Page 13 of Seven Rules for a Perfect Marriage

‘Okay,’ I say. ‘You’ve made your point. Jess and I will talk about it privately. Right, Jess?’

She nods. ‘Sure.’

I can’t wait for us to be alone so we can discuss what an insane fucking nightmare this whole meeting has been. It might even be awful enough to distract from theMorning Chatrow.

‘Great,’ Clay says. ‘Now, I know you both wanted a break, so we’re going to propose you take two weeks.’

‘Two weeks?’ I say weakly. The last time Jessica and I discussed this, we talked about taking a year out, maybe going travelling, definitely me doing some freelance work if not going back to work full-time. That was the whole deal, that I put everything I was doing on hiatus while we did one book; there’s no way in hell she’s going to sign off on a two-week break. ‘What? Jess?’

Jess pulls herself up in her seat. ‘Let’s talk about the break once we’ve decided about the next project. Shall we go over the potential new brand partnerships you emailed about last week?’

Eventually we step out into the street, blinking in the bright winter sunshine. She finds her sunglasses and looks around for a cab. I wrap my arms around her, and she doesn’t resist. Is that because we’re in public? Or because she wants to be held?

‘Well, that was fucking awful,’ I say.

She nods. ‘The book idea ...’

‘Yeah. And the fact that they won’t let us take a proper break.’

She’s looking at her phone, trying to summon an Uber. It would be quicker to get the Tube but this isn’t the moment to point that out. ‘I think they’ll go to six weeks instead of two,’ she says. ‘So maybe we could still go away for a bit? Get some space?’

I played rugby at school and so I know what it’s like to have someone smack their full body weight into you at speed. This feels like that. ‘Six weeks? I thought we said we’d do a year?’

She looks confused. ‘A year? Why would we take a year?’

‘When we were writing the book. We said we’d take a year, I’d freelance, or go back to work, or write my own book. And you’d do your degree, and relax for the first time in your life. We were going to go on a big trip?’

‘I mean, I don’t remember that, but surely we were talking about it like if we won the lottery. It was a fantasy, it’s not— You don’t actually want to take a year out? When things are going this well? You heard what Clay said about momentum—’ She stops because her phone buzzes. On the screen are the mock-ups of the book cover and an email:See if you prefer child-free or childless! Xoxo Alec.

She looks like she might be about to cry. The phone buzzes again, another interruption. ‘He’s arriving, the number plate ends in PC0,’ she says, in a very small voice. I open the door for her, and close it gently behind her. Then as I cross behind the car to get in the other side, I take a steadying breath. She’s not okay. I know she’s not okay. Those people in there have done the most painful thing they could possibly have done and she’s such a pro that she held it together the entire time. This is not the day to have the argument about what I really want.

Rule Two

You are your partner’s greatest cheerleader, act like it

The Account

Jessica

It’s summer, and we’re in our early thirties, so obviously the only thing we do with our weekends is go to weddings. It’s become our second job and our third most expensive activity after bills and rent.

In theory I love weddings. I cry when the bride comes down the aisle, even if it’s someone marrying someone Jack works with and I’ve never met her before. I love the canapés and the small talk and the champagne (even when it’s Prosecco). I love the getting ready, the gossiping with people I haven’t seen for ages, the roast dinner they always serve even when it’s thirty degrees outside. I even love the speeches. But sometime around the fifth wedding we went to last year, my appetite started to wane.

‘Are you okay?’ Jack asks, as he indicates at a roundabout and then cautiously changes lanes.

‘Yes,’ I reply. ‘Why?’

‘You’re quiet.’

‘I am quiet sometimes.’

‘You’ve let me pick the music all the way from London and made literally no comments about how bad my taste is.’

I can’t stop myself smiling at that. ‘I can see how that might worry you.’

He glances across at me. ‘What’s up?’

‘I’m just slightly dreading this.’

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