What a Girl Needs Read Free

Sheridan bedding with bright colors to match my mood. I’m not about anything anymore.” The realization hits me like strong drink. “I used to sing in the choir and help Kay organize parties for the singles’ group. I used to write patents and travel all over the world. Now, I can’t get a job. The new church choir is full with singers, and our house is a dump that I don’t have the energy to fix because even when it’s done, it will just be lipstick on a pig.”
    As all of these truths spew out of me, Kevin’s face looks more horrified, and he understands that he may be married to a curmudgeon. A young, well-dressed curmudgeon.
    “I’m a has-been.”
    “Maybe this is a good time to give you my anniversary present.” He drops my hands and reaches into his jacket pocket.
    “I wish I could take back everything I’ve said tonight, Kevin. I’ve ruined our anniversary.” I look down at the linen napkin in my lap. “I’ve become my father.”
    “Not at all, Ash.” There’s an edge to his voice, something I don’t recognize. “In fact, you’ve only confirmed that I bought you just the right gift to cure what ails you.” He looks at me expectantly while he hands me an envelope. “Happy Anniversary, baby.”
    Kevin’s a terrible gift buyer, I confess. He gets so excited to watch me open things, and I have to really work to act excited over a desk lamp—“Oh my goodness, just what I needed!” I’ll squeal. Or there was the time he bought me a silver toilet bowl brush. He was so proud of himself that he’d bought me something that would match the bathroom; I didn’t have the heart to point out the obvious—that anything involving scrubbing a toilet is not a great gift.
    So it is with trepidation that I slice open the card with my freshly manicured nail. (Nails I gave up Saturday lattes for!) “I can’t imagine what it could be!” Tears flood my eyes when I see it. “An airline ticket?” I can barely speak. “We’re going on a trip? I get actual time with my h-husband?” I stammer. “Oh, Kevin!” I scramble out of my seat to his side where I hold his strong jaw in my hands and kiss him. (This was supposed to be like one of those Bachelor moments, on the hometown dates, but it comes off as more of a thwarted mugging.) “Kevin, really? We’re going to have time together?” My throat is tight as I process how much he cares and I have that prickly, stinging feeling in my nose. “When are we going? Kevin, when?”
    He clears his throat and tugs at his tie. I notice as he does so that I missed a crease in his shirt. (Strike ironing off the list of things I do well—actually, let’s just go with anything domestic, full stop.) My arms are clasped around his neck in an awkward position, and instinctively, I know the news isn’t good. The sorrow in his eyes should be a warning sign. But I am so zealous at the idea of a hotel room with my husband in it; I believe he’s just shy about my reaction. I mean, a waiter could enter at any moment, and Kevin isn’t big on public displays of affection.
    I tend to be, what Kevin calls, enthusiastic . Read: Obnoxious. I rise from the floor and sit back down in my chair as if the last few seconds had never taken place. He faces me. I drink in his eyes. Every time I stare into his eyes, I fall for him all over again because they are dripping with love for me. There is no question how he feels about me. Toilet brush notwithstanding. He wants to give me the world. He just has other priorities. However, the road to you-know-where is paved with good intentions.
    “Ashley,” he says while looking down at his blood-red linen napkin. “I’m not going with you on this trip. I’ve got those two huge cases right now.” He clears his throat. “And I don’t think I’m what you need.”
    Not what I need? My heart sinks. I try to keep up the smile, but I’m disheartened in a way I haven’t felt since I was single and hit with the sting of dating rejection.
    He