Page 3 of Stepping Up to the Plate

With that in mind, I head off to my bedroom. Phil and I ate dinner together on the couch a little while ago. I know he will be there for the duration of the baseball game he has on. Hopefully once he sees what I have planned he won’t be, but at least he will be distracted long enough for me to set the mood.

I hustle around our room, tidying up. I spot the candle Carina got me for my birthday last year and think about lighting it. I know it smells amazing. I’ve been saving it for a special occasion, though. I want to savor that candle; enjoy it. I don’t think Phil will appreciate the scent and I would hate to waste it. I pull out some Target candles instead. They’ll offer the same ambiance without the anxiety of wasting the gift.

After sneaking into the kitchen to grab a bottle of wine, I change into a silk nightie I know Phil loves. I wanted to get it in pink, but Phil said pink is for ‘sugar babies and college girls, not grown women.’ Black it is. Pouring the wine, I take a sip and call Phil into the bedroom, “Honey, can you come in here for a second?”

“One sec. The bases are loaded and the Huskers are down by two!” he shouts from the den. I twiddle my thumbs and wait for what feels like an eternity for him to come find me.

“What’s up?” he asks, barely surveying the room. I’m splayed out on the bed in a skimpy nightie and all he says is “what’s up?” not exactly the reaction I was hoping for. I guess I need to up my game.

I sit up on my knees and reach out to him, giving my best come hither stare as I run my hand down his arm. “I thought we could turn in early tonight… together.”

“I’m not that tired, and it’s only the fourth inning. I’ll probably be up for a while. I might game with the boys for a bit, too. You don’t need to wait on me,” he says with an expression that I can only describe as disinterest. He bids me goodnight before returning to his precious sectional.

I kneel there a minute, stupefied at his retreat. I glance around the room and down at myself. Is it not clear what I was asking for? Was I too subtle? Unsure of myself, I take a mirror selfie that includes the room and send it to the one person I know will give me honest feedback.

8:36 PM

Tiff

Hot damn, Bunny. Phil is in for a treat tonight ;)

Me

Not too subtle?

Tiff

Sweetie, you couldn’t be more obvious if you had a neon sign that said, Pound Town Population: You.

Me

Is that a real sign?

Tiff

I may have seen it in a guy’s bedroom a couple of weeks ago.

Me

Of course, you did ??

Tiff

??

Enjoy your night, I can’t wait to see you in Miami next month!

Me

Thanks, girl. I can’t wait, either.

Tiffany’s confirmation that my intent was clear makes me deflate even more. Now, I can’t pretend Phil didn’t know what I was hinting at. Men are known to be oblivious, but not when it comes to sex. I used to have him pawing at me every night. Now it’s been over a month and he was completely unfