Page 74 of Broken Dreams
Tonight, when I got dressed in this gown, I was missing Isaac, but more missing the future I was promised.
Which then made me feel incredibly guilty.
Also, the box fell on my head, so really, I felt compelled in every way to wear it.
“It was a good few years. How long were you with your husband?”
I snort. “My whole damn life.”
“How did you meet?”
“He defended me on the playground in fourth grade. And that was that. I was his and he was mine.”
“Wow,” Grady says, his head jerking back. “That’s crazy.”
It really was. “I’ve only been with one man, how is that for depressing?” I lift the bottle in the air and then drink again, feeling that familiar pang in my chest. But then I think about the sad part of it. The part my friends and I always joked about. I whisper, imparting my great secret to my bathtub buddy. “I don’t even know what another penis looks like. Only his.”
Grady nearly chokes on the wine he was drinking. “Well, that’s...something.”
“Isn’t it? I mean, I’ve seen porn so...I guess that counts? Are they all the same? Probably not, right? That would be stupid. I know they vary because they have to.”
He bursts out laughing. “Addison, you’re going to regret this tomorrow. And no, they aren’t the same.”
“I knew that. I was just testing you.”
“If it makes you feel better, I would’ve given up every girl before Lisa just to have her. It’s quality not quantity. You had one great guy who loved you. One man who literally died for another because he was defending her. I don’t think that’s depressing.”
“Maybe you’re right.”
“I’m always right.”
I eye him skeptically. “You’re a man, that’s not possible.”
He laughs. “You’re drunk, you have no idea what is possible. Now, hand me the wine.”
“And why, pray tell, do you think you should get more?”
“Because I’m in a bathtub on a Friday night with my girlfriend who is two sheets to the wind.”
“Fake,” I remind him.
“What’s fake?”
I purse my lips and give him the look. “You know what’s fake, Grady Whitlock, and it ain’t the wine or my boobs.”
Immediately his eyes go there. I probably shouldn’t have said that.
“Not if you didn’t want me to look at them.”
“I should stop drinking,” I muse.
“Nah, you’re cute drunk. Now, tell me what’s fake.”
Grady takes the bottle from me, drinks some, and then hands it back. Stupid boy took my wine.
“Weare fake,” I answer and then drink myself. If I drain the bottle he won’t be able to have more. As appealing as that is, the copious amount of wine swirling in my stomach tells me that would be a big mistake.
No one wants to see me heaving.
