Page 2 of Kiss From A Rose

After all that, my husband of twenty years had forgotten our anniversary and was flirting with his young executive assistant in our living room while I'd just emptied a three-hundred bottle of champagne.

Well, at least I had the bubbly.

"Hey, babe, you're still awake." He ended the call and came to me. He kissed my forehead absently as he went through his phone. Then he stopped to look at the ice bucket and table setting, the flowers, and the wrapped gift at the head of the table.

He looked confused for a moment, and then it clicked for him. I saw it happen. The disbelief that he'd forgotten. The irritation with himself for forgetting and at me for not reminding him. And then the need to make it right. My darling Gray, always wanting to do the right thing, ever since the pregnancy test I bought from Walgreens turned blue.

"Babe, I'm so sorry."

I rose and straightened, my muscles screaming in protest. "It's okay, Gray. Have you eaten?"

Look, Mama Rutherford, I'm such a good wife. My husband forgot our anniversary, and I'm asking if he's eaten.

The thing was that I was past anger. Past hurt. Past grief.

It wasn't like I was waiting for Gray to suddenly become the all-American husband. Oh no!

I'd tried to tell him several times that he needed to make room for me—that I needed a husbandanda father for my children. But I don't think my message had gotten through.

As a father, Gray was flawless. He never missed a school event. He was always there when the twins needed him. The three of them were close, and as the kids had grown up, I'd somehow become the outsider in my own family.

I knew they looked down on me because I wasn't as smart or educated as they were.

My book club's latest book was a romantic thriller by Nora Roberts while Gray and the children discussed some French guy called Derrida. They all were getting or had gotten degrees from fine universities—while I'd dropped out of community college when I became pregnant. I'd never gone back to complete what I'd started. As Gray's mother told me, "You've fallen into a pot of gold by getting knocked up, girl; you don't need to work a day in your life."

Well, the old bitch was wrong. I'd worked every day of my life. I'd workedhard.

"Rose, babe, I'm really—"

I smiled at him. I was adept now at showing him whatever he wanted to see. "It's okay."

"We had a crisis and—"

I went on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. I used to love that he was a foot taller than me—now, it just made him more unreachable. Aimee, without a Y, was five foot nine, like a model to my five foot five.

"I'm going to go to bed. Goodnight, honey."

He kissed my forehead again. He didn't kiss my mouth as he used to. Maybe hewascheating on me. When was the last time we'd had sex? Three…no four months ago? Or was it five? When you couldn't even remember, you knew your marriage was in trouble. Like Maggie's mother-in-law said inCat On A Hot Tin Roof, "When a marriage is on the rocks, the rocks are in the bed."

"I wish I could join you, but I have to get through a few things for a meeting we have in the morning with the city," he apologized politely.

"That's okay. You get it all done and get some rest."

Gray would work late in his office and then sleep in the guestroom. His excuse would be, "I didn't want to wake you, babe." He'd also be gone before I woke up. Yeah, he probablywasbanging his assistant. Talk about a cliché!

I got into bed and made the decision I knew I had to make, the one I wished I'd made two years ago, right after the kids left.

I texted Marie-Louise, my childhood friend from my trailer park days, who'd worked her tail off and now ran a bed-and-breakfast. I visited her often, more in the past years since she'd been diagnosed with breast cancer. Malou didn't have children, and the last loser she'd had the misfortune of hooking up with (her words, not mine) died in a car accident, leaving her the home she now lived in.

I'd been with her through her chemo and celebrated when she'd come through. Now, two years later, the cancer was back, and the doctors gave her months, maybe a year, on the off chance. Once she told me that a few months ago, the plan formyfuture began to brew.

Me:Malou, I'll be there by evening.

Malou:You're doing it?"

Me:Yes.

Malou:Did you tell him?

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