I swear to God, if Paige and I don’t have sex soon, I’m gonna go nuts.
Or my nuts will fall off, whichever comes first.
Thank God, the end to our nine-day sexual drought (due to a sick child) is in sight. I figure if we put Bree down around eight, we can do the polite thing and hang out with the “adults” until nine. Then we can hit the sheets and get naked without looking like a bunch of anti-social house guests.
This year we’re spending Christmas at the Tolston’s. It’s been over a year and I’m still getting used to thinking of Dan as my father and his parents as my actual grandparents. With Diane the mental transition has been easier since she’s always been like a mother to me.
Hoisting my still-dozing daughter higher up in my arms, I follow my grandmother and Paige up the stairs to the guest rooms we’ll be using during our week-long stay. Bree konked out on the drive over the minute we hit the highway.
I brush a kiss over the silky brown hair fringing her forehead. “Come on honey, it’s time to wake up.” It’s three o’clock, which means nap time’s over.
In response, she tightens her little arms around my neck, burrowing deeper into me.
My heart does its familiar squeeze. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this—how much I love her. Diane says having a child is like having your heart on the outside of your body. She’s right. Bree has mine wrapped around her little finger.
But as much as I love her, if she sleeps any longer, it’s going to be a bitch getting her to bed before ten tonight. And I have plans with her mother that doesn’t include a wide-awake, too-inquisitive two-year-old.
My grandmother stops and gestures through the open door of the first bedroom. “And this is where Paige and Briana will be sleeping.”
Wait! What? Bree is supposed to have her own room. As a matter-of-fact Bree does have her own room whenever she spends the night.
Bewildered, my gaze shoots from my grandmother, to a wide-eyed Paige, and then inside the guest room that’s decorated as if one of those house magazines are due here any minute for a shoot. The first thing I notice is that the pink and green toddler bed from across the hall now sits beside the queen-sized one. Heart now thumping erratically, my attention swings back to my grandmother.
She returns my panicked stare with an arched look. “Call me old-fashioned, but in my house unmarried young people do not share a room nor do they share a bed.”
What. The. Everloving. Fuck?