7 - Aurora

7- Aurora

When I get home Gabriel is there to greet me. Well, he’s sitting on the couch working on his laptop. He’s not in his suit, he’s dressed in what he calls business comfortable—tan dress pants and a navy pullover, like a younger, smugger Mr. Rogers.

“Hey. You’re back.”

I drop my bag by the door and toe off my flats. “You didn’t answer your phone.”

Still typing. “Yeah, I had a call. Thought you were taking a car anyway.”

“I tried calling you first.”

Pause. “Well. You made it. That’s what matters.” 

He hasn’t looked back up at me. I don’t respond. I’m too tired to pick a fight I won’t win.

We moved in together about a year ago. Not all at once—it was a slow drift, one overnight bag at a time until suddenly, half his wardrobe was in my closet and we were sharing a lease. It made sense. We both work in high-stress industries, we’re both ambitious, and if we didn’t share a roof, we’d probably never see each other. After college we both landed lucrative jobs that are really demanding. It was a really sweet gesture for him to leave the level of comfort he was used to from his childhood home. When he moved out of his parents’ mansion to be with me, I thought it meant something. A compromise. A step forward. Looking back, it just meant he’d have someone to cook for him, clean up after him, and make sure his dry cleaning got picked up. His mother refers to our living arrangement as him slumming it to find out how poor people live. She thinks the same of his job, and mine. She’s not much better than my own mother with that crap, but I can’t fault her reasoning. She and her husband both come from old money. She has never had a real job in her life, she has never had to work for anything.  Even the ’fundraisers’ she puts on for charity are supplied by people with money to burn. She’s never had to really work at it.

He finally looks up, like he’s giving me a gift. “So how was the trip? You get everything you needed?”

Everything? No. Not even close. But I don’t say that.

I sit down on the coffee table across from him. “It was long. Hot. And Mom called on the drive back. She had a full meltdown because I won’t buy her the new Bentley she saw in a magazine. She already has two.” I rub my face as if that will take away the frustration.

He smirks. “Which color?” What?! That’s the question he went with?

He’s joking, but there’s no concern in his tone. No offer to ask how I’m feeling or help unwind. Just that half-smile he wears when he’s checked out and thinks being witty will cover it. I can’t decide if a drink or a shower will help me more. Gabriel leans forward, and I think he has caught onto my mood and wants to finally help, but he grabs the remote behind me, flips on the TV, pats my knee and goes back to his laptop. Copyright ©️ 2025 Miss L Writes and Ember Mantel Productions

“Three Bentleys, one panic attack. Honestly? That’s impressive. Even for your mother.”

His mother’s no better. She called our apartment “quaint” the first time she visited, like it was a peasant hut. We live in one of the best apartments in Manhattan. She once told me over brunch that Gabriel was “in a phase” of slumming it—“You know how boys get. They want to prove they’re regular until they remember they were born for better.”

She doesn’t approve of me. She never did. Not because of anything I said or did—just because I don’t come from the right circles. Never mind that I’ve paid for every meal, every vacation, every date since he moved in. Never mind that I make more than he does.

In her eyes, I’ll never be enough. And lately, I’m starting to wonder if Gabriel agrees. His lack of calls while I was gone, make me wonder what she has said to him. He was on his own business trip and I knw the time difference was tough, but I always stayed up to make sure we connected for a few minutes each day.  I think the pressure to live up to his dad’s standards are starting to take their toll.

His father agreed that he should work at a company that isn’t the family business to get a ‘real feel’ for hard work without nepotism.  I actually agree with his thoughts, the only problem is, Gabriel’s mother does not understand the logic and gives him whatever he asks for behind his father’s back. To her, I was just a blip on Gabriel’s journey to greatness—a footnote to be erased when he inevitably “leveled up.” But I am hoping that by working hard and being as successful as Gabriel, and even her husband, I can change her mind.

Living with him has been a transition for sure, he’s never had to worry about basic household things like cooking, laundry and dishes, so I have been trying to help him learn to be self-sufficient.  It’s been a trial, but we’re getting there. He now separates the laundry… for me to do. He doesn’t have much in the way of washing, most of his clothes go to the dry cleaner.

Cooking? Don’t even bring it up. He once nearly set the apartment on fire trying to toast sourdough and claimed he was “traumatized by carbs” for a week.

Speaking of laundry, I have plenty to do so I get up after his dismissal of me to start my ‘wifely duties.’ I didn’t make it farther than the kitchen when he called out to me.

“Hey baby, I’ve missed you. I don’t even know what to do with myself when you’re not here.  I’m so glad your vacation was cut short.” It’s like he forgot he was just talking to me. He was on his own work trip and only arrived a day before me. I can feel my irritation surging back up.

I scrunch my eyebrows together. “It wasn’t a vacation Gabriel, I was working.  The most relaxing time I got was when I ran at 6am yesterday morning and watched the sun come up.”  I don’t mention the wall of hotness I crashed into who later talked me into masturb*ting on a phone call. That memory sends a shiver up my spine. “Did you not get my message to come pick me up at the airport?” I hedge. There’s no way he didn’t check his messages after his call. He lives with his phone attached to his hand. I’m trying really hard to not the the anger at finding him here sitting on his ass consume me.  There has to be a perfrctly logical explanation.