Page 6 of Kismet

“It’s okay, though. You’ve had a lot to drink too.”

“I know, but I’m not drunk or even close to it. I’m sorry.”

She looks like she wants to say more, or try again, but she eventually smiles sheepishly before climbing off my lap. For someone who wanted to fuck, she passes out surprisingly fast. Her breathing evens out after a few minutes, and I’m left wide awake.

Like every single night this week, my mind drifts back to the conversation with Professor Philips on Monday, and the convention he invited me to go to. And how fucking hot it would be to hook up with him. Not that it would ever happen… but fuck, the thought turns me on like nothing else.

My body finally gives itself over to sleep at some point, and by the time I wake in the morning, Madison is long gone.

Chapter Two

Stone Philips

What a fucking day.

I haven’t been this excited to walk through my front door in, I don’t even know how long. School is wearing on me lately, the students giving me a run for my money. The closer we get to the end of the semester, the more they want to fuck off. It doesn’t make sense. They aren’t middle or high school kids. These are college kids. I haven’t seen this much laziness since my first year of teaching.

Walking over to my wet bar and grabbing the half empty bottle of Jack Daniels, I pour myself two fingers, then toss it back in one go. The burn going down is welcomed, the warmth filling my belly, helping to loosen my stiff muscles. After pouring myself another two fingers, I make my way toward the kitchen in search of some food, hoping to avoid seeing my wife.

Aida and I have been married for fourteen years. We met in high school, our sophomore year, to be exact, and got married straight away after graduation. We both came from old-fashioned families, who believed in marriage and building a family. We were the stereotypical small town, high school couple—the winning quarterback and his head cheerleader.

Oh, how shit has changed.

The last fourteen years haven’t been easy, by any means. They’ve been hard work, arguments, compromising, and tears. We found out early on in our marriage that we couldn’t have kids—Aida has polycystic ovary syndrome, and while it’s not impossible to get pregnant, it is extremely challenging, and we’ve never had any luck.

We first found out about this when we were twenty. Both of us had been fairly open about how we wanted kids and wanted to start a family. So, when this came about—even though it’s not at all her fault, she can’t help it—it still inadvertently put a strain between us. I think news like this would strain any relationship, no matter how strong its foundation. She was heartbroken by it, trying to accept the loss of a family she could never have, and in turn, it made her pull away from me.

I was upset by the news too, but I was more optimistic—there was still a chance we could conceive, or there was adoption or surrogacy. We weren’t out of options, but she didn’t see it like that. We slowly drifted further and further apart over the years, and before I knew it, the idea of having a family with her was the furthest thing from what I wanted. A few years ago, we started to try to fix this rift with us. Date nights, nights in together, spicing things up in the bedroom. It worked for a while, but eventually, we started sleeping in separate rooms and we hardly ever acknowledge each other’s presence in the house anymore. Mostly trying to avoid each other, like I’m trying to do now…but failing.

Walking into our open concept kitchen, my gaze falls on her standing over the stove, stirring whatever she’s making for dinner. Her long, naturally blonde hair is pulled into a bun, secured with chopsticks, and she’s wearing a long, cherry red sun dress that looks beautiful against her sun-kissed skin. Her feet are bare, one tapping to the beat of the soft music she has playing, her hips swaying subtly.

“Oh, hi,” I mumble. “Didn’t expect to see you down here.” I hate how seeing her and conversing with her has become such a chore. We used to enjoy each other’s company. We could talk for hours about any and everything, or just sit in comfortable silence. Everything is different now.

“Hey, Stone.” She glances over her shoulder at me, a look of complete indifference plastered across her features. “The chicken I pulled out the other day was about to go bad, so I decided to make dinner.”

“What’s for dinner? It smells great.”

“It’s parmesan pasta with grilled chicken. I have some garlic asparagus in the oven too.”

Aida used to cook for us all the time. It’s something she enjoys—or used to—and she’s great at it. We more often than not order take-out for dinner nowadays… separately. She usually eats in her room, and I typically eat in my office while I grade papers.

While she finishes cooking, I step outside to have a smoke and sip my whiskey. Small talk is painfully impossible, plus I’m not allowed to smoke on campus, so by the time I make it home, my body is screaming for nicotine. Once I finish both my cigarette and my drink, I drag myself back inside, where I pour a refill, fix myself a plate, and sit down at the table. Aida takes a spot at the far end, with me on the opposite end. This table is hardly used anymore, but I think both of us sometimes feel guilty for how little effort we put into our marriage, that we sometimes humor ourselves for a night. Or at least that’s my thought process anyway.

We finished our tense dinner without any sort of talk about how our days went. She fiddled with her phone the entire time, probably scouring social media and pretending our lives are perfect to her friends. My mind travels back to, what I now know was a last-ditch effort, when I thought we might be heading in the right direction again. We went out together—danced, had a great, carefree night—only to come home and have the façade wash away. Just like the make-up she washed off, the connection we shared that night, the smiles and laughs, it was all temporary. A mask to hide what’s underneath. We went right back to being acquaintances, at best. Coming to terms with that was challenging for me. Painful. Nobody wants to know that a relationship they’ve invested so many years and so much time in is a failure.

As soon as I take my last bite, I place my plate in the dishwasher, then pour myself another whiskey before heading to my office.

My lair.

My hideout from my pathetic life.

I sit down at my desk and open my laptop, powering it on. My school email pops up after a minute, an incoming email catching my eye right away.

Hey Professor Philips,

Hope your evening is going well.

I just wanted to check in with you regarding the dates for that convention you told me about a few weeks ago. I know you said it’s next month, but I’m not sure when exactly.

---