Avery

I read through the prenuptial agreement that Stephanie and her boss had drafted, sitting at the desk in my private villa, with all of the windows and shades closed. It was somehow no problem for me to pretend I was at the office, alone, with nothing but my work to focus on. Thank you, Work. Thank you for always being there for me, for never giving me mixed signals, for always reminding me of what’s important.

I had only a few notes regarding certain aspects of the agreement. I emailed Bucket with my concerns, and told him that I would not cc my boss Howard until he gave me the go ahead. I scanned the emails in my inbox. There was nothing that required my immediate attention. I closed my laptop.

I changed into my pajamas. I picked up my phone and casually checked to see if I had received any texts from Luke. I threw my phone down onto the bed. Even though he had declined Stephanie’s offer, I would not put it past her to sneak into his room, or vice versa—hell I didn’t know him, and who was I kidding? He was entitled. He was a single man and I was, as far as he knew, a woman with a boyfriend.

My phone vibrated. I picked it up faster than I’d ever picked up a phone, my heart racing. But it was a text from Jackie. Jackie: You better be too busy boning to pick up your phone.

I had to laugh. I gave her a minute to think that I might actually be too busy boning to pick up my phone. But then it started…The banging sound. The groaning. The moaning. The “Yes! Ah! Yes!” More headboard banging. “Ah! Good! Yes!”

No. Bad. No! I tried to convince myself that it was Bucket and Ingrid, but I knew that voice. That voice that carried across the water of the pool was the voice that had said the words “I find you attractive” to Luke Mason, and now she was reaping the rewards of sexual directness.

My heart sank. My mouth was dry. My eyes stung. I grabbed my handbag and found my emergency stash of sleeping pills and swallowed one, almost choking on the water that someone had left by my bed—was there a maid? I didn’t remember seeing a maid. I considered taking a second pill to ensure that I would sleep through this nightmare, and also considered calling a cab to take me to a hotel.

I responded to my sister’s text. Me: The good news is—Sir Flirty McFlirtson is busy boning. Bad news is—I myself am not. :-(

Jackie: FUCK. So sorry. Want to talk?

Me: Nope. Took sleeping pill. Going to sleep. Talk tomorrow. I’m fine.

Jackie: Um. Bad idea. Lock your door.

Me: I’m fine!

I put my phone on the bedside table and lay down. I was fine. Even though I had had issues with sleepwalking when I was stressed out in the past, I didn’t feel stressed out exactly. I felt dead inside.

I had started requiring sleeping pills in college after my Mom died. I’d sometimes wake up in the common room, or trying to break into the cafeteria, or singing “The Wind Beneath My Wings” in the hallway. I’d have no memory of what I’d said or done prior to waking up. According to my roommate, I once cleaned our entire room in my sleep. She was thrilled. After a couple of weeks I had to stop taking them because it was too stressful for my dorm mates.

I was already starting to feel woozy. I wasn’t drunk, but I definitely had alcohol in my system. Taking even one sleeping pill was indeed not a great idea, but it was better than lying there and listening to the only man on Earth that I was attracted to screwing another woman.

I heard a gentle knock on the door to my villa. I got up slowly, steadying myself. I opened the door and looked around, but no one was there. I looked down and saw, at my feet, two jars of marmalade, on top of a folded up piece of paper. I looked around again, but couldn’t see anyone. I just heard Stephanie moaning and groaning and the sound of a man grunting. I picked up the jars and the note and went back inside, closing the door.

Here’s what the note said: In case you’re in need of a midnight snack… ~ Sailor

Here’s what my brain said: “He left the jars of marmalade at your door before going to Stephanie’s room to bonk her. It’s his way of saying he’s sorry.”

My phone vibrated. Here’s what the text said: Sailor Mason: Nice quiet night, eh?

Here’s what my brain said: “He’s texting me while he’s bonking her?! Who is this guy?!”

Here’s what my heart said: “He’s letting you know that he’s not the one bonking her, you idiot. Text him back and go to sleep so you’ll be less of an idiot in the morning.”

Here’s what I wrote back: Now I can hold these jars to my ears to block out the noise. Thank you. You’re so sweet. Good night.

And then I fell asleep, with a smile on my face, clutching a jar of marmalade in each hand, close to my heart, and thinking: Tomorrow. You will say everything that you need to say to him tomorrow.