The Untypical Marriage
I grabbed more books off the shelf—all yellow-colored, papered books, books my ancestors made reference to in literal terms.
“Oh well, I really thought it would be worth it,” I groaned.
Adrian glanced at me from where he had been half-standing.
“What’s wrong?” He slowly lowered his phone.
“When I said I wanted books, I didn’t mean these, Adrian.”
He raised his hands, gesturing to the shelves. “These aren’t loaves of fucking bread, Kira.”
“When I said I wanted books, I meant stories. Literary satisfaction. Not freaking Moby Dick.” I held up a worn brown copy to make my point.
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