Page 5 of Playing With Fire
He kisses my forehead in a way that should be sweet, but just feels patronizing.
“I’ll tell you what. Let’s vacation for Christmas this year. I’ll take a whole week off.”
“Christmas isn’t forfour more months, Greg.”
I’ll be a shell of myselfby then.
“What do you want me to do, Shannon?” he barks in an annoyed tone, dropping his arms and slumping against the backrest of the barstool in an unbecoming pout. “I have an active court case right now and you know they’re going to ask me to take over Driscoll’s mess. Hell, there’s a chance that won’t even be wrapped up by December, depending on how long the new prosecutor delays. And then there’s a new assistant district attorney to deal with as well.”
He moves to the cabinet where we store the liquor and pours two fingers of whiskey.
“Okay,” I start, trying to be reasonable despite my rising hysteria. “No vacation for a while. Can you at least make it home for dinner a couple nights this week?”
He swallows the liquor in one shot and places the small glass in the sink.Because the dishwasher is oh so far away.I try to dispel the angry thought the second it enters my mind, but it’s there to stay.
“Yes,” I hear Gregor confirm on an exasperated sigh. “Dinner with my girls this week. I’ll be here.”
I smile. It’s a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.
“Thank you.” I hate how he’s reduced me to begging.
He eats his meal in no big hurry and by the time we head to bed, I’m at a serious risk of falling asleep in the middle of things, but something has to give. Greg and I haven’t been intimate inmonthsand no amount of time with my vibrator will help bridge this gap between my husband and I.
While Greg does his nightly routine at the sink, I wrap my arms around his lean frame and plant my chin on his shoulder. He’s almosttoolean these days. Except for when I see him eat at home, I have no idea if he takes the time to eat at all.
“Do you have any interest in making love before we fall asleep?” I cringe at the question. There was a time when he’d have had me naked before I even made it to our room. God, Imiss the days of sex in the kitchen or living room simply because we couldn’t wait a second longer to touch each other.
I often blame Serafina’s arrival, but the truth is, Gregor stopped pursuing me shortly after we got married and he was able to throw himself at his career without having to work so hard at maintaining our relationship.
“It’s almost ten, Shan. Rain check?” he asks flippantly as he removes my arms from his waist and exits the bathroom.
“Sure,” I whisper even though he’s already gone.
I know a lot of people would be concerned that their husbands were cheating on them if they behaved like this, but ironically, Driscoll is the biggest reason I know Gregor isn’t sleeping with someone else. I’m confident there is no pussy my husband would risk his reputation or his career for. Cheating attorneys are a dime a dozen and Gregor prides himself on being aboveboard, always.
There are days when I dream about starting over, but then I think through the reality of that. People would never understand that this house, the cars, the jewelry…none of it is for me. I have everything most people would kill for…theAmerican Dream…and yet, it isn’t my dream at all. The version of my husband that others see isn’t the man who comes home to me. It’s like he uses all the best parts of his personality to win jurors over and by the time he steps through the door to our house, he’s got nothing left to give.
But neither do I.
And two empty vessels can’t fill each other up.
In a previous life, before I met Gregor, I was full of passion and spontaneity. I’d had more than a few wild encounters and I’m ashamed to admit I’ve resorted to using those memories to keep me company when I get extra lonely. They also serve as a reminder that I was desirable once, which sounds shallow, butphysical touch is the love language I’ve always spoken the loudest.
Sweaty sex on boats and in life guard stands, getting railed on the beach with so much sand and saltwater thrust inside me it’s a miracle I didn’t end up with a flesh-eating-bacteria. The scent of sunscreen and coconut tanning oil mixed with sweat and the delicious scent of eighteen-year-old surfers whose idea of bathing is a quick rinse in the outdoor shower or another dip in the ocean.Sigh.
The coast was a great place to grow up and I miss it every day.
I thought I’d gotten all the wildness out of my system before I met Gregor, and was ready to settle down, but it’s become apparent that I still crave those moments.
It’s also apparent I won’t be having any more of them.
In a turn of events that shocked no one, Gregor didn’t make it home for dinner a single night this week. Not even when I texted him at four-thirty on Wednesday to tell him I was preparing his favorite dish and it would be ready at seven. Candles were lit. Jazz played softly in the background. The wine glasses were full.
And still, Serafina and I ate alone.
It’s now late on Friday night and Greg missed dinner yet again. I spent the day cleaning the house, getting my car inspected, paying the registration, buying Gregor a custom nameplate for his briefcase and a bottle of his favorite scotch. I also sent him a text message thanking him for working so hard and telling him I love him, wanting to cover all ofmy bases, understanding that maybe he needs something different from me. Acts of service? Words of Affirmation? Gifts? I’m willing to try it all.
Perhaps in all my time trying to find solid ground with Serafina, I’ve added to the distance between Gregor and I. I need to make sure I’m giving my best effort if I’m demanding his.
