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I continued to stare. Speechless, really. It was a rare occasion, but it happened.
“Do you want to add anything to that?” he asked with a cautious smile after silence ballooned between us.
“I-I-I really don’t know what to say,” I spluttered.
“Say you’ll give it a try with me. If we can’t make it work in what? A year?”
My eyes bugged out at the time frame. He wanted me to commit a year of my life to fix a drunken mistake? Seemed a little extreme to me.
“Okay, nine months?” My husband paused for me to reply, but I still had nothing. Well, I had a lot to say, actually, but none of it would be productive in the given situation.
So he went on with his proposition, clutching my hand the whole time. “I don’t think it would be fair to either one of us to commit less time than that. I still think it should be a year.”
“Carmen—” I finally started. And came up short again.
“Yes, my beautiful storm?” He grinned, awfully proud of himself for coming up with that nickname.
“Be serious,” I finally squawked and quickly looked around to see if anyone heard me. “We don’t even live together. With both our hectic schedules, how much time would we even see each other?” It was the best reason I could come up with under the pressure of his undivided attention.
“Simple solution to that.” He shrugged.
“Really? And what is that?” I muttered. “I’m almost afraid to hear what you’re about to say.”
“You live in your parents’ home, right?”
“Yes. I’ve been looking for my own place, though, because my commute is horrid.”
“I have my own place. You’ll move in. We can move your stuff this coming weekend,” he declared, nodding while he spoke like the plan was as good as done.
“Uhh, I don’t know, dude. I think I’d be a nightmare to live with. Just being completely honest here.”
“It’ll be fine. Married people live together, darling. People find a way to work through the little things every single day.”
How could he be so nonchalant about all this?
“I don’t know. I still think we should find a way to undo this.” I held up my left hand. “There must be a cooling-off period or something in Nevada. People make bad decisions as a way of life in that city.”
He turned fully toward me in his seat and held my stare for a few beats before speaking. Could he see I was about to have a meltdown? I usually hid it pretty well, but the guy was very observant, and I was operating on very little sleep.
“I don’t want to undo it. I want to give this a shot,” he said, meaning every single word judging by the gravity of his stare. He squeezed my hand, which I guessed was my cue to vow the same thing.
But I couldn’t bring myself to make the commitment.
“Let me think about it. That’s reasonable, right? It’s a huge commitment, and we don’t even know each other. That well, at least. What if you snore?”
The man’s eyebrows climbed close to his hairline. “Storm, you sound like a freight train when you’re sleeping, and I’m still on board.” He chuckled. “You’ll have to come up with something better than that.”
Aggressively, I turned more toward him in the confinement of our seats. Even planted my hands on my hips to display my defiance. “I do not snore.”
“Oh, woman. You most certainly do. Ask your neighbors. Even they can confirm it.”
“You’re full of shit, and you know it,” I continued to argue.
My husband could barely answer through his laughter. “Fraid not, dear.”
“No one has ever complained about sleeping with me before.”
Carmen leaned in closer and dropped the volume of his next comment. “Oh, I most definitely would not complain about that either. Have you really made it to this age without knowing how men’s brains work?”
