The Wife Draft (Peterick)

Pittsburgh: The Sojourn

Patrick and Ashlee became best friends. On one hand, I was pleased that Patrick had someone to talk to other than me. On the other hand, my fiancé was talking to my ex fiancée.

They were spending too much time together for only meeting briefly a week before. I trusted Patrick with my heart, and I knew that Ashlee was thrilled that I was finally getting married and out of her hair.

As soon as Ashlee saw Patrick, her eyes lit right up. As she worked on documents and had Patrick sign them with my last name, they talked about everything they had in common. Music. Shopping. Me always annoying them. What company had the best chocolate. Everything.

They hit it off. And I hit my hand against my face. They were quick to start making plans together, leaving me home alone for the first time since Patrick came to the city.

I was laying in bed with my face pressed into the pillow, thinking about Brendon. What he was doing. Where he was. If he was already overseas. If he was alive.

Sarah closed herself off from everyone. My family didn't know that I was back, and I did not want to make my presence known. I hadn't left the apartment since I said goodbye to my friend. Brendon and I wrote the engagement announcement, but it was locked in my office. I refused to publish it before I returned to work. I wanted to enjoy a peaceful Christmas with Patrick. I wanted him to be settled in before attention was sprung on him.

I heard Patrick come into the room and drop shopping bags on the floor. It sounded like a hundred dollars. Maybe I was spoiling him too much, but he never got a chance to have the designer clothes he eyed and the acoustic guitar that almost made him faint when he saw it.

He sat down on the edge of the bed and rubbed my shoulders. Patrick being a good cook meant that he could knead my back like dough. Him being my lover meant that he had my body memorized. He knew exactly what I liked and needed.

"No," I muttered when he took his hands away. "Don't stop."

"Peter, ya' layin' in the same spot from when I left."

He scoffed and stood up again. I opened my eyes and turned my head to gaze at him. He hung up his coat in the closet and tied the scarf around the hanger. He took off the black heels one by one and set them on the shoe rack I was forced to assemble to store the many shoes he hoarded.

"Why ya' starin' at me?" Patrick asked, thumbing through the hangers.

"How do you always know?"

He shut the closet door and looked over his shoulder. "Magic."

He smiled and sat down on his side of the bed. I turned onto my side to face him, taking the opportunity to stretch my tense limbs. He tucked his feet under him, dress falling around his knees. I ran my finger against the only visible inch of his leg, but the nylon stockings kept me from feeling his skin. Patrick and his black market clothes never ceased to amaze me.

"What ya' thinkin' 'bout?" he whispered, already knowing the answer.

"What if Brendon dies, Patrick?" I mumbled, making him frown.

"We can't control it, Peter. I know ya' want him ta' be fine. So dah I. We just have ta' wait."

I knew that he was right, but I didn't want to wait. I laid my head in his lap, and his fingers immediately began playing with my hair.

"When will this end?" I whispered against his thigh.

"When we die."

"Why must you jump straight to death all the time?"

"'Cuz nothin' ends until ya' can't remember it."

"I love you, but that's terrible."

I heard him sigh. "Ya' terrible."