Page 4 of Naughty Desires

Chapter Two

Lily

“How was work?” I put Chris’s dinner on the table in front of him—meat, potatoes, and two vegetables, like his mother used to make. The heavy oak kitchen table my mom bought for us when we told her we wanted to have at least two kids seems particularly big today, the space between us almost too far to be breached. Our two-bedroom townhouse is small, but I tried hard to make it cozy, decorating in shades of brown and cream with soft, fluffy pillows on the leather couch and a thick, beige area rug on the living room floor. The oak table doesn’t really go with the sleek, modern kitchen, but I love it because of the hopes and dreams that it represents.

“Fine.” He stares at his phone as he spears a piece of steamed broccoli.

“Were you out during the storm?”

“Pete gave us an early lunch so we could wait it out.” He doesn’t even look up, but then he rarely does, and I spend most dinners watching the way the evening sun glints off his hair, turning the thick blond strands to gold. The first time Chris kissed me, I ran my hands through his hair the way I’d imagined doing the day we met when I ran smack into him in a frantic sprint to catch the bus.

“I sewed the hole in your spare set of coveralls last night. They’re washed and on the dryer.”

“Mmmm.”

I push my roast beef around the plate and lean back in my chair, drowning in the silence. Before he was laid off, Chris would pick a playlist before dinner and we would debate his choices while we ate, tease each other for our musical choices. Chris used to love upbeat pop songs, and I have always loved jazz. Sometimes we sat at the table for hours laughing and sharing songs. Now he rarely talks at dinnertime. On the nights I’m not working, I eat to the soft sound of his breaths, the jarring scrape of his fork on his plate, and the memories of laughter as I will him to look up and see me again. Really see me.

Like Dr. Steadman saw me this afternoon.

“I think you missed a package, Lily.” He takes a quick glance around and gestures to the back room. “Why don’t I come back with you and help you find it.”

He doesn’t wait for a response. Instead, he rounds the counter and, with a firm hand on my lower back, ushers me into the darkness and closes the door.

“Dr. Steadman.” My breaths come in short pants. “I won’t be able to find your package.”

“There’s only one package you need to find, Lily.” He clasps my hand and presses it over the substantial bulge in his jeans. “It’s right here. Special delivery. Just for you.”

I look up, but it isn’t Dr. Steadman holding my hand against his pants. It’s Chris.

The high-pitched scrape of Chris’s knife on his plate pulls me out of my fantasy. For the first time in forever, I felt alive today, and it makes me feel my loneliness even more acutely tonight.

“Dr. Steadman came into the post office,” I say, daring to break the silence. “He said you’d been to see him for your checkup. How did it go?”

“Fine.” Chris chews his roast beef and stares at his phone.

“He said you didn’t know my work shifts so you couldn’t make an appointment for me.”

“They keep changing. Can’t keep up.”

My heart gives a little lurch. “I’ve been doing the eight-to-four shift for three years. Nine to two on Saturdays. And every night seven to one at the bar with Alexis except Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Sundays. That’s why I’m home tonight.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I should have paid more attention.”

A black hole opens in my chest, and I fight back the urge to scream, to shout, to throw my plate across the room. Alexis has told me again and again that it’s time to leave him. Chris checked out of our marriage after he was laid off, and it’s clear he isn’t coming back. If I want to have kids before it’s too late, I need to move on. It’s been over a year since he lost his job, but how can I leave when that “sweetheart” tells me my Chris is still there?

“I got a call from Dr. Richardson’s office.” My pulse kicks up a notch. I set up an appointment for Chris to see a counselor, although I was pretty sure he wouldn’t go. “They said you didn’t show up.”

His thumb freezes on the screen, and he finally lifts his gaze. “I don’t need to see a shrink. There’s nothing wrong with me.”

“I thought . . . you’ve been . . . depressed.”

“Christ, Lily.” He slams his phone on the table. “Can’t a man enjoy his dinner after a hard day of work? Just because I don’t feel the need to talk about every minute of my day doesn’t mean I’m depressed.”

“I was trying to help.” I used to feel angry when he shouted like that, resentful. Now, I feel sad. One of the things I found so attractive about Chris when we first met was his calm, even temperament, a studied contrast to my emotionally volatile dad. No matter how bad things got, Chris always kept his cool.

Not so now.

Chris sighs and scrubs his face with his hands. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. It’s been a long day.”

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