Page 23 of Marriage and the Midlife Crisis

“Ooh, that will do it,” Jen agreed gleefully, knowing instantly which dress I was talking about.

“I think I’ll try to use that spa gift card that you and Mark gave me, too. Hopefully, they can squeeze me in today for a massage and facial, maybe even a bikini wax.” Jen had surprised me at work Friday morning with donuts and coffee from my favorite bakery, along with an incredibly generous gift card to a local salon and spa so that I could “pamper myself like a princess”, as she’d put it.

“Lordy, you’re pulling out all the stops. You’ll bring that man to his knees…and while he’s down there, he can grovel his heart out for being such an idiot,” she joked.

I snorted. “If he’s on his knees for me, he’d damned well better do something more than grovel while he’s down there. He owes me a little attention, if you know what I mean.”

She hooted with laughter, which apparently attracted my brother’s notice. Jen repeated what I’d said, which caused Mark to groan loudly enough for me to hear him through the phone.

“Ewww, gross, I don’t want to know those things about my little sister. Why would you tell me that, babe?” I bit my lip to keep from laughing as I heard him whine like a little boy in the background. “Dammit, now I need some bleach for my brain.”

Jen and I spent the next minute or so snickering as Mark continued to moan and complain that she was an evil woman who’d scarred him for life, before I ended the call so that I could try to book an appointment at the spa.

Luck was on my side for once, and they had an opening in two hours, due to a last-minute cancellation. I glanced again at Ryan’s note, then hesitated before pulling up our text thread. Ignoring the broken promise to “call me later” that he’d sent Friday afternoon, I typed out a quick message.

Me: I saw your note. Kirby’s sounds great.

It was a little on the terse side, but at least it acknowledged the invitation and confirmed my acceptance. It was probably more than he deserved, and I gave myself extra points for not addressing him using the words “dick, asshole, or shithead”, at least not in this text, anyway.

I headed for the stairs so that I could get ready and spotted Ryan’s suitcase laying open on the floor by the front door, with half of the contents spilling out.

“What the hell?” I muttered under my breath, heaving a sigh as I bent over to toss everything back in and zip the suitcase shut. I debated leaving it there for a few moments, then grasped the handle and picked it up. I knew if I left it there, one of us would most likely trip over it, and the odds were that it would be me. I was graceful like that.

Luckily, he’d just taken the smaller suitcase for the weekend, so it wasn’t too heavy for me to carry upstairs, where I tossed it on the bed.

When I entered our bathroom to start the shower, the sight of Ryan’s toiletry bag setting on his end of the counter solved the suitcase mystery. I was still a little irritated that he’d left it laying open by the door, but at least he hadn’t brought it up to the bedroom and rummaged through it for his toiletries when he got ready for work at the crack of dawn.

My irritation at being woken up by him doing that would have been far worse than it was now.

I hurriedly showered and dressed, not bothering to style my hair or put on any makeup since I was headed to the spa. I grabbed a protein bar and another cup of coffee on my way out the door, looking forward to a couple of hours of relaxation and much-needed pampering.

By the time I returned home a few hours later, I was in a much better frame of mind. My skin was glowing after the facial, the massage had freed my back and shoulders from the tension I’d carried all weekend, and my bikini line was smooth – albeit a bit tender – after my waxing session.

I’d even treated myself to lunch at the quaint tearoom that I’d wanted to try for ages. I’d eaten way too much, but couldn’t resist trying the various finger sandwiches, scones with delicious lemon curd, bite-size quiche, and dainty cakes and tarts.

I immediately headed upstairs to see if my dress needed to be steamed to remove any wrinkles, my good mood dampening slightly at the sight of the Ryan’s suitcase on the bed.

“I suppose I could be nice and unpack for him,” I muttered, before unzipping it and flipping it open.

I dragged the laundry hamper over to the side of the bed to begin filling it. Picking up the first pair of shorts, I dutifully checked the pockets only to find a ten-dollar poker chip and a handful of coins. I rolled my eyes as I set them down on his nightstand.

I continued emptying the suitcase, shaking out each item of clothing to look for stains that would need to be pretreated, and checking pockets to make sure nothing else went into the washer that shouldn’t be there.

I grimaced as I picked up a pair of jeans that smelled faintly of beer, making a mental note to add some stain remover to them, irritated that Ryan hadn’t tried to rinse out the spilled beer himself.

Then, I reached for the last item – one of Ryan’s button-down shirts – wadded up into a ball. It was my favorite shirt, in fact. Light blue, to match his eyes. I’d bought it for him on his last birthday.

It looked innocent enough, until I picked it up and shook it out. I barely registered that something had been tucked inside the shirt, falling to the bed next to the suitcase, as I became distracted by the strangely sweet, flowery scent that wafted over me. My nose wrinkled at the smell, then my fingers gripped the fabric tightly as a smear of something red on the collar caught my eye.

Perfume.

Lipstick.

On Ryan’s shirt.

I dropped the shirt, taking a step back as if it were a snake coiled to strike. I gasped for air then, exhaling harshly as I tried to process what I’d just seen.

No.