Chapter Text
“You’re still young; we have plenty of time!”
“I know, but I don’t want to wait around for two years and then you decide you don’t want kids because I don’t want to start over at 38!
“...start over? Like with someone else?”
Pause. At this moment, Amy realizes she has said something--for lack of a better word-- fucked up . At this moment, Jake is--with the exact word to describes his state-- fucked up .
There is no one there to ease the tension. There is no one there but the comatose mobster who definitely has no thoughts to contribute to this climax in the argument.
Amy begins to stutter. Avoiding eye contact, failing to let her husband’s attempt at lightheartedness stick, shifting her weight and messing with her hair hoping someone walks through that door soon.
Jake, who is a goddamn detective , knows when his wife is serious. But my god, never this serious. Feeling a sudden weight in his chest about how honest she has just been (is she really going to leave him? Is she only with him to have kids?) , he lets his face fall, the muscles relaxing until his face is dark. He wants to match the tone of this insidious threat his wife has just made, but all he can exude is hurt. So instead, his voice gets low and soft. “No, I’m sorry Ames, I need you to answer that question. Would you leave me? What is our next step here?”
At this point, Amy--logical, headstrong, stubborn Amy--sees this going one of two ways.
At this point, Jake--panicked by the unusually serious demeanor of his wife’s threat--sees two simultaneous scenarios. Each one he hates more than the next.
That’s not true. He sees three, and he likes the first one, but the first also seems the most unrealistic.