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Beth
The day after our fight, I felt like shit. I knew that it was my fault – Michael was right. He’d provided for me for close to four years, and I had a lot of responsibility to live up to. I decided right then and there that I’d try to be a better fiancée, as practice for being a good wife.
Michael had made it clear to me that he wanted me to stop working as soon as we got married. That morning, I submitted my two weeks’ notice to my job. It wasn’t a big job – it was only part time, and I maybe got fifteen hours a week. But it felt like a big deal symbolically, and I knew Michael would be pleased when I told him what I’d done.
Michael hadn’t spoken to me that morning before he’d left. When I’d called at lunch, his receptionist, Jeanne, told me that he had a bunch of evening meetings off-site. Normally, the news would have upset me. But today it just made me nervous – I wanted things to be perfect by the time he got home, and this gave me just the right amount of time that I needed to impress my fiancé once again.
I went to the salon and got my hair done – new highlights – as well as a pink manicure and matching pedi. Before Michael and I had gotten together, I’d had kind of a wild side: I’d liked dyed hair and wild colors on my hands and feet. But Michael liked traditional, quiet girls and I wanted more than anything to show him that I was ready for that kind of life. I knew that to Michael, marriage wasn’t just a piece of paper. We’d already talked and agreed that no matter what, we wouldn’t get a divorce or separate, even for a trial period. Michael wanted a traditional life – he wanted me to stay home all day with our kids, cooking and cleaning and making myself look perfect and presentable.
I wanted him to know that I was serious about committing to our life together. When I got home from the salon, I called Heather. We had our differences when it came to pleasing men, but there was no one like Heather who knew how to make a man happy…if only temporarily.
“I’ll be right over,” Heather promised on the phone. “This is gonna be fun!”
“I know,” I said. “We haven’t had a girls’ night in forever.”
“When is Michael getting home?”
I sighed. “Late,” I said. “I mean, later than usual. Maybe eight or nine. I want to have dinner warm in the oven by the time he gets here.”
When Heather and I hung up, I went into the living room and vacuumed again until the lines in the carpet were as clean as razor cuts. I was satisfied with my work. Growing up, I’d always been kind of a messy person. But I knew that as an adult, I’d have to be neat as a pin in order to make my future husband happy.
Heather knocked on the door and I let her in with a squeal. We hugged and danced around until I pulled her in the kitchen and shoved my arsenal of cookbooks under her nose.
“What should I make?” I flipped through an elaborate dessert cookbook that featured tiny little custard dishes and petit fours. “Michael doesn’t like any of this fussy stuff – at least, that’s what he says. But he always eats the dessert I make.”
Heather frowned. “What’s his favorite?”
I sh
rugged. “I don’t know,” I said. “Like I said, he won’t tell me.”
“What about cheesecake? Men love cheesecake,” Heather opined. “I made one for Jay and he ate like, half of the thing in one sitting.”
“Holy shit,” I said. “That’s a great idea.”
“It’s easy, too,” Heather said. She walked across the kitchen floor and pulled open the fridge. “You’ve got everything,” she added. “Even the lemon zest!”
Twenty minutes later, I carefully slid the warm cheesecake into the oven. I beamed, proud of my work.
“This was a great idea,” I gushed to Heather. “Thanks again.”
Heather smirked, obviously smug. “You’re welcome,” she said. “I hope that’s not what you’re planning on wearing when he comes home?”
I glanced down and then burst into laughter. I was still wearing the stained jeans and sweatshirt that I’d thrown on in the morning as soon as I’d woken up.
“God, no,” I said. “Come upstairs and help me pick an outfit?”
Heather nodded. She looked relieved – I could tell that picking out clothes was much more fun for her than helping me with cooking. I already had Michael’s other favorite dishes (cabernet pot roast and garlic mashed potatoes) cooking in slow cookers, and the kitchen smelled heavenly. I figured that the cheesecake would be a perfect way to top off the little “I’m sorry” meal when he got home.
“I feel so bad about our fight last night,” I complained as I shrugged off my old clothes and slipped into the dress Heather was holding up. “Wow, this is tight,” I added, sucking in my breath and turning around. “Zip me up?”
Heather laughed. “God, I haven’t seen you wear this dress in years,” she said. She glanced at me with wide eyes. “You look great, Beth.”
I blushed. “Thanks,” I told her. I knew Heather would always be honest with me about things like clothes.
“And don’t worry about your fight,” Heather said. “You guys are engaged – I read somewhere that being engaged is the most stressful part of a relationship. Well, besides the first year of marriage. And besides the first year you have your second kid.”
I rolled my eyes. “God, way to make me look forward to the future,” I said sarcastically. “I can’t wait for that.”
