Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 101041 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 505(@200wpm)___ 404(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101041 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 505(@200wpm)___ 404(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
I even love the way her messy ass leaves dirty dishes in the sink for me to clean, and I love that when I’m not in the mood to talk, she won’t mind—she’s got enough to say for the both of us. At the end of the day, there’s no one I’d rather have on my team.
“Do you plan to stay in New York?” Fran asks, and Daisy is quick to respond.
“Yes.” Her answer is straight and to the point, and while we haven’t broached the whole “Where are we going to live?” question, I know my wife well enough to understand that she means it.
Looks like we’re staying in NYC.
Though, if LA were where Daisy wanted to be, I’d pack up my shit, sell my apartment, and move without hesitation. I don’t give a shit where we live, as long as we do it together.
“Flynn’s family—our family—they’re here. I’ve never had the kind of support network I have here, and…” Daisy’s voice catches a little with the admission, and I squeeze her thigh to bring her comfort. “I can’t imagine my life without them in it.”
Even robotic Fran cracks a little at that, licking her lips and looking down at her notepad in a way that makes me think she might be fighting tears. When she looks back up after a nod, however, her professional armor is back in place.
“Great. Okay. Well, it looks like we just have one more question to finish up. Is there anything that you didn’t note on your application that you feel compelled to tell USCIS today?” Fran’s attention is fully focused on my wife—I suppose since she’s the technical immigrant here—and Daisy’s reaction isn’t one of calm and cool.
Her eyes grow big, and she looks over at me like she’s a woman with something to hide.
Shit, babe, relax. It’s fine. I squeeze her thigh again, but her eyes only get more expansive.
I try to hold her manic gaze, but her eyes move from me to Fran and then back to me, and she repeats that circuit another ten times. All the while, the silence is growing to the kind of intensity that Fran just might be wondering if Daisy is some kind of undercover Canadian terrorist who actually did commit a murder.
Which, truthfully, would be quite the turn of events, considering Canadians are about the nicest fucking people in the world, but anyone who is staring into the depths of my wife’s currently crazy-fucking-eyes probably wouldn’t feel at ease.
Do something, man!
“I think what Daisy is trying to—” I start, but I’m quickly cut off by the beautiful maniac sitting beside me.
“I have a child!” Daisy yells out so loudly, it startles Fran’s pen out of her hands.
“You have a child you didn’t mention on your application?”
“Yes!” Daisy exclaims but then shakes her head. “Wait… No. I mean, I haven’t had a child yet. I have one in my stomach. Growing inside me,” she rambles, even pointing to her belly as evidence. “I’m pregnant. Knocked up. Bun in the oven…” She pauses and then points two finger guns in my direction. “By this guy, obviously! My husband. Flynn Winslow. He’s the guy who did it. Got me pregnant, I mean.”
Well, fuck, Dais. You could’ve, maybe, kept the finger guns holstered.
I shut my eyes for a brief moment, but then, I smile like a fucking fool. Though, I guess that’s what happens when you’re in love; you become a goddamn buffoon for the woman who owns your heart.
Fran looks at me and then at Daisy and then back at me.
“We just found out today,” I explain with a knowing smile and wrap my arm around Daisy’s shoulders, pulling her closer to me. “And, well, I’m sure you can understand why my wife is a little on the excited…” I lower my voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Antsy…side. We’re both over the moon with the news.”
“Yeah… Flynn’s right… I’m…uh…kind of an easily excitable person if you haven’t noticed,” Daisy chimes in. “So, I apologize for all the shouting.”
“I see.” Fran just nods and jots more shit down on her notepad.
No congratulations or soft smile. Just…a fucking nod. Obviously, that reaction does nothing for Daisy’s current worked-up state.
I squeeze her thigh again for reassurance, but before I can get her to relax back against my arm, Fran is back with the same unnerving question.
“Is there anything else you feel compelled to tell USCIS today that you didn’t note on your application?”
Daisy’s knee is off to the races again, bouncing up and down in quick succession. “Anything else besides that I’m pregnant?”
“Yes,” Fran responds, and her lips stay in the same firm line they’ve been in since we sat down across from her.
Oh fuck. Here we go.
“Uh…” Daisy pauses, and her eyes are so big I can actually see my reflection in her pupils. “I don’t think so… I mean…”