Now or Never, Part Two

It's been one of those weeks. Lindsay's been under deadline stress hell and Erik, well, Erik's just been under. More than usual. The 45 year old bottle of scotch he brought back from the working slash golf weekend is three quarters spent and their present plans for house hunting have fallen by the wayside. Things have been coming to a head for months now and just when Lindsay thinks she's reached the precipice, a subtle shift happens, so slight it barely registers yet somehow they manage to navigate themselves back onto the path. What path remains to be seen. That's the question, this gnawing obsession of a need for direction. It is slowly killing them, insidiously, from their insides out. Lindsay's been skipping periods, stress eating. A patch of hair has fallen out from behind her left ear. Alopecia areata her doctor says, possibly a stress related disorder, or maybe due to low iron or actually pulling her hair out, which Lindsay may be doing, unconsciously. She no longer trusts herself to know these things. No idea whether or not it will grow back or continue to disappear, strand by strand or all over her entire body. No eyebrows or eyelashes. No pubic hair or fuzz on her tummy. Couple that with the hell of is she or isn't she pregnant that happens every four to six weeks, the ravaging emotional mood swings, small fortunes spent in pregnancy tests and Plan B birth control because, honestly, she has no idea whether or not she wants kids or not. Not anymore. Not like this, not without any sense of forward motion. Volition. Lindsay craves volition and Erik, it seems all Erik craves is an aged single malt oak casked scotch or a ridiculous bottle of 15 year old Barbaresco and one more weekend. Another long, lost, loaded weekend in three and a half years of what, exactly? Lindsey needs to know where do they go from here because the next precipice might be coming up hard and fast with no easy road back to safety and security. She's looking to jump, parachute or not.

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