I’ve already told you no fewer than nine times that everything is okay when you ask again. I tell you I am fine, and you say you hate that word, fine. You tell me this is something we’re going to have to work out, and I tell you being pregnant is harder than I thought. Maybe you’ll draw up a contract, you tell me, and I cringe because you are serious. I consider ten ways to kill you in that moment, and you really have no idea. I know because you’re going on and on about some stupid nonexistent contract, and you think you’re funny. In it, you say, you’ll include all the rules for marriage, and they will be different than most couples, and we’ll keep a list of words we promise to never say. Fine, you assure me, will be at the top of that list.
fine. I tell you that everything is still ‘fine
