Marital Bitch(67)

I’m selling my condo. Unfortunately, I’ll be lucky to break even. I bought high and now I’m selling low. But I’m also unemployed right now and to be quite frank, I’d much rather break even or have to dole out a few grand to be rid of the debt than to hang on to a place I’m not even living in and let it get foreclosed on. Because you know, the unemployed don’t exactly have a lot to work with in regards to finances. And my husband—God love him—doesn’t have enough money to support the both of us as well as my debts, which are substantial. Being an adult blows.

My cell rings. It’s Brad.

“Hey,” I say, looking around nervously. I don’t want him to hear anything he’s not supposed to. To the best of his knowledge, I’m in my office in a high rise in downtown Boston right now; not around the corner from the station in Southie to meet with a real estate agent. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt me.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he says. I smile. God, I love this man. His voice is smooth and low. He’s at work and most likely doesn’t want the boys ragging on him about the way he’s talking to me.

“What’s up, pretty boy?” I ask, trying to withhold a giggle. I can practically hear his eyes rolling from here.

“I’m gonna be off early tonight if you wanna go to dinner at my parents’ house. Ma’s been bugging me to bring you by.” I spy Carol’s office door open and she’s stepping out.

“Hey, I have to go, but I’ll be home soon. Bye,” and I hang up. With a final, resigned sigh I smile at Carol, my agent, as she makes her way down the hall. I stand up and we shake, and walk back into her office.

“Colleen, it’s so nice to see you!” Irina coos. She’s nice—nearly my mother’s age, though—I just wasn’t about to spill everything to her. We chat for a few minutes, going over the basics.

“You mean you married that guy?” she asks, taken aback. I nod and smile. She’s not quite scowling, not quite smiling, but definitely not as happy about our union   as I am. Carol met Brad once and she grew to dislike him quickly. Every place she showed me the day he tagged along, he went about telling her how unsafe every neighborhood we looked at was.

‘You know what neighborhood is safe?’ he asked. Carol remained tight-lipped and frustrated, but she’d played along.

‘What neighborhood, Mr. Patrick?’ And that annoyed him. He’d asked her to call him Brad—twice—and she’d relented. Meanwhile, she’d been calling me Colleen for weeks.

‘Southie,’ he stated, his arms crossed over his chest. She scoffed and he continued with his stare down. ‘Know why Southie’s safe? It’s because I’m there and so’s the rest of Colleen’s family.’

At the time, I wasn’t exactly swooning at his feet when he’d referred to us as family; but now it held a much different meaning.

“Save it, Carol. I love him.” I’m a little shocked by how it rolls off my tongue. I giggle and then grin at her. “I love him.” She nods slowly, undoubtedly thinking I’m insane. I am. After a few uncomfortable minutes, we dig in. She gives me the riot act about selling in this market. Her business can’t be doing too well, but she’s cool enough to try and stop me from a big mistake. The thing about that is, I’m getting really comfortable making big mistakes. Married on a whim? Check. Sabotaged career? Check.

Nearly had a baby with my new husband who I’m not sure how he feels about me? Sadly… check. This one, I’m still working through.

Aside from the fact that I’m no longer in a position to keep on affording the condo, it’s not big enough for more than just me. Not that my womb is hospitable to growing life… apparently… but that doesn’t mean that I don’t want a baby. It just means I waited too long and all of those horror stories my mother warned me about are true.

Which brings me to my next big mistake—getting pregnant on purpose without Brad knowing—and believe me, I know it’s a mistake. I’m sure if I told him I want a baby, he’d be all for it. The guy has baby rabies even if he won’t admit it. Honesty always seems to get me and Brad into trouble, so I’m going for what does work for us: stupidity. The only problem is that my libido is shot right now. And I’m very, very moody.

So, while I’m sitting in Carol’s office, my mind wandering—something it’s prone to doing lately—I’m thinking up ways to get my libido going again so I can steal my husband’s sperm… but only if he doesn’t give it to me willingly. Carol drones on and on about what we’re going to try to make off the condo and honestly? I couldn’t care less. My mind has already moved on to painting Brad’s spare room in either blue or pink. I like the idea of pink, but a little Brad… in blue… that would be cute, too. Absentmindedly, I rub my stomach.