I'm sincerely tired of car rides. Who knew that sitting and doing nothing could be so taxing? Actually, the real cause of my exhaustion is due to the man sitting beside me. His presence somehow sucks energy from me like a sponge soaking up a spill. Any longer and I'll be a prune before we arrive at our destination. Thankfully, it takes us less than two minutes to get to my parents' house.

Back in the day, we would have just walked, but not now. That would be too much one-on-one time together. The five-hour drive home earlier today was enough to last us ten years. We might never need to interact again.

I glance over at him. His face reveals nothing. He looks relaxed and ready for an evening eating and sipping wine. Why can't I just get a reading on him? One simple reading that would reveal even one thought. He's a freakin' barricade. I can't get through and nothing can get out. He's walling me out... and I hate it.

He puts the car in park after pulling up next to the curb in front of my parents' house, but he doesn't move. Instead, he shifts his body slightly to face me. I quirk my lips to the side, mimicking his actions as I turn to face him. Furrowing my brows, I try to decipher the look on his face. The seconds tick by before he speaks.

"What are we doing?"

Anyone else eavesdropping on the conversation would think the question was innocent. But to me, it was a blow to my stomach. I could feel the impact threatening to release a gasp. Instead, I just shrug with a teasing smile.

"What do you mean?"

He just offers me a knowing look, not willing to elaborate because he knows there's no need to. It's entirely unfair that he's still able to see into my head. He knows me and he's using that to his advantage.

I sigh before responding. "It's been a while since we had dinner with my parents. I figured that if we want to avoid suspicion then we should try to appear normal."

He doesn't respond, so I continue. "Unless you'd rather people know about our failing marriage." He winces slightly at my word choice. "Personally, I don't care anymore, so it's up to you how tonight plays out."

His brows dip slightly. It's the only indication that he's thinking through my words. He still doesn't respond, but after a few silent ticks of my mental clock, he nods and swings his door open. I watch him slam his door shut and walk around the front of his truck before I exit the vehicle.

He's several steps ahead of me, but he stops in front of my parent's front door and waits for me to catch up before knocking. This is him getting into character now, I suppose. We wouldn't want my parents to know the truth about us, now would we? Thankfully, he doesn't go so far as to hold my hand. I'm not sure I'd be able to handle the contact at this point. I'm not the great actor he is, and if he touches me right now, I might explode. Apparently, walking into the house together is enough to prove we're doing fine.

He doesn't wait for anyone to greet us, but just makes his way inside as if it's the most natural thing in the world—which it is. He's family. If he knocked and waited, my parents would be questioning his strange behavior.

"Hello," I holler, gliding through the sitting room with Seth at my heels. We emerge in the kitchen, following the scent of herb-infused roast and sauteed garlic. A rave commences in my mouth, my tongue nearly dancing in anticipation. My dad is no stranger to the kitchen and I've been anxiously awaiting this moment since the last dinner we had together.

"If I'm being honest," I say suddenly, turning to face Seth where he stands, one arm raised to prop himself in the doorframe. "The second reason for wanting to have dinner tonight is all because of this." I do a small circle, taking in a deep breath as I relish the smell of spices tinting the air.

I open my eyes to see him watching me and after a moment he nods, glancing around the empty kitchen. "Understandable," he says, pushing himself away from the threshold of the kitchen to investigate the food that's awaiting consumption in the oven.

"But," he says, turning to face me after a quick peek at our dinner, "I doubt your plan was to lie to your parents. We're not here to pretend... So what's the first reason? The real one?"

Panic pumps beneath my chest, but I refuse to reveal it on my face. I can't let him know that he is the reason. Instead, I smile, shrug once, and spin around. Glancing back over my shoulder I mutter, "You'll have to figure that one out on your own." A sly grin slithers onto my face and I'm feeling exceptionally proud of my flirtatious behavior at this moment. Without a backward glance, I turn around and leave the kitchen.

I shout a 'hello' into the quiet house again and then wait for a response. When there isn't one, I begin to wonder where in the world my parents could be. This happened to me once before when I was a kid. I'd been studying in my room and when I exited, no one was home. I began searching rooms before stepping outside and investigating the yard. When I found both of my parents' cars in the garage I'd started freaking out.

