“Right.”

And then she said nothing more.

“You only have one more interview,” I reminded her evenly. “You’ve heard back from all but three places. So what are your top three?”

“Based on what?” she asked, clearly getting annoyed. “Location? Resources? Salary? Teaching load? How do you want me to weigh these things?”

I let my head fall back against the wall with a soft thunk. “Jesus Christ, Hanna. It’s like you are pathologically unable to approach this decision. You weigh them with me, one bit at a time.”

“It’s just complicated, Will. This isn’t a simple process. There are about a million factors at work here.”

“Are you really going to patronize me right now?” I growled, pushing off the wall again to pace the apartment. “I know what schools you’re visiting when you leave the house, and you generally tell me the specifics of your interview schedule when you get home, but do I get even a single opinion afterward? No! So yes, I realize it’s a complicated process, but you don’t seem to.”

“Maybe I’m just trying to remain open-minded.”

“Fuck open-minded!” I yelled. “Be open-minded when you’re doing the interview. Inside this marriage, tell me all the tiny gripes and fears and hopes. I don’t need the whitewashed version. I want the big and small, the ugly and the awesome. Right now, I know what questions you were asked in your job talks, how big your lab would be, what your start-up funds would be. But I don’t have a single clue what you like. And you haven’t asked me once where I would like to live, what I would like to do. I would follow you anywhere, Hanna. But I want to do so as your partner.”

She went very quiet, and for a few beats I wondered if she actually had the gall to hang up on me. But then I heard a tiny hiccup and realized she was crying.

“I’m not trying to be selfish,” she said. “You know that, right?”

“Of course I do,” I told her, softening. “But, look, you have to process this with me, as a unit. Your desire to remain open-minded means that you’re not letting yourself fall in love with any one place. And your inability to express a preference—no matter how preliminary—is making it totally fucking impossible for me to get engaged in this process.” I heard her blow her nose in the background. “And now, your unwillingness to deal with any sort of confrontation is going from naïve to thoughtless. I didn’t like the way you used to avoid dealing with things—it nearly ended us before we even began—and I really hate it now.”

She sniffed. “I just want to get off the phone.”

My heart stuttered. “Hanna. Come on.”

“You’re making me feel like a child. I’ll see you Friday night.”

The phone clicked and nothing but silence carried through the line. She’d hung up. I’d yelled at her, and she’d hung up. Well done, Will.

Guilt and aggravation and just plain dread warred in my chest as I crossed the room before dropping back onto the couch. My beer sat on the coffee table in front of me, still full, condensation forming at the neck of the bottle and running down the glass to pool on the wood underneath. I picked it up and brought it to my lips.

It was going to be a fucking long night.

Jensen jogged beside me on the trail. “Yeah, I’m probably the worst person to talk to about this,” he said. “I’ve dealt with Hanna’s head-in-the-sand shit for years.”

“No, see,” I said, glancing over at him, “this is where you tell me it’s normal to get in a fight like this one week after a wedding.”

This made him laugh dryly, and only then did I realize what I’d said.

I pulled up short, stopping in the middle of the trail. “Jens, I don’t mean—”

“You want me to tell you what’s normal one week after a wedding?” he asked, bending to cup his knees and catch his breath.

“Sorry,” I said, shaking my head. “Dude, that was totally inconsiderate. I am a prick.”

He waved off my apology with a flick of his hand before straightening. “Given that my wife—previously my girlfriend of nine years—told me one week after our wedding that she wasn’t sure we were meant to be together, I’d say that you and Hanna are just fine. It’s a really stressful time, that’s all.”

“I guess.” I looked past us, down the trail at the line of mothers and jogging strollers headed our way. I hadn’t stopped feeling nauseated for hours now.

We stepped off to the side, on the grass, and Jensen pulled a water bottle from that dorky jogging belt of his.

“Hanna has laser focus,” he said, and then took a drink. “It’s what makes her great at what she does, and shitty at multitasking. I suppose I should give her some credit for consistency.”

I couldn’t help but laugh.

“She’s just trying to be an adult,” he said. “Maybe she thinks this is how adults deal with stuff. Sort of stoically.”

I groaned, knowing he was right, and marveling at how fucking easy it was for him to come to this conclusion.

“Well, that makes sense, given that she told me I was treating her like a child last night.”

Jensen’s laugh boomed out in the chilly morning air. “Good luck with that one, Will.” He pretended to wipe away a tear. “Holy shit, I don’t think seeing you two stumble through marriage will ever get old.”

My cell rang on the bedside table, startling me awake. I picked it up, swiping the screen and squinting at the clock: just past three in the morning.

The last time I’d looked at the clock was only fifteen minutes ago.

“Hey, Plum.”

“Hey, you.”

My body flushed warm with relief. “You okay?” I asked.

She let out a tiny hiccup and squeaked, “Not really.” She paused. “Were you asleep? Your voice is all sleepy-deep.”

Shaking my head, I said, “I just sort of dozed off a few minutes ago.”

She started to apologize but I stopped her. “No, no, I’m glad you called.”

“I couldn’t sleep, either,” she admitted, her voice a little muffled, as if she was lying on her side. “I miss you and I hate that we’re fighting.”

I fell back against the pillow, rubbing a hand over my face. “I’m sorry. I was a dick earlier.”