I put my mug down and study him carefully. “And if it does feel normal?”
“‘Mike and Milla’ sure would look great on wedding invitations.”
Chapter 22
The past few nights, Mike stayed with me.
The first night was the worst. I was kind of overemotional, and I couldn’t even handle sitting close to him on the couch to watch Netflix. I kept sneaking away to the bathroom to cry. I wasn’t ready. Gabriel was still all over my brain. But I knew I had to force myself to move on.
I tried to sleep far away from Mike in the bed, but he may have noticed me trying my best to not let my shoulders shake as I cried silently for hours. He was very respectful and understanding, not asking any questions or demanding that I talk about what was wrong. He just offered to hold me. Once he put his arms around me, and pulled me close, something seemed to change. My body seemed to calm down and just magically melt into him and the bed.
It was the best, deepest sleep I’ve had in months.
Sure, I got fired—but all the patients I lost were still here with me in my bedroom, their faces covering the ceiling and walls, staring at me every night, keeping me awake. I forgot the simple, soothing comfort of having a man’s body beside mine. This was the medicine I needed to make their faces fade. Not the lofty, distant, transient promise of a future with Gabe. Not the brain-chemistry-altering antidepressants.
All along, maybe I just needed a fucking hug.
Mike was kind of a genius to trick me into this whole arrangement of sleeping together in my bed. I got used to having his body next to mine within a few days, and I already am afraid at the thought of trying to sleep without him. Isn’t that funny? How quickly you can grow to need someone, if you give them a chance to get close enough. Having him beside me just causes a perfect, relaxing, sedating effect.
Is this just my hormones? Maybe oxytocin, released by cuddling? It’s seriously powerful and addictive.
Oh, yes. And last night while I was happily sleep-drunk, Mike whispered something in my ear that sort of sounded like he was asking to marry me? I think I agreed. I don’t know, exactly. I was just way too comfortable in my drowsy, peaceful state to pay much attention. You know that feeling when you’re trying to wake up and get out of bed in the morning, but your body just feels so soft and perfectly nestled into the bed, almost like you’re glued to the bed, or part of it? When it takes every ounce of willpower to move?
That’s how it feels when Mike holds me. And I guess I could get used to that. Maybe marrying him isn’t a terrible idea. Anyway, it’s something. Something to do, something to have. Something to take my mind off things. Some kind of progress and forward motion.
Maybe it’s not necessary to be totally, madly in love. Maybe it’s good enough for someone just to be reliable and there. I hope I’m not clutching at another straw.
I am sitting in my kitchen and trying to make sense of what happened last night, when Mike kisses my cheek and places a cup of coffee in front of me. With another heart drawn in the foam.
“I’m sorry I didn’t get you a ring,” he tells me. “It was just kind of spontaneous and I wasn’t planning to ask just then.”
“It’s okay,” I tell him, sipping the coffee.
“I know you had a beautiful engagement ring on a few weeks ago, and I don’t want you to feel like you’re downgrading. I’ll stop at a jeweler and grab a proper ring after work,” he tells me. “What size are you?”
“Six,” I answer softly, slightly confused about all of this.
“Okay. We can take some photos and announce our engagement on Instagram. Your ex-fiancé is going to regret letting you get away.”
Well, actually, that doesn’t sound too terrible. I have barely posted on social media lately. I wasn’t really able to tag Gabe in any sort of engagement post, because he was still married… it would have looked really bad to his friends and family. Thank goodness we weren’t too public about anything, considering what ended up happening… that would have been dreadful.
I never even got to tell my father about Gabe before he passed away. That somehow makes me a bit sad. I’m not sure why, but I kind of wish he had died knowing something good about me… even if it was a lie that even I shouldn’t have believed.
“You look worried,” Mike says. “Are we moving too fast?”
“No, no. I think it’s a great idea,” I assure him. “The engagement photos, the announcement, your whole pitch about the ‘Mike and Milla’ invitations… I love all your ideas. I just hope the ring is shiny.”
“Shiny?” Mike asks. “I’ll get you something that glitters so much you’ll go blind if you look at it in the sunlight.”
“Perfect,” I tell him with a laugh. “I look forward to wearing it.”
“I look forward to making you happy every single day,” he tells me.
“Mike,” I say cautiously. “There’s only one problem. We haven’t had sex. I thought you said I’m supposed to look under the hood before buying the car?” I glance at his crotch with a teasing smile.
“Well, I know I said that,” he says with a blush, almost burying his face in his coffee, “but I’m actually a bit old fashioned. I’m not really comfortable with the casual hookup culture… I tried dating apps after my
