Frank was neither angry nor annoyed. He replied, "The eighth day of the next month is a good day. It's just a week away. What do you think?"
The eighth day of the next month...
Lucille took a deep breath and responded, "Alright, but could you stop giving me those injections before then? I don’t want to appear sickly on my wedding day."
She paused and added, "I would look ugly."
Frank relented softly, "Alright."
He placed the injections back in the refrigerator, held Lucille's hand, and said, "Bobo, be good. Don't think about running away. Could you please spare me some pity?"
Lucille snorted inwardly. Did he need anyone to pity him?
The one who deserved pity had to be her, right?
She thought so in her heart, but there was no hint of it on her face. After a moment of silence, she seemed to reluctantly agree and responded with a hum.