Page 150 of Clinically Delicious
She’s going to recommend a psychological evaluation.
For me and Gabriel for marrying someone this insane.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
Gabriel’s buzzed at the same time.
We both pulled them out.
Fitz: Coast is clear. House is presentable. Please stop whatever Cate is doing out there. PLEASE. We can hear her from inside. Is she talking about toast?
I looked up at Gabriel.
He looked at me.
His expression said,“We’re going to talk about the ninja dream later.”
And also, “What the hell is wrong with you?”
And possibly, “I’m reconsidering this entire marriage.”
My expression said, “Please don’t make me go inside and face what I’ve just done.”
And also, “I’m so sorry.”
And definitely, “I don’t know why I’m like this.”
“Well,” Gabriel said, his voice remarkably steady considering I’d just told a social worker about my shirtless ninja dreams and my problematic relationship with breakfast carbs, “shall we go inside? I think the furniture rearranging should be finished by now.”
His tone was so normal.
So calm.
Like I hadn’t just had a complete psychological breakdown on our doorstep.
“Yes,” Ms. Rodriguez said, still looking at me like I was a particularly interesting psychological case study that she would be discussing with her colleagues for years to come. “Let’s do that.”
Gabriel opened the door.
I held my breath.
Please let it be clean. Please let there be no glitter. Please let there be no evidence that we’re complete disasters who built teepees in dining rooms and stress-baked at three AM.
Please let Fitz have hidden all the flour. Please let there be no broken china visible.
Please.
Gabriel squeezed my hand one more time.
A final warning.
Or maybe a promise.
We’re in this together, even though you just told a social worker about your toast consumption.
I squeezed back.
I’m sorry.
I’m so, so sorry.
I don’t know why I’m like this.
We stepped inside.
