Ambrosia

1

I was looking at a photo of us. Smiling. It was sunny and the sparkle in her eye - sparkle that I hadn't seen for months - was giving me a stomach ache. We were at the top of  I don't even know what mountain. I remember holding her arm, lovingly, looking into those sparkly brown eyes which were my world and I remember asking « what aventure for us next ? ». That night we made love like it was life giving us a second chance.

But I was holding a photo of us, and I was angry. The table was set, best cutlery, two magnificent candles lighting up the dining area, roses were freshly cut from the garden and giving me a headache. Why did I do so much ?

I had problems in my marriage, I realized. I was like those women going on TV shows, holding a napkin to their chest covered by a long flowered sunny dress addressing an audience that was clearly obese and too invested in people's lives because they lacked one ; saying to a very compassionate animator « I have problems in my marriage » then collasping into tears on the couch.

No I was not like them. My makeup was dark and I was furious, not desperate. I was wearing a black dress so short it was difficult to sit in, wearing flowers in my hair and huge stilettos to made my legs seem even longer, all of this for the woman who forgot our anniversary. There was supposed to be a surprise, light jazz and us dancing, lazily. But instead it was me, the candles and the cold dinner. I stopped the jazz music, finally - it was starting to make me nauseous. I picked up my iphone, angrily and composed her number, being redirected humbly to the voicemail - please leave a message.

« You better have the best explanation in the whole world for tonight because this is the shittiest fuck up you've done in a looooong time. I'll be waiting. »

No « i love you », no anger no love. Simply my clear voice on her cellphone that she would turn on when she would be back from god knows where.

You would think that being a lesbian wouldn't lead to « failed marriage field » in fact you all think secretly that everything is perfect like a dream you will never experience, well I'll tell you what : it's all bullshit. And being a lesbian had led me on a very joyous track but somehow I lost control of the boat - the love boat- and I had problems in my marriage.

Rebecca, my sweet Rebecca... I never have imagined she would be my never-at-home princess, my married-to-her-work type of woman, but she somehow became that exactly. Now, there are things I can forgive in a relationship, especially a long one : some days to yourself with your friends, boring afternoons, giving up daily sex and charm. But being the woman that hand cooks a delicious meal for the one she love so much but doesn't care anymore, i was not prepared to become that.

Sure I had my BMW and made quite and amazing recipe thanks to my new book, and I was friends with the mayor... but where was the LOVE ? The one that made her eyes sparkle... At first I thought secretary, it's always the secretary but then I met her and it complimented the true distinguished woman that I was. And my confidence was back. She had no charm, no game and was definitely straight.

I moved to the suburbs for that so sweet Rebecca that i love passionately. I forget my plans to move to France, my dreams to be an explorer of the world, a lover of nature, a music artist makes me into a steppord wife.

And she forgets dinner.

She forgets me entirely, devoted to her campain, to run a town she doesn't like that much. But hey, no big deal right ?

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Two hours and a bottle of wine later I hear the keys jingling into de door, that's it ! My princess is here trying to make the less noise possible as so she wouldn't want to wake her anyone - would she ?

- You forgot our anniversary.

I drop the ball. In the dark I feel her uneasy just like I want her to be. I feel her muscles trembling and the feat of failing embalms the room.

- I didin't forget the meeting went long. I wanted to take you to Macchio's, I had a reservation.

- I told you I was cooking. You favorite meal. And that we would drive up the coast to see the sun fall into the ocean.

It was like a tennis match : the ball had been dropped, had been kicked by by the assailant and it was Who-Argues-Best. But I didn't want to win a battle tonight. I was too sad and too drunk - and too horny.

In the shadows, her lucious curly hair was framing her perfect body, still in her work clothes, that clawed to her skin. I wanted to rip up her blouse, loose the skirt and fucking her in her underwear on the doorstep. So I ran to her, throwing myself at her, playing the sorry-but-fuck-me-it-will-be-okay card. I wasn't okay. But a great fuck would pay for part of the shitty day I had. My arms were pulling her neck down to me, she put a hand on my ass and found my tiny dress just for her. She let's out a grunt. She's tired but she wants me, maybe against the door, hopefully in the ass.

But then she parts from my embrace.

- Sorry Ambrosia, I'm too tired. We will have birthday sex tomorrow if you want sweetie.

In the dark she can't see the tears rushing down my face, explosion - ta ta ta - like little fireworks in my brain, finally letting go and exploding all over me. In the dark I can just say « okay whatever » and be the angry one. Not the sad one. No one wants to be the sad one, we all have pride, especially in love we want to have control over everything. When you're married it's mostly this and PTA meetings if you have a kid. Thankfully I don't have one even tho we tried twice. My marriage was in peril and there was no mannequin crying from the belly and feeding at my titties to save it.

For me, I'm too young, twenty-one years old i was fresh of the boat. For her, been there, done that. Forty-four with two girls - i was thankful they're all grown up, no contact with the dad.

Birthday sex tomorrow.

- Tomorrow I won't be drunk and I will hate you.
- You will be drunk, you always are, maybe you'll have a party or go shopping at my epxense and you will see me with love.

Ouuuh. My favorite part : the credit cards. She loves throwing her different account - one set up by her dad. Well guess what ? I use my own money with my thrillers. Because I am a brilliant author.

- Are you saying I'm a drunk and I married you for money ? I ask, and then lash into an uncontrollable laugh. Baby, I got the money I need to live in paradise. But because of you I live in hell, I whisper in her hear. She wants to taste my lips, I escape her.

- No, no sex tonight no kisses.

- Orf, don't be like that.

- I will be like that because you're « the reunion ran long » girl but your breath smells like beer. I said, a little louder, trying to find assurance. You were with that whore from the mayor's office weren't you ?

- Stop calling her like that, and I was with Bill my accountant, we closed another deal today it was amazing.

- More amazing than celebrating three years of us and having wild sex in my car ?

- Baby, I will make it up to you, we're going to Belize on my next holiday.

She kissed my lips tenderly and went off into the bathroom - that she locks. She wasn't doing that before. But I can't figure what changed between before and right now.

I had a problem in my marriage. And it needed to be fixed.