Page 12 of The Romantic Agenda
“What? Pretend to sleep so he can spy on people in peace? Because that’s absolutely what he’s doing.”
A small noise sounds on Joy’s right. Fox hasn’t moved—face still unexpressive, arms still crossed—but she swears he made a quiet snort-laugh.
“No, he’s not.” Summer laughs, shaking her head. “You like indie music, right?”
“I don’t dislike it.”
“I made a playlist for us. I even put in some gospel songs for Malcolm.”
Summer’s playlist isn’t awful but that doesn’t mean it’sgood. Too much indie, too many male singers with raw, grating voices that pop culture had begrudgingly branded as “unique” instead of untrained. Not that it matters, because Summer and Malcolm start talking the second he gets in the car. On the freeway, over the bridge, through the toll booths, past the winding hills and dirt-paved roads—the whole time, as if they’re the only two people in the car.
Not once does Malcolm look up into the rearview mirror to invite Joy to join their conversation. She might as well not even be there.
Which is the obvious point, Joy thinks sadly. Being forgotten hurts worse than being ignored, like an accidental kick in the teeth. If she points it out, they’ll make an effort, but they don’t want to. She knows they don’t. Instead, Joy busies herself on her phone by texting Grace, checking her hundreds of backlogged mentions, and replying to comments until her cell service drops out.
Four
Still en route to Malcolm’s Cabin of Dreams, Joy rolls down the window, angling her phone toward the sky. “Don’t leave me, civilization. I need you.” The last bar of service disappears, and a giant redXtakes its place.
“You’ll be fine.” Malcolm glances at her through the rearview mirror.
“Oh?” Joy pretends to be surprised. “Are you talking to me now? I was sure you forgot about me and Fox Van Winkle back here.”
“His last name is Monahan,” Summer says.
“That was a joke.” Malcolm smiles at her. “You know, like Rip Van Winkle.”
“Who’s that?”
Joy mutters, “Oh lord,” at the same time Malcolm explains the short story. Nothing kills a good pun faster than it having to be explained.
“Oooh.” Summer begins typing on her phone. “I should tell that story to my kids.”
“Kids?” Joy’s voice cracks.
“My students,” Summer clarifies. “I’m an elementary school teacher. Currently third grade.”
Oh lord. For a super-hot second, Joy’s brain flashes to imagining Summer with kids,plural, and their new stepdad Malcolm. His new family moving into his empty house. Him asking Joy to give her key back because it makes Summer uncomfortable... “Teacher.” Joy has to clear her throat before she can continue. “I can see that.”
“I’ve always wanted to be one. It’s super rewarding but it’s harder than I thought it’d be. It’s also good practice for later.” Summer and Malcolm exchange the kind of grin born from sharing secrets. She breaks eye contact with him to look at Joy. “I want to homeschool my kids. My actual kids. When I have them, I mean.”
Joy’s stomach flips with unease. This is bad.Reallybad. She balls her hands into fists at her side to ground herself. That wasn’t a coincidental,by the wayaside. SummerwantedJoy to know that.
Malcolm has always been open about wanting kids. Family is one of the most important things to him. His parents, who are the epitome of delightful eccentrics and utterly devoted to him, planned to have only one child and that’s precisely what they did. Everything they do has to be on schedule. Joy spent Thanksgiving with Malcolm’s family the year they graduated college, and when she mentioned feeling a little lost and aimless in life, his mom laid out theentiretyof her own life plan, complete with pictures. Finish undergrad at twenty-two, grad school at twenty-five, marriage at twenty-six, buy her first home at thirty, and become a mom atthirty-two. She ended up being off by one year—she had Malcolm at thirty-three.
It’s no wonder Malcolm is the way he is.
Starting his own family has been at the top of his to-do list for a few years now.
Up until that second, Joy felt like she stood a chance. Malcolm loves her and she has a lot to offer a partner—she’s funny, supportive, responsible, thoughtful—all excellent qualities. Not to mention, she knows how to present herself. Beauty isn’t solely based on facial symmetry, tiny noses, huge eyes, and impossible bone structures. For Joy, it’s a total package: confidence, presence, style, and execution. Plus, Malcolm thinks she’s beautiful. Not pretty. Not cute.Beautiful.Sometimes she’ll catch him staring at her and when she asks why, he says, “Because you’re beautiful,” with a completely straight face like it’s a fact.
But kids?Kids?Not only have they discussed Joy’s one true adult kryptonite, but they’re also on the same page.
The last time Malcolm had talked to Joy about wanting kids, he asked her if she did, and she answered honestly: she didn’t know. She’s thought about that moment ever since. Because maybe that had been The Moment—the second he decided Joy wasn’t The One. Not being sure about kids was a deal breaker for him.
Dark, bleak feelings begin clawing at Joy’s edges again. Ready to pull her under, ready to make her shut down and stop feeling. Her brain does it to protect her, but it never stops feeling like a betrayal. She needs to think, she needs to plan, she has to find a way to make this work—
“Are we there yet?” Fox grumbles.
