Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 121054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
“That second one.” Ian clapped Neil on the back, and snickering at their own joke, they headed off together.
“Those guys.” Gena’s smile was one of those perfect, long smiles that showed just the right amount of teeth. Her berry lip gloss could have been a tragedy on her pale, freckled skin, but she’d found the exact shade that worked for her. She followed me toward the kitchen. “How long have you been with Neil?”
“Two years.” I stopped and considered. “I think cancer years might count for ten.”
“Yikes.”
“Yeah. How long have you and Ian been together?” I asked as we passed through the hallway.
“We’ve been together for eight years, but we’ve only been married for three.” She lowered her voice and leaned her head conspiratorially. “There were some speed bumps.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I pushed open the kitchen door and said, “Do you want to get the wine and the glasses? The wine is in the cooler in the island, and the glasses are up there. If you can’t find them, just open everything up, I don’t care.”
“Oh, Sophie. You are just a slice of the Midwest, aren’t you?” She shook her head. “You have no idea how good it is to be around people I understand.”
“You’re from Chicago, right?” I asked, grabbing a potholder.
“Aurora,” she corrected. “Of course, to anyone who lives in New York—”
“It’s the same thing,” I finished with her. “Wait, how did you know where I was from? Ian told me where you were at Emma’s wedding.”
Every time Gena moved, it was with this innate grace that people were either born with, or weren’t. I was on the weren’t side. She reached up for some glasses. “I hope this doesn’t embarrass you, but I read your book.”
It still amazed me that anyone had read my sad cancer narrative. I’d written it when I was at my lowest point, believing that Neil was dying. Distancing myself from it had been a survival tactic, and whenever it was brought up again, I was surprised. “Oh. Well, thanks for reading it.”
“I think it was incredibly brave, writing what you did. I know when I was twenty-five, I couldn’t have shared my life so eloquently.” She took a bottle from the cooler. “Do you have a corkscrew?”
“Oh, yeah. Shoot.” I reached for the sommelier corkscrew in the drawer. “I have no idea how to use this. Neil does it for me.”
She took the corkscrew, scored the foil on the top of the bottle, and had the cork out with a flash of her wrist.
“Wow. I’m super impressed right now.” I laughed.
“Ian drinks a lot.” She wrinkled her nose. “No, that sounds so not right.”
I laughed with her, but a slightly uncomfortable silence followed. Was she making a joke? Did Ian have a real problem? Was I just being too sensitive because of what I knew about Neil’s addiction issues?
He’d been back to Dr. Harris since we’d returned from London, but for all the time Neil spent in therapy or on the phone about therapy, he was still drinking.
I was the first to break the weird pause, but I didn’t know how to effectively change the subject. I decided to jump headfirst into something more awkward. “We both know why you’re here. We’re all thinking of having sex with each other. Or, swapping partners. Or something. I’m not really sure how it works.”
I don’t know if I expected her to be shocked by my bluntness, but I was a little put back by the way she airily waved her hand and said, “Oh, you know. Whatever we decide on, the four of us together. Ian and I have done group, we’ve done swapping, really, the only thing we don’t do is sex with someone else alone. It has to be in the same room.”
“Ah.” Neil and I sort-of had that arrangement. While I’d been totally cool with him hooking up with Emir on a different continent, when he’d been with us over the summer we’d made it a point to have sex all together, or not at all, for the duration of his stay.
“That’s not a problem, is it?” Gena asked gently. “If it is, please don’t feel pressured—”
“No, I don’t. I just…” I shook my head. I couldn’t meet her eyes. “Isn’t it weird, watching some other woman fucking your husband? Or man, I mean, if Ian is into guys, too.”
“No, he’s just into women.” She shrugged. “I like girls, though. For future reference, if you’re…”
“Oh, no.” I laughed and held up my hands. “No offense. You’re really hot. I just don’t see myself ever, you know.”
“That’s fine, too.” She leaned on the island and watched as I plated the delicate roast quail Julia had left in the warmer. “But no, I don’t find it weird to watch Ian with other women. It’s sexy, seeing someone you’ve been intimate with being intimate with someone else. It’s a whole different level of knowing someone.”