"What about this tan color?"
She moves closer and her scent washes over me. Rissa was never fond of perfumes, choosing instead to just use scented soaps and shampoos. She smells just the way she did back then, fresh with a soft hint of something fruity. It brings back memories of the cherry-flavored lip-gloss she used to wear and that I used to have smeared all over me.
"If you paint it that color, it'll likely still look very monotone in here. Most of your furniture is dark so I'm thinking you need some color."
I agree so I shift to the bolder tones in the bunch. I pull out one of the more outlandish ones.
“What about this blue?”
“I’m not so sure about that shade. It’s a little Disney for my tastes.”
Although I can see what she means, I persist, mainly because I enjoy how her chest bounces up and down when she gets worked up like this.
“Maybe I like that whimsical sort of look. I could go for an Aladdin theme in here. Maybe turn it into a harem.” I smirk at her resultant sigh.
"Okay, let's do the blue. I'll even stencil a genie on the wall if you want me to, free of charge."
"Generous of you. But I'm actually going to just stick with the tan color. If you can handle sorting out a local painting crew, that would be great."
She snatches the paint chip from my hand. “Why did you bother to ask my opinion if you already knew what you wanted?"
“Isn’t that what husbands do?”
The question seems to take her off guard. But now that I’ve had time to think about it, I know what I need to get over her. For a time I was so sure that she’d be with me through anything. I deployed knowing that she was safe at home waiting for me and that knowledge carried me through. It made it a little bit easier to leave knowing that she was what I was fighting to protect. Then to come home and find every dream that sustained me was a lie … Well, I think over time my mind turned that dream into an obsession. I need to prove to myself that it doesn’t have any power over me. That being with her, being her husband isn’t what I always thought it would be.
I have to know what it’s like to have her at my side, just for a little while. Maybe then I can finally purge this obsession.
“Husband?” she squeaks.
“Well, that’s sort of what we’re doing. Playing house. Just the way we always dreamed. I can finally give you everything I couldn’t then. All the things you obviously needed.”
Her mouth drops open. “That’s not what it was about. It wasn’t about things.”
“Of course it was. I’m not angry anymore Rissa. I understand now. You were just searching for a better life and you took the sure thing. I wasn’t a good bet. But now I am and I want to experience all the things that were denied to me when you left. You were engaged and you two lived together so I'm assuming you'll know better than I will. So I’m asking you, isn’t this what husbands do?”
“No. Not in my experience. They usually let you think you have a choice and then…”
“And then … what? Don’t tell me you didn’t have old Andy boy wrapped firmly around your little finger?”
She glances at me in alarm but it was suddenly the most important thing in the world that she answer this question. I have to know what kind of lover Andrew Carrington was. Because if the golden boy with his fancy suits and Ivy League education hadn’t been enough to keep her happy then what chance would I have had?
"No, definitely not. He never had any problem saying no to me." Rissa suddenly looks like she's on the verge of tears.
"What does that mean?"
She whirls around, her eyes bright with tears. "I was never happy with him, okay? He was an asshole and he had me completely fooled. Is that what you want to hear?"
My stomach clenches. I wait to feel some sense of vindication. This is what I wanted at the start of this after all. I wanted to make her see that she chose wrong and that I was the better bet all along. But seeing tears in her beautiful blue eyes isn't any kind of victory.
And the sense of shame I feel for deliberately hurting her makes me feel lower than that shit you find in the crevices of your shoe.
"Rissa–"
“So we're going with the tan color? I’ll coordinate for painters to come in. Unless you already have a company in mind?”
She holds up the paint chip. Her eyes warn me that she's done talking about anything personal. Every time she shares a part of her life with me and then pulls back, it's like losing her all over again. But even though it hurts, I know not to push any more.
“No. I don’t have any company in mind. You can choose whoever you like.”
For the rest of the morning, she cleans around me and dodges every attempt to coax her back into conversation. When I go to my room to dress, she's gone when I come back.
* * * * *
Later that day, I’m sitting in my usual booth with Luke glaring daggers at me. Then he suddenly narrows his eyes.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing is wrong with me. I’m here just like I am every other damn day, aren’t I?”
My tone should have put him off but it seems to amuse him. “You’re crabby. You didn’t even flirt with the waitress when she dropped off your pie and then there’s the absolute proof that something is up.”
“Oh yeah, what’s that Sherlock?”