoke?” she asks, and I nod, giving her permission to do what she’d like. I hate those fucking rules, even if they make sense.

Her kiss is soft and probing and far too emotional.

I redirect to banish the feelings banging at my chest, begging to be heard and felt and acknowledged.

“Can you send me a list of what you need from the store?”

Nathalie nods, pulling out her phone, and I kiss her on the head. “Thank you,” she mumbles as Gordie curls into a ball next to her.

“I’ll be back soon.”

“What the fuck is ‘pads with wings’?” Declan asks, peering over my shoulder at Nathalie’s list as we stand side by side at the pharmacy.

Pads with wings.

Panty liners.

Super tampons.

Midol.

Blue Gatorade.

Gummy bears.

I realized I was in over my head when she sent the list, and I didn’t know what a ‘pad with wings’ is or why it has wings. My sister and mother never spoke much about the specific products they used, only if I ate their food or crossed them, I would regret it for the rest of my life.

Declan was my first call. He’s also a member of Book Club, so maybe he knows these things because I know less than I’d like, and I don’t want to let Nathalie down.

“I have no idea,” I say, staring at the boxes upon boxes of period products.

“I only know about diva cups.”What the fuck is that?He clocks my look. “My half-sister mentioned it once at lunch, and I thought it was something we could bond over, so I read all I could find.” Sadness flickers over his face. “Maybe she wants chicken wings with them?” Declan asks.

I shake my head. That seems wrong. Pulling out my phone, I call Maren. She’ll know, and I won’t have to admit to my fake girlfriend I have no idea what a pad with wings is.

“Maren’s knowledge hotline,” Maren says. “You ask the question, and I tell you what Google could have told you.”

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