Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 90290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
“They’re good. Did you make it up to the winery yet?”
Elle shakes her head. “Liam was here last week. We’ll go this week. Want to come?” Elle asks. “Maybe that spot will work for you and Quinn.”
Subtle, sister. Very subtle.
“Yeah, sure. Although I’m pretty set on getting married at my parents.”
“Do two weddings,” I suggest. “Elle is. It’s totally the thing right now too. A lot of people are doing a destination wedding and then one in their hometown.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” Nola says. “I’ll talk to Quinn.”
“Talk to Quinn about what?” he says as he comes back with his arms full. He sits next to Nola, and I notice that when Noah returns, he kisses me, and Ben kisses Elle. Although she demanded it.
Now I can’t stop thinking about Nola’s family and how they may or may not like my brother. This is going to bug the shit out of me.
“Your sisters suggested we have two weddings. One here or some destination and then at my house.”
“Fab idea. What do you think?” he asks her.
She shrugs and picks at a French fry.
“Hell, we can go to the courthouse,” he tells her. She says nothing, and Quinn doesn’t notice.
I stuff my face to keep my mouth occupied. I hate thinking Quinn isn’t welcome because of his music. Which would mean our dad wouldn’t be welcome. Quinn would never go for that. Ever. Or Liam. As odd as it is, Liam’s known Quinn longer than he’s known his own son. There’s no way Quinn would get married without his family there.
“Ugh.” I push my food away, unable to eat another bite. I eye my sister, but she’s making googly faces at Ben and not paying attention to me.
“You good?” Noah asks.
I shrug.
He slips his hand under my blanket and caresses my thigh, and just like that I’m calm. Noah leans back and whispers, “Stop worrying about Quinn. He’s a big boy. If what Ben says is right, Quinn will deal with it. He doesn’t need his firecracker little sister fighting his battles.”
“I know, it just makes me sad.”
Noah kisses his favorite spot . . . well, one of them. “You can’t be sad,” he tells me. “In the morning we’re going to start our journey toward parenthood. Happy thoughts.”
I lean into him. “How do you do it?”
He shrugs, knowing exactly what I’m asking him. “I’ve had you wrapped around my finger from day one, Peyton.”
6
NOAH
This morning, of all mornings, I have a slight hangover. What’s going to exacerbate my shitty mood is the fact that Peyton starts her shots today. To add to my mea culpa stemming from last night's unplanned gathering, is the fact my sister-in-law, who I love dearly, isn’t starting her shots today because of some twin sisterly bond I will never understand. I get what Elle’s doing, but I’m not sure if I’m on the same page as her or not. Peyton wants to be pregnant at the same time as her sister. I get it. Under the circumstances, it’s highly unlikely. IVF isn’t a guarantee for anyone. Especially us. Regardless of the doctor being overly positive, both women might not be successful. Elle’s never tried to get pregnant, and Peyton’s never been able to get pregnant. I’ve read the pamphlets and done the research. I know how all of this could turn out.
I drag my sorry ass out of bed and hit the shower before facing my wife. Knowing her as well as I do, she’ll be downstairs in her yoga room, meditating. When we bought the house, the room was used for storage and didn’t have a purpose. In Portland, she started taking yoga classes, but here she has the space to have her own room. We hired a contractor to knock out the wall and replace it with glass doors which open to a recently renovated garden for her. I have my man cave and she has hers. I actually love going into her room. As soon as you walk in, it’s like nothing else matters in the world.
Her room is very calming. She followed the Feng Shui guide and created an area that was inviting. Where she’d feel content. She has a laughing Buddha in the corner to help her with fertility.
After my shower, I dress in gray joggers, a blue Portland Pioneers sweatshirt and slip my feet into a pair of runners I’m paid to wear. I’m not trying to hide who I am, at least not today. It’s already hit social media that Peyton and I were in the clinic, and I figure this is a good thing. People will see that we’re normal, just like them. We struggle too.
Indeed, I find my wife in her studio. The door to her studio is open and I stand there, resting against the door jamb. This morning, her long brunette hair is down, the length almost reaching her waist. She never talks about cutting it, even when it annoys her. Peyton keeps her eyes closed, but her lips form into a smile. She knows I’m watching.