Until she was tenured—for a matter of years—her entire life would have to be her lab.
Besides, she had interviews all over the damn place and still hadn’t given me any indication where she wanted to go. We could be uprooting our entire home in a matter of months to move across the country, and I had no idea of where yet.
We were married a week ago and already I was preparing myself to come second to her career.
“Let’s play more Truth or Dare,” George suggested, loudly redirecting us from an incoming argument.
“It was your turn,” Bennett said to Hanna.
“Fine,” Hanna said, glaring at me, “but we aren’t done discussing this.”
“Can you wait until we’re gone, though?” Bennett asked. “Christ, I’m sorry I asked.”
“Says the man who fight-fucks his wife in public every bleeding day,” Max said.
Hanna flapped her hands in front of her, bringing our attention back to the game. “Truth or dare, Mr. Sumner-Bergstrom.”
I leaned forward, smiling. “Oooh, dare.”
Hanna couldn’t hold in her delighted giggle. “I dare you to kiss George.”
We all turned to look at George, who had gone as white as a sheet.
“What?” he said. “Wait. What did she just say?”
“Come here,” I growled, playing it up for the crowd.
George shook his head in disbelief, chanting, “Oh my God, oh my God . . .”
Grabbing a rough handful of his hair, I leaned in, tilting his head to bring it closer to mine. His eyes went wide.
I nipped at his bottom lip with my teeth. “Breathe, George.”
“Are you going to ruin me?” he asked, voice thin and hoarse.
“I’m sure as fuck gonna try,” I told him, and then leaned forward, covering his mouth with mine, and—fuck it, I was drunk—sliding my tongue inside for a tiny little tease.
Against me, George seemed to melt, his mouth still open when I pulled away.
Everyone cheered loudly.
“You okay?” I asked him.
“I will be okay forever now,” he said, dazed.
I leaned back, glancing over at Hanna, who looked like she was going to fucking eat me. I moved close to her, kissing her once. “Was that okay?”
She nodded, attempting to look unaffected. “Not bad.”
Her neck was flushed, breaths short and choppy. My kinky little wife.
“Are you so wet right now?” I asked quietly.
She nodded again, mouth curling in a slow-growing smile.
“Still mad at me?” I asked.
Her eyes cooled as she remembered. “I don’t want to talk about it now. I’m too drunk.”
I hadn’t actually been that worried about the whole thing until she said this. Hanna and I argued in thirty-second bites. One of us would say something and the other would disagree and we would decide it was worth discussing, or not.
Because Hanna hated conflict more than anything.
We didn’t yell.
We didn’t ask to talk about something later.
We just didn’t fight, but part of me really wanted to.
My stomach felt sour and queasy.
What felt like hours of debauchery followed. Chloe and Sara had planned all manner of adolescent entertainments, including a boisterous game of Bullshit (Max won), a widely inaccurate game of Velcro darts (there was no clear winner there), and a game of Never Have I Ever that had us all worried Chloe or Bennett would draw blood on our new Persian rug.
By the time 3 a.m. arrived, everyone was staring dully at the ceiling, lying in a tangle, half our limbs beneath the coffee table.
“We should go,” Bennett slurred, pushing himself up with obvious effort. “We only have thirty hours before we need to reestablish a plausible executive presence.”
“I’m going to be hungover,” Chloe moaned. “Who can I pay to dial back time and undo three of those tequila shots? Maybe four.”
Sara, who had been asleep in our bed, walked out, stretching. “I just called a couple cabs. Let’s go, drunkies.”
At the door, Hanna stopped them, hugging everyone in turn. “Thanks for this. It was actually super fun just to be stupid with you guys for a few hours.”
“We’re all chuffed for you,” Max said, weaving in the doorway.
“And you never get to just hang out at home with friends,” Chloe added. “I’m glad you took a night to slow down a little.”
With a pat to Hanna’s head, she turned, leading the rest of them out of our house.
Hanna turned to me, leaning against my shoulder. “Do I really work like that? All the time?”
I shrugged, kissing the top of her head. “Sort of,” I said, my frustration at her from earlier diffused.
It was one of the things I admired about Hanna: she was taking the academic world by storm. But it was also the thing that challenged my vision of our future the most. As much as I hated to admit it, I loved the idea of Hanna at home with me at night, Hanna someday pregnant with our child, Hanna always with me when I was away from my own job.