After completingour unfinished chores in the kitchen, we met in bed. Philippe had curled up by my slippers. Rory grabbed the remote and pointed it at the TV. I reached for my book. All of us couples have our routines, don’t we?
But Rory didn’t actually turn on the television, which funnily enough turned me on instead. “Let’s read out loud to each other,” he suggested. “You choose the book. We always say we’re going to do it but never do. Enough talk.”
I looked with eager, yet skeptical, eyes. “Rory Simpson, who are you?”
My delightful husband shrugged his shoulders. “A man in love.”
Yeah. And a man who was about to get whatever he wanted for the rest of his life.
We spent the next twenty minutes reading Nora Roberts to each other. I loved hearing his voice, but I had to work hard to follow the story. I couldn’t stop thinking about how much effort I’d put into saving us. He’d been daydreaming his life away and forgotten I was there. As opposed to me turning into the ultimatenagging bitch this past year, the wife who complains that her husband doesn’t “see” her, I’d taken the counterintuitive approach. And it had worked.
Rather than kicking and screaming and going on the offensive, I’d done what Jesus might have done. If he steals my coat, I give him my shirt. I’d covered Rory with love, and that love had brought him back to the light. Sure, we’d have setbacks. I wasn’t an idiot caught in illusions. I wasn’t alone in my daydream. But we would be okay. We’d taken the first giant leap and had rediscovered the magic, and I was pretty proud of myself for making it happen.
I couldn’t let the night go without taking advantage of his mood. I said to him, “Honey, I know this drives you crazy, and I know it makes little sense to you, but I need to ask something of you. It would mean so much to me.” He stifled a yawn and encouraged me to go on.
With only a moment’s hesitation, I let it out. “Before you say no, please hear me out. I guess you always do that…but really hear me out with an open mind. Honestly, consider my proposal. Yes, you agreed to let me adopt Philippe, and that was awesome. I’m so happy to have him. He makes me extremely happy. But understand, my whole life has been about animals. I’m a vegetarian because I love animals. What is so wrong with having animals around our house? It’s not like I’m asking to have a horse. I understand that starting a bed-and-breakfast is too much right now. Maybe it can eventually work out, though. For now, all I’m asking for are three or four chickens. I will build the coop myself if you’re worried about money.”
He turned onto his side, and with the kindest, warmest eyes I’ve ever seen, he said, “How about we build the coop together?”
And we lived happily ever after.
The end.
Or so I hoped.
8
A PUBLIC LIFE
Do you remember the first time you fell in love? It might have been when you were fifteen. He clumsily asked you to a movie. Halfway through the opening credits, he reached for your hand. A week later you kissed. Your whole world was turned upside down.
Maybe Cupid found you with his arrow much later. For some it happens in college. Perhaps you hadn’t met the right guy in high school, but in your freshman year, you met a boy at a party. He was looking to hook up like the rest of them, but something was different about him. He took you to see a school play. You studied together. You walked hand in hand through the halls, and you couldn’t get enough of each other. Everything started to make sense.
He was all you could think about. Everything around you glittered. You were walking chill bumps. The days shimmered brighter. Music touched you deeper. Even the way you woke up was different. You tasted something almost divine.
This morning, my eyes popped open, and the world was beautiful. I was in love, all over again.
Rory woke me with a kiss and squeezed my bottom. I giggled as he climbed out of bed and into the shower. I patted the bed, and Philippe hopped up to join me. I pulled him close and told him that today would be our best day in many years. He wagged his tail with gusto when I teased him with the idea of treats from the doggy bakery.
I trotted into the bathroom. Rory was humming, which would have sounded awful to anyone other than the one who loved him. I had no idea what he was humming, and the notes he attempted weren’t even notes. But gosh, did he sound good to my lovestruck ears. I checked the rack to make sure he had a fresh towel. I even went to the drawer in his closet and matched up the rest of the mismatched socks.
There was only one thing I wanted to do for myself today. When my soul soared like it was doing today, I wanted to be in the kitchen. Now that I had someone to cook for, someone whodeservedmy cooking, I could barely contain my culinary urge. The excitement nearly pushed me down the stairs.
In another rare twist, I decided that not only would I celebrate our reunion—or, as I thought of it, Rory’s reawakening—I would also celebrate the year of culinary torture I’d endured by breaking away from my diet.
For one day only, I’d let myself go.
As I weighed out flour for my first recipe, Rory entered the kitchen in a pinstriped suit. “There she is. My queen.” He pinched the material of my shirt and pulled me in for a hell of a kiss, his mouthwash all minty and lovely.
“You go be your best, my love.”
“I just want to get it over with so I can get back to you.”
Oh, how I loved this man.
I wished him a good day, and Philippe and I longingly watched through the window as he drove away. My heart had never felt so full.
“I love that guy,” I said to Philippe. “No, not as much as you but almost.”
