Page 77 of Unprepared Daddy

Sometimes, I wished that I was more like him.

By the time I got home, I was in a really black mood. I threw the bag with the lingerie in the back of my closet, not even caring whether or not Michael saw. Would he be happy that I was getting ready for our wedding?

Or would he be upset that I hadn’t bought more?

I sighed as I walked downstairs and jogged into the kitchen. It was getting late, and despite the fact that I’d eaten a giant size of frozen yogurt at the mall, I was starving. I glanced in the fridge and saw that we had some leftover marinara sauce, along with hot Italian sausages and some pasta.

I hummed under my breath as I started the water to boil. Soon, the kitchen smelled starchy and delicious. I could barely wait for Michael to come home – it was tempting to dip a spoon in the pot and lick everything up myself.

When the door banged, I forced myself to smile. I ran into the foyer and threw my arms around my fiancé. Michael was tall, with thinning blonde hair and a ruddy face from years of being in the sun. He smiled, just barely – the corners of his mouth lifting up for a second. After four years, I was used to his lack of warmth. But it was starting to bother me more and more with each passing day.

“Hi babe,” I said politely, extracting myself from around Michael’s neck. “How was your day?”

Michael sighed. He worked at Magnate Shipping, his father Douglas’s company. The company was Michael’s inheritance, and he spent more than fifty hours a week slaving away in the offices with his father. I knew Douglas and Michael had a cordial but strained relationship. Douglas was a complete workaholic, and I had a sinking suspicion he was always disappointed because Michael valued his time off, as well as his time alone.

“It was long,” Michael said after a pause. “How was your day?”

I squirmed uncomfortably, reluctant to admit that I’d spent practically the whole day doing nothing with my best friend.

“I cleaned the living room,” I said, lying only slightly. Before I’d left for the mall, I’d dusted and rearranged the bookshelves…but I hadn’t done any of the deep cleaning Michael had asked for, such as dusting the baseboards.

“And?” Michael raised his eyebrows, glancing around. “Surely this didn’t take you all day?”

I shook my head. “I went out with Heather, shopping for the honeymoon,” I said.

“I hope you spent a lot of money,” Michael said lightly. He smiled – this time, it was genuine. “I can’t wait to get a break from work,” he added.

I smiled too. “It’ll be so nice to spend some quality time with you,” I said. “I can’t remember the last time you spent a weekend at home.”

Michael nodded seriously. “I can’t wait to catch up on my sleep, and get some sun,” he said, yawning and stretching his arms into the air. He wasn’t particularly tall, only a few inches taller than me, but moments like this reminded me of how small I was. I’d always been short for my weight, and I felt it.

“Yeah, it’ll be great to relax with you,” I replied. There was a slight pang of hurt in my heart – why couldn’t he just say he was excited to spend time with me, instead of catching up on his sleep? You know it’s because he’s so reserved, I thought as I took Michael’s coat and hung it up in the hall closet. It’s not exactly like you ever expected to come home with flowers and gifts. He’s just not that kind of guy.

“What’s that smell?” Michael wrinkled his nose. “Is something burning?”

“Oh, shit,” I mumbled, pushing past my fiancé and running into the kitchen. Sure enough, smoke was billowing in clouds from the oven. Coughing and covering my nose and mouth, I grabbed a hot mitt and yanked the door open. The Italian sausage lay burnt and shriveled on a cookie sheet.

“Beth,” Michael said in a disapproving tone. “What’s all this?”

Feeling guilty, I dumped the sausages in the sink and turned on the cold water until the delicious aroma in the kitchen was replaced with a sodden, smoky mess.

“I made dinner,” I said miserably. “Or at least, I tried to. I’m sorry, Michael.”

Michael narrowed his eyes and for a moment, I thought he was going to lecture me. Even though Michael was wealthy, he liked living like we were close to the poor house. We still lived in the same two-bedroom condo that Michael had bought in his early twenties, and although everything we had was new and functional, I couldn’t help but wonder why exactly he was so bent on saving everything he earned. It was a nice break from the other guys my age who spent all their money on strip clubs and beer, but sometimes I wished we could have the luxurious life that Michael’s money would have afforded us.

“You decided on dinner without consulting me first?” Michael put his hands on his hips.

I frowned. “I was hungry,” I said softly. “I’m sorry – did I do something wrong?”

Michael sighed. “You know how often I’ve spoken to you about being inconsiderate, Beth. Don’t you think you should have asked what I wanted?”

“I would have made you whatever you wanted as soon as you asked for it,” I said. I felt my voice edging dangerously close to a whine. “Michael, I care about you.”

Michael narrowed his eyes. “So you’d just prefer to waste food? Cook two meals?”

“No, that’s not what I meant at all—“

“Shut up, Beth,” Michael said. He glared. “You don’t have any right to talk to me right now.” He sighed. “I’m going out,” he added. “I’ll be home later.”

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