I literally thought Jesus had returned and swept my parents and siblings up and away to heaven, leaving me to endure the apocalypse alone. When they showed up ten minutes later—after stopping in at the neighbor's house for a brief visit—I let them have it. I felt like a parent waiting for her children to return home after curfew. I didn't yell or scream. Instead, I calmly explained that if they ever disappeared like that again, I'd nail them all to their beds while they slept.

Long story short, they never did it again—until now.

When I hear a door open towards the rear of the house, I spin around and head in that direction. I nearly salivate when I see my mom entering with a platter of shish kabobs. Dad is right on her heels, a mound of grilling utensils in his arms.

"Hey, sweetie!" mom bellows, hurrying to offer a side hug. She tries to hold the tray of grilled veggies out of reach but fails. Just before releasing my hold, I snag one and pull a bell pepper off the stick with my teeth. Mom just sighs. "You never could wait until we were all seated, could you?"

I shrug innocently, my mouth filled with the flavors of bliss.

Dad bumps mom out of the way with a hip and pulls me in for a hug.

"Hey there, Pumpkin," he says as he releases me, his voice gruff and warm. "Haven't seen you in a while. You doing okay?"

I debate my response. My dad was always the one who could read me best and I'm not really in the mood to start explaining my life to him. Deciding that honesty is the best choice, I just shrug.

"Yeah, it's been okay." When I think about the fact that my job is doing great and my marriage is a disaster, then I guess that evens out to an okay, right? So, I'm gonna let that pass as an acceptable answer and try to ignore the subtle hint of guilt that's trying to change my mind.

My dad just looks at me for a moment, one eye squinted as he reads my expression. With a single nod, he wipes the suspicion from his face and smiles.

"Doesn't the table need set?"

I smile at his question and swivel around to make my way to the dining room. "Say no more," I tell him over my shoulder.

Within two minutes, I've got the plates and silverware in place. I lean against the table and turn, spotting Seth in the kitchen where he's busy filling the wine glasses. I glance over to see him and my mom chattering together, smiles and quiet laughter spilling from their lips every once in a while. I can't help but wonder why Seth would want out of this family. Divorce wouldn't only destroy our relationship; it'd ruin the tight bond he's formed with my parents and sibling.

Dad walks through the doorway at that moment and catches me staring at my husband. I quickly snap my gaze away from Seth and plaster on a grin. I see a sadness touch my dad's eyes and I wonder what exactly it is that he's thinking.

"You've never been a good actor," he says, setting a platter of pork chops in the center of the table.

"I know," I sigh after a moment. It's the truth. I would almost be willing to bet my left arm that I got the part as Seth's costar in college solely because of that magical kiss. It probably didn't hurt that I had real emotions involved either.

"You know what I've discovered?" my dad starts to say.

I turn to face him, resting my elbows on the back of one of the dining room chairs. "What's that?"

He busies himself with straightening the steak knives and forks that I've already laid out. "I've discovered that marriage is like a cup of coffee."

"A cup of coffee?" I say, lifting a brow in question. "How so?"

He smiles before answering. "We drink it every day, and yet, we never grow tired of it."

My brows lift a little higher—if that's possible—and for a moment I feel bad about what I'm about to say because he looks so proud of himself. I imagine he's mentally patting himself on the back after those simple words of wisdom. Unfortunately, they don't have the same effect on me as they should.

"Dad," I say hesitantly, trying to soften my words by weaving my eyebrows into an expression of compassion. "I hate coffee."

His face falls.

I pucker my lips to the side and try to offer a playful smile. He accepts it with a smile of his own and my chest releases itself with a sigh. My dad is slightly more sensitive than my mom and me, so I've got to really be careful with what I say.

"How 'bout tea?" I tell him, hopeful.

He nods, a grin lifting his sweet face in a way that highlights the soft features of the world's best dad. Such a kind spirit. It's amazing that someone like me came from such a gentle soul.

"Or bacon," he responds, and I can hear him holding back a bout of laughter with his suggestion.

"Now that's a bit more accurate," I say, laughing along with him.

Seth and my mom enter the room at that moment, and I turn around to find Seth eyeing me in a strangely pleasant way. There are about two hundred degrees of intensity staring back at me—his eyes are like beacons of fire, pinning me in place and searing me to the bone. I feel naked and enflamed all at the same time.

The smile slowly slides from my face as I try to read him, but he's already moving on. No one else seems to notice our heated moment—of which I'm thankful—and Seth and I quickly take our seats.

