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"I'm not going to meet someone else—I love Daniel. I'm just keeping my head down to get this book finished. He'll be home in less than a month, and then everything is going to fit into place like it should."
"Do you really believe that?" she asks.
She's critical of Daniel, I know she is, but I have to believe that things are only going to get better for us once he gets home. After dating for eight years, the idea of starting a life with someone else is almost too difficult to imagine.Plus, starting over when I'm so close to getting the family I've always wanted, is too hard to let go of.
And how would I tell my parents?
As far as they know, Daniel and I are still elbow-deep in planning the wedding details, from the flower arrangements to the swan ice sculpture that my mother-in-law insists on paying for. If they found out that we're taking a sabbatical from our relationship, my mom would worry about my panic attacks recurring without Daniel nearby to protect me, and my father would worry about my long-term financial stability without Daniel's "secure" income to support me and our future family.
This trip couldn't have come at a worse time since we announced our engagement to our families right before he got the offer from the firm to go to Australia. It's also the longest that he and I have been apart since the day we were stuck in that dingy basement bunker of our college. The day when my entire life changed, and I became a more anxious person who has been co-dependent on Daniel for stability ever since.
It's the reason we moved to Seattle and away from those kinds of storms.
There aren't any tornados on the West Coast.
After that experience, the idea of ever coming face to face with a tornado again is more than I can take. Daniel was understanding and agreed to move to Seattle after we graduated.
He’s made so many concessions for me.
Instead of taking an internship with his father’s law firm in Oklahoma City, he agreed to move thousands of miles away from our home to a new state and had to settle for an internship at a large firm in the city instead of the fast track his father could have gotten him due to his father's connections.
If he had taken the job with his father's firm, he’d probably have made partner by now. Instead, he’s only made it to an associate position after all these years of dedication. He’s hoping that his commitment to going with the firm to Australia will get him a foot in the door for a junior partner position when he returns home.
So when he asked me for this one thing… “Use the next eight months apart as a break to discover ourselves and come back as better people for each other. Then I promise that we'll get married, and we can start having kids like you've always wanted,” I felt like this was my turn to show my reciprocal devotion to our relationship.
It’s not like he could turn down this opportunity to show his dedication to the firm. That would have been career suicide.
With the long distance, his eighty-hour work weeks, and the time difference between Australia and the US, I couldn't argue the points he made. The break made logical sense as long as it was temporary, a break that comes with the ability to see other people.
Our little arrangement does have me wondering what exactly I should call him now.
We’re not technically engaged anymore, and since we’re allowed to date other people, I wouldn’t call him my boyfriend, either. Though we’re still committed to a life together in the near future.
What would you call that?
A temporary uncoupling?
A relationship pause?
He is, after all, my future fiancé, or at least that’s what we’ve agreed to.
Calling him an ex seems even less true than anything else.
“I’m not going there to forget Daniel,” I remind her. “We’re getting back together in a month when he gets home. And he’s not the reason I’m having writer’s block.”
It feels like I’m always having to remind Sheridan that Daniel and I aren’t permanently broken up. This is just a time of “self-reflection” and exploration before we spend the rest of our lives together.
“Are you sure about that?” she asks, folding more of the clothes I pulled from my closet to pack for my trip. “Because you've never had a problem writing a book in the timeline that we gave the publisher, and you were so excited about this series until Daniel dropped the bomb on you that he was offered a spot to go to Australia. Now you can barely even write the Table of Contents.”
Ouch. Harsh, but not completely untrue.
I've written the first half of the book but now I'm stuck writing the first steamy scene between the two characters. Maybe I'm just not feeling inspired because Daniel and I aren't together right now. Not that I need Daniel to take care of my 'needs.' It's been over eight years since the last time I've had a man-made orgasm. My ability to climax is only achievable through the use of vibrating silicone toys.
I sought therapy after we miraculously all came out of that basement bunker with our lives after almost every building on campus but ours was flattened. But ever since that fateful day, nothing Daniel does gets me there. I have to use aids instead, and I know this has been really hard for him to accept. It's been a shot to his ego, understandably, and has caused issues between us that no amount of therapy seems to fix.
So now I've hit a wall and I'm struggling to get past this scene. I’ve been honest with my publisher about it. They’ve been kind enough to give me a two-week extension. At this point, it’s do or die.
“Yes, I’m sure,” I say, pulling a wad of underwear from my top drawer and counting out enough pairs, plus an extra for the two weeks I’ll be in Mexico.
