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“It’s been fine, nothing exciting to make note of,” she remarks.
She moves her peas and chicken around slowly, not engulfing it with vigor the way she normally does.
“Is there something wrong with the chicken?” I ask, trying not to sound accusatory.
She shakes her head, then gives me an exhausted look. It makes my heart sad to see.
“No, it’s great, Kaden, trust me. I’m just not very hungry these days.”
“Well, if you’re getting tired of the recipe I can get the chef to try something new?”
Amber shakes her head, saying that it’s fine. She’s fine. It doesn’t sound very convincing.
I leave the topic for the time being that night. Instead, I try to reconnect again when we settle down for our nightly habit of watching TV and relaxing. She is quick to move away from me, not laughing as fully as I am used to. She then retires to bed before me, giving me a quick peck on the cheek.
I am a night owl, so I tend to stay up later than Amber anyway. I sometimes spend it working or going out on the terrace for a smoke. Amber isn’t nuts about my smoking, and I haven’t done it in ages. But tonight, my anxiety gets to me, so light up, staring up at the cascade of stars above.
They are silent, offering me no advice. The night is still and beautiful, the faint hum of cars so distant it could be mistaken for nature itself. I find solace in these moments, breathing into the cigarette and watching the smoke drift lazily in the air.
I start to wonder if this agreement isn’t working for her anymore. We have grown affectionate toward one another, like a real couple, making love and spending all of our free time together. But perhaps the secret is getting to her. Maybe she is overwhelmed, but doesn’t want to tell me because it hasn’t gone past the year yet?
I butt the cigarette out on the terrace railing and return inside. It is past midnight, so I move slowly and quietly into the bedroom.
I see Amber on the right side of the bed, dozing. I remove my clothing and climb onto the king size mattress, snaking my arms around her, spooning my body against the wonderful curve of her own.
“Mmm, Kaden,” she groans, half-asleep. “Not tonight, baby. I’m exhausted.”
I hadn’t been implying an expectation for sex, but nevertheless, I don’t want to make her uncomfortable. So I kiss her neck, give one single hug into her body, then move away to my side.
I barely sleep a wink, the thoughts about what Amber is truly feeling running through my mind like a freight train. I can only take so much of this distance. At this point, the strain is palpable.
I wake up late to my alarm blaring, finding Amber’s side of the bed empty. The mere sight of it makes my heart skip a beat.
I phone my receptionist to tell her I will be late and commit to my usual routine. I shower, shave, eat, then get dressed for the day. Normally, this process is ritualistic and gets me into the zone. But today, it feels pointless.
I drag myself into work, and my receptionist reminds me of a big meeting that day. I had entirely forgotten, of course, but try not to let it show.
I move into my office and gather up the things necessary for the meeting. I am a trustworthy, confident person, so it isn’t likely that others will notice my lack of preparation. I do what I can to make up for it, but my thoughts continue to return to Amber.
I had believed that we were growing closer. Perhaps even a part of me wanted to believe that she could see herself as my real wife, rather than a fake one for a year for the sake of financial reward. When we make love, the soft sounds of her breath heal me. I long to give her pleasure, joy, contentment, in any way that it is remotely possible.
But am I expecting too much from her side? Has she grown weary of our agreement and simply wants to move on with her life? I can’t blame her in the slightest if this is the case. She is young and has her whole life ahead of her. Maybe she just doesn’t want to be tied down for an entire year in a relationship she sees no future in.
I sigh heavily and get my things to carry into the conference room. I sit in my usual spot, flashing a warm smile to conceal the heart inside me that is slowly starting to break.
I can barely pay attention to the meeting at hand. Thankfully, though, not much is asked of me. I simply sit there, listening, nodding along at the right moments and speaking only when spoken to.
Thoughts of Amber dance in my head most of the time, though I hope no one else notices. She is more interesting than the dry conversation happening here, anyway. She is beautiful and intriguing, and I am starting to realize that I truly do not want to lose her.
The meeting ends, and I make the proper amount of small talk before getting back to my office. My receptionist calls in while my face falls heavily into my hands.
“Kaden, a reminder about the garden party Friday night. Do you want me to book the caterer?”
“Yes, please do,” I mutter, then clear my throat. “Book them for the seafood and Mediterranean platter. You know the drill.”
Of course, I had forgotten about the garden party. My grandfather throws it every year to mingle with some of his best clients. I always take the opportunity to network, show my face, crack some jokes, and basically represent my own company. There’s no telling who you can meet at one of these things, and my grandfather knows some important people.
Most of the time I don’t mind it, but right now, all I can think of is Amber and wanting to make things right. I could care less about a social event and the boost to business. But my sense of duty reminds me I have to go.