He hands me a glass of wine and I take a modest sip. It's red, not my favorite, but it's dry enough to cause my tongue to shrivel up like sandpaper. It's an oddly wonderful sensation and I take another sip.

Conversation comes easily all through dinner. Nothing feels fake or forced. It's almost like old times, except Seth isn't sneaking to hold my hand under the table or graze his fingers over my thigh like he once did. It's not until my mom asks a particularly unfortunate question that the air in the room shifts.

"So," she begins, setting her silverware on her plate and taking a quick sip from her glass, "when are you two going to start giving me some grand-babies."

I swear I almost spew a chunk of pork back up my esophagus and across the table. I begin choking, hastily reaching for my wine and guzzling back several gulps. This does nothing but ignite my throat with the acidic force of the fermented grape juice, and before I can control myself, I'm jumping up from my seat and making a quick escape to the kitchen.

My dad hollers in to see if I'm okay, but I'm too busy pouring back glasses of water to respond with anything but a glamorous grunt. That's all the reassurance they need before conversation starts back up again. Unfortunately, I can hear the entire thing, and that includes every word that leaves Seth's lips.

"We've decided to wait," he says, and I freeze in place.

Have we now? is what I want to say back, but that would just make things weird. That same feeling of dry wine on a raw throat returns, only this time it's sizzling through my veins. Why would he assume something like that? We haven't discussed the possibility of children in ages. In fact, when we'd first gotten married, we'd planned to wait three years. Well, that time has come and gone.

Not ready to face the man who's currently deciding our future in the dining room, I instead resolve to filling a glass with more of the red mind-numbing drink and gulping it back with satisfaction.

Taking a deep breath, I pour myself one more glass before heading back out.

"You okay?" my mom questions when I return to my seat.

I nod once. "Yeah. Just swallowed wrong, and boy does wine burn when it goes down the wrong pipe." I laugh to lighten the mood.

Mom isn't quite as intuitive as my dad, so she doesn't see the twitch of my lip that indicates a half-lie.

"So, when should I be expecting grandchildren?" she asks again, and I'm about two seconds away from pounding my head into the surface of the table. Unfortunately, I built the table, so I know just how much damage it can withstand. In short, my face would be a mess if I tried to use it as a sledgehammer against the hickory furnishing.

"We, uh..." I have no clue what to say now. Was Seth's answer not good enough? Why is she prying? "We're in no rush," I tell her. And while that might be true for Seth, it's not entirely true for me. I've wanted a baby for a while now. We've both got steady jobs and we're secure with a home. What are we waiting for?... Oh yea, I remember... we're waiting for my husband to love me.

"In all honestly," I start to say, "you might have more luck waiting for grandchildren from Hope."

Hope is my nineteen-year-old sister.

"She's not even dating anyone right now," my mom responds. She's ever the literal one. She wasn't designed to understand sarcasm. "We'd have to wait for her to find a boyfriend, and then get married, and then have children."

"Exactly," I mutter.

I'm still halfway sober, but the wine is definitely pulling out extra layers of bluntness. I usually know when to quit with my mom, but I suddenly have this sick desire to hurt someone. Seth hurt me, now it's my turn. Unfortunately, my brain is slightly scrambled, and I can't seem to figure out who to target my ruthlessness on.

"Heck," I said after a moment, my eyes skillfully bypassing the sorrow in my mother's, "we might never have children."

I laugh to myself, but when I feel Seth's hand slide over my thigh to squeeze a warning, my senses return to me with painful clarity. What was I doing? Trying to sabotage any last hope I had with Seth?

I glance up to offer an apologetic smile at my parents. They both look startled by my behavior, and I realize at that moment that if I had been trying to hide my marital problems before, I'd just blown all those efforts out of the water.

"Sorry," I mutter, half ashamed and half exhausted. The alcohol had definitely had more of an effect on me than I thought. I just wanted to crawl into bed now and sleep this entire evening away.

"We should probably get going," Seth says, and I glance to my left to see him shooting my parent's a sympathetic smile. They both nod back in understanding and he slowly stands, pulling me up gently with him. "Dinner was fantastic."

"Thanks, hun," my mom says softly, standing and walking us to the door.

We all say our goodbyes, but instead of feeling lighter from a carefree evening spent with my parents, I suddenly feel heavy with guilt.

What did I just do?