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"I love food. I love eating, and yeah, I eat a lot. But I don't really pay much attention when I'm eating. Most of the time my brain is busy with other things, so as long as nothing tastes awful, I just shovel it in."
"So...you don't remember any meal you've ever eaten?"
"I do...just not most of them. If something is really good, I might develop a fixation on it for a while. I'll think about it, and order it until I'm sick of it. But I don't necessarily categorize the ingredients anymore."
"Anymore? You used to?"
I casually let my arm slide off the back of her chair and wrap around her shoulders. She snuggles in. I really have the hang of this. "I used to need to know every single visible ingredient. Zach says it drove our mother crazy. If she'd made us soup, she'd have to tell me every single little item in the spoonful. But I grew out of that pretty fast in foster care."
"Why? What was different there?"
"My foster parents didn't have patience for that. I think Zach tried a bit, but if I was hungry, I had no choice but to eat. I couldn't fixate and get my stomach filled at the same time."
"That must have been hard," she murmurs, resting her hand on my thigh. My leg tingles, and my cock wakes up, ready for more touching.
I look closely at her face but don't see any signs of arousal. She's not sexy touching me. She's wife touching me. The kind of touches Maya gives Zach. Familiar little pats. And now I'm getting them from my wife. I feel very special, and want to yell to everyone that Janey is touching my leg. That would be rude, though.
I settle for poking Nick. He turns to me, and I widen my eyes at him, then look in my lap. I do it a couple of times to make sure he sees. He grins and winks at me.
Janey's shoulders shake, and she drops her head into my chest. "What was that?” she asks between giggles.
I wrap my other arm around her. "What was what?"
"That look?"
"Oh. You saw that?" She laughs and nods. "Oh. Well, I liked that you were touching me, and I wanted someone to know."
She snorts and looks up at me, her cheek brushing my chest. "Jonas, those are the kinds of things you should probably tell me."
I stare down at her, honestly puzzled. "Tell you that I like your hand on my leg? Why?"
"So that I know, and might do it more."
"I thought I told you I liked everything? I don't think there's any way you could touch me I didn't like." Plates are being stacked and scraped around the table. I slide ours in Nick's direction, but keep my focus on Janey.
"I guess you did," she murmurs, staring at the table. Everything about her just changed. Her face, her body, the way she was touching me. All of it just disappeared. I immediately think the worst.
"You are uncomfortable with me." She looks up at me, and something about the expression on her face makes my stomach twist. Every fear I’ve been pushing away floods into my mind. "You are wishing you hadn't married me."
She doesn't deny it, and I clench all of the muscles in my body, everything in me urging me to run away. To avoid her answer, and to pretend everything is fine.
"It just feels...wrong,” she says, haltingly.
My stomach churns, and for a second, I worry I'm going to puke up all the food I just ate. Giving in to the urge, I lift my arms away from her. The idea of touching her and it feeling 'wrong' to her makes me sick.
"I need some air.”
She leans away from me, and I stand, not meeting anyone's eyes. I need to be alone. The dining room is crowded, so I head for the balcony doors off the living room, sliding them closed behind me. I grip the rail, and stare unseeing over the city. How did I make such a mess of everything? I convinced myself that it would be okay, but clearly, it isn't.
The door slides open, then closed, and I know it's her. I feel her.
"Jonas, you didn't let me explain."
I grip the rail tighter, and close my eyes. "I didn't realize there was anything to explain. You told me that touching me feels wrong. That seems quite clear." She makes a quiet sound, but I can't focus on it. It feels like an ocean is in my head, whooshing in and out with the tide. "I made a mistake. I truly thought you could come to love me. I am sorry, Janey.”
Another low sound, but this one, a muffled choke, I hear. I turn to her, and my heart breaks even further. I didn't know I could feel this much pain and still stand. Tears are coursing down her cheeks, and all I want to do is wipe them away, and hold her. Her arms are wrapped around herself, her thin sweater not enough of a barrier from the cold. Shrugging off my thick sweater, I move to her, avoiding her gaze, and wrap it around her shoulders, then retreat back to the rail.
She slides her arms into the sleeves. The shoulder seams of the cardigan drape nearly to her elbows. I'll never be able to look at it again without thinking of her in it. She sniffs and squares her shoulders.
