Page 4 of Poetry By Dead Men
“Big enough that if I bag this client, they’llhaveto make me partner,” he says.
“Harrison! That’s amazing!” I gush, twisting toward him. Hope and pride swell between my ribs. If Harrison makes partner, at least some of the pressure he’s under at work will ease. He won’t have to put in so many hours trying to prove himself, and he’ll be happier.
We’llbothbe happier.
Our nights will no longer be full of incessant, soul-draining work obligations. He can go back to Thursday poker nights with his friends, and I’ll have so much more time to make it to the symphonies and art exhibits I cover.
Used to cover.
This is it. My chance. The perfect opportunity to tell him I miss my job. That I’d like to focus onmycareer again for a while.
The best job a wife can have is to support her husband, Elizabeth.My mother’s condescending voice slips into my mind, chiding me for oh-so-selfishly wanting a life different from the one she envisioned for me.
The life I’ve somehow slipped into over the past few years, even though it was never what I wanted.
The weight of the realization slides down my throat, settling like a ball of lead in my gut, but I shake my head, rattling the thought away.
Ihaven’tslipped into that life, because this has all been temporary.
I don’t regret taking a backseat for a bit to help Harrison. Our attendance at all the galas and fundraisers the past year and a half has allowed him to network himself into being one of the most highly requested entertainment lawyers at his firm, and I was more than willing to make a couple sacrifices to help him do it.
In the long run, it benefits both of us. I certainly can’t pay our bills with only my freelance reporting, and even if I could, Harrison needed me. Making partner has been his dream since we met.
But now that he can see the finish line, it can be my turn.Hecan take the backseat for a while. Come along to my events. Proofread my reviews, just like he used to when we started dating.
That’s what marriage is, right? Give and take. Harrison was so supportive of my career before I stepped away from it, and I’m sure he will be again, once he gets over the initial shock.
I clear my throat, digging for the courage to speak my thoughts into existence, but my tongue feels thick and sluggish.
“Harrison. I—”
His phone rings, “Eye of the Tiger” playing loud enough to make me jump, and he holds up a finger. “Harrison Rouchester.”
My heart plummets, my resolve crumbling away like a sandcastle in the wind.
Tomorrow.
I’ll tell him tomorrow, when we’re not on the way to our engagement party. When he has more time to process the news. I wring my fingers together, still jittery, but Harrison doesn’t seem to notice, his eyes lighting up.
“He’s there? Perfect. Make sure he has whatever he needs. Yes, absolutely.”
“Who?” I mouth, racking my brain for who on our guest list would warrant such VIP treatment.
“Great. Keep him happy till I get there.” Harrison ends the call. “I have a surprise for you,” he says with a guilty smile that looks more like a grimace.
“What? No! Why?” I whine like a petulant child. Ihatesurprises, and Harrison knows that. The intention is nice, and I appreciate the thought. Really, I do. But Ihatehaving a room full of people watching my reactions. Having to master my facial expressions and mannerisms.
My fingers tap against my thighs in a nervous rhythm, and Harrison grabs my hands, forcing them to stop their drumming. “Elizabeth. This is a good surprise. There’s no reason to be nervous. It’s just a musician. One you love.” He tucks a strand of auburn hair behind my ear, the piece I spent ten minutes styling trying to get the perfect face-framing flyaways. My fingers itch to fix it, but I squeeze my hands together to stop myself.
My forehead scrunches as I try to think of who it could be. “One I love?”
Harrison tilts his head in response. “Actually, now that I think about it, I’m not sure I’ve heard you listen to his music before. But even if you haven’t, you’ll love him after tonight. Everyone does.”
“He’s performing at the party?” I ask.
Harrison nods, his eyes sparkling with a mix of excitement and mischief.
“Ok, well… As far as surprises go, I guess this one’s not too bad.” I say, slightly less nervous now that I know it’s not some sort of gift I’ll have to open in front of a hundred and fifty people. “Will you tell me who it is?”
