Chapter Twenty-Seven
28 Days Missing
Adaline Archer
‘Just done the washing up for you,’ announced Ethan from his place on the bed, his phone in one hand and his morning coffee in the other, even though I’ve told him a thousand times not to drink it in bed because he always spills it.
‘That’s great. Thank you.’ My smile was strained because I was trying ever so hard not to snap, ‘It’s not a favour to me. You live here too.’
Why is it that men always feel the need to announce they’ve nipped the hoover round or done a load of laundry like they’ve just cured cancer? Then they beam at you as though they’re waiting for you to offer them a gold star or a blow job despite the fact that you do these chores every day without so much as a ‘thanks for that’ from the supposed love of your life.
‘I’ve got someone coming over later to fix the dishwasher,’ he said.
I slipped into my favourite black, lacy Agent Provocateur underwear. It’s expensive, you wouldn’t approve. No matter. I’ve learned the older you get, the harder you have to work, and exquisite, ridiculously priced underwear distracts from all the bits you don’t want to see when you look in a mirror. Besides, I was about to spend the afternoon at Ruby’s baby shower with all of her ‘mum’ friends, being reminded I am not part of their team, and the only consolation was that beneath my clothes would be sexy matching lingerie and beneath theirs would be ugly, nude nursing bras. Probably.
I wasn’t sure if going ahead with the baby shower was the right thing to do, but my therapist insisted socialising and maintaining good relations with friends and family is healthy so that’s what I’m doing, even though I’d rather be at home. The baby isn’t due until late December, but Ruby doesn’t want to look ‘too pregnant’ in the photographs so we’re having the shower now.
Ethan’s hands were on me in an instant, phone and morning coffee forgotten. He nuzzled my neck and pulled my hips back against his crotch. ‘Mrs Archer, you look so good I could eat you.’
Lots of my married friends complain their sex lives have been replaced with Netflix box sets; they’d kill to have their husbands grab them and bend them over the bed like they did in the early, lustful days of their relationship. So I feel guilty at the pinch of annoyance that Ethan always puts his hands on me when I’m getting ready to go somewhere.
‘But that’s when you’re half-naked,’ he’s told me sulkily time and time again.
Handling his male ego like the slippery, fragile ball of glass it is, I said, ‘But I’m not ovulating.’
Ethan pulled back and I thought, Shit, I’ve smashed the ball.
‘You’re more to me than an incubator,’ he said, and I realised the ball wasn’t smashed at all, it wasn’t even chipped.
‘I am?’
‘Yes, of course,’ he whispered against my neck, his hands moving to my waist again. Then I was remembering the us we were before we were trying, when sex was spontaneous acts of lust to be had on the kitchen counter, in the shower, on the stairs. ‘I miss you. I want you.’
And as quickly as the underwear went on, it was taken right back off.
I was late to Ruby’s. Punctuality is usually top of my list; it’s rude to keep people waiting, but I didn’t care because, for the first time in a long time, sex with Ethan had felt sexy again, and not just a means to an end.
‘I’ve called you a zillion times,’ huffed Ruby, ushering me inside. ‘I didn’t think you were coming.’
‘I’m only half an hour late.’
‘I thought something terrible had happened to you.’
‘Well then calling me a zillion times wouldn’t have made a difference, would it?’
Ruby took me in. ‘Your skin looks great. You’re so … glowy. What moisturiser are you using?’
I could’ve been honest and said my glow was from multiple orgasms which can’t be bottled and slathered over your face, but instead I answered, ‘Charlotte Tilbury. I’ll send you some. You look glowy too.’
‘That’s just sweat from morning sickness and being the size of a whale in this heat.’
The next couple of hours were a rush of putting up bunting and balloons, and arranging photographs of Ruby and Tom as babies on the little table by the door. I was relieved I’d done most of the planning and organising before you went missing. Every detail was taken care of, even the glasses on the refreshments table had Welcome, Baby Pentland printed up the side in tasteful gold italic.