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“To Josiah’s sister.”
“Do you know this girl?”
“Nope.”
“And does she like you?”
I take a few seconds to consider it. “She feels sorry for me.”
“Okay then.”
“It’s not a done deal, but I’ve decided that it’s the route I want to take and so, marrying Nardi is a principle, not a variable in my programing.”
“Look, Cullen,” Sullivan sounds like a wary father with a rebellious son who took every penny from him, “I’m the last person who should be judging you about this. I started dating my wife, Yaya, in a similar fashion. However, it was just a couple dates. Not marriage. There’s a very big difference in impact there.”
“I’m not going to force her. I’m just… setting things in place to make it easier for her to say yes.”
Sullivan asks cautiously. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing illegal and nothing that will impact the project.”
“Cullen, you should know by now that I consider you a friend. This is more important than the project.”
Why Richard Sullivan considers me a friend, I still have no idea. “Nothing is set in stone yet. This is just the beginning. If my health worsens, obviously, I’ll slow down.”
“Fine.” He sighs. “Keep me updated.”
“On the project? Of course.”
“Not just that. The marriage. The mentorship. Everything. Who knows? Maybe I can help.”
“Will do.”
I hang up on Richard Sullivan and check my watch. That fifteen minute conversation was the straw that broke the camel’s back.
With all the energy I have left, I brush my teeth and then crawl into bed to sleep. Or more accurately, I crawl into bed and stare at the ceiling while the shadows dance around me.
Insomnia is a bastard.
At two a.m., I get up and pad to the bathroom. In the harsh lights, I stare at my reflection and, for some reason, my conversation with Nardi replays in my head.
‘Honestly, you’re not my type’.
“Not her type?” I turn sideways and flex my biceps.
Barely a muscle.
I turn the other way.
Low fat and moderately low muscle physiques aren’t that bad nowadays. I don’t watch many movies, but evenIknow who Timothée Chalemet is and women don’t seem to mind him.
My eyes slide up to the knit beanie I wear to bed. Removing the cap, I lean into the mirror and stare at my closely-cropped hair. Some of the hair follicles are just starting to sprout while others are further along. But none of it is as it used to be.
With a sigh, I replace the beanie and stare at my face in the mirror. My cheeks are gaunt and my jaw a little too sharp. There are dark circles under my eyes from my battle with sleep—a war that I can never seem to win.
A girl as pretty as Nardi Davis is definitely not going to be interested in me. And really, it doesn’t matter if Nardi finds me unattractive.
For the future that I want, for the legacy that I need to leave, the only path forward is for her to be my wife.