Page 22 of Dirty, Bruised Martini
They exchanged silent looks of concern with each other and patted my trembling hand. Forcing cheerful smiles. Promising to schedule the fitting for another day to help me try it on and complete any alterations needed.
I’ll probably never see them again.
I’ll probably never wear that dress again.
I’ll probably never be sane enough for you to marry.
I think of that damn monster when I find out what you did.
You probably won’t be happy with me when you discover that I got the dress back and it’s stored in one of the guest room closets. I don’t know jack shit about ordering gowns or how the process works. But I’m damn sure no other woman will wear what’s yours. You wanted this one. You picked it out for yourself. For me. For our wedding. It will stay in this house until you’re ready to wear it. That’s one more thing I know for damn sure.
I think about that son of bitch when Jane says I need to talk to you more about the wedding.
There shouldn’t be anything to fucking talk about. You know I love you and want to marry you and live with you until I die.
At least I thought you did. So why the fuck are you suddenly having doubts? What else did he fuck with you about?
Jane says that’s how the healing process often works. That things seem to be moving forward, improving in outlook and optimism. Then something happens to trigger fear and uncertainty. Yeah, that’s all fine and good but it’s fucking bullshit when she wouldn’t reveal what you told her. I was highly pissed. She knew I was mad yet didn’t back down. Only encouraged me that I need to talk to you.
Like I need any fucking encouragement. All I want is to talk to you. But you’ve been so quiet the last few days, I don’t know what to say. I don’t want to hear you tell me you won’t marry me.
I think about our first date when you make me your favorite drink.
Mine now too, when you make it. I’m not sure what you do differently, but your version is always better than any bartender has ever made for us. Maybe because I know it’s made perfectly with love.
My first drink since I was kidnapped. I’d forgotten how good it tastes. How easily it goes down. How tipsy I get when I have more than one.
Both of us were in a pensive mood until the alcohol kicked in. Both of us finding a bit of respite with the booze. Sexy as hell when you loosened your tie and shrugged off your jacket. Your long legs spread out, so far the coffee table hid your sleek black dress shoes. Smirking when I told you how handsome you are. Responding with how fucking beautiful I am while caressing my cheek with your huge hand.
I smiled into your palm. A little bit drunk and a whole lot more relaxed. Although I tensed when you shook your head and sighed. Seemingly frustrated and confused. You looked me straight in my eye and told me you don’t know what goes through my gorgeous head anymore. Maybe good, maybe bad. But either way you don’t fucking know anymore. That maybe you never did.
I wanted to reassure you. Say good. Only ever good. But I didn’t want to lie.
You tapped the bottom of your glass on your thigh, and said regardless of what I think, I need to know you love me. You want to marry me. Whenever I’m ready, that’s when we’ll do it. No argument. No pressure. No worries. Just know that it will happen as soon as I say the word.
I don’t think I’ve ever loved you more than in that moment. It wasn’t your famous dirty, bruised martini either. It was your huge heart. Compassionate and forgiving. For me anyway. For your rosy girl.
When I woke up hours later in our bed, in your arms, I knew everything you said was true. You really would wait forever for me if I asked you to.
I think of you when my Mom accepts a second helping of homemade cranberry relish.
You despise the tart concoction, but when I told you she loved the fruity side dish with tiny tangerine slices and finely chopped walnuts you had Mrs. Griffin prepare enough for twenty people. Reminding me once again how thoughtful and generous you are. The soft spot you have for me hidden behind your deadly façade you show to the rest of the world.
The domino effect of her presence is apparent.
She’s happy to be here. With me and with us. At our table.
I’m happy she’s never figured out the truth. My scars have faded along with my nightmares.
You’re happy that I’m happy. Genuinely, completely happy.
For the first time, since I came back, I think we have a chance of making it.
I think of you when I hug my Mom good-bye.
Having her here for so long was exactly what I needed. I know you didn’t mind, even though I spent more time with her than I did with you. Although ironically I think you and I grew closer too because of her visit. Having to pretend everything was fine between us. Acting as if everything was normal actually helped make things more normal. I love holding hands with you and sitting next to you at dinner and cuddling on the sofa together, laughing over the stories she would tell. Good natured teasing at my expense from silly childhood memories.
I know I’ve said thank you too many times already but I just really want you to know how much I appreciate everything you do for us. That I realize you give me what I need even when it isn’t you all of the time.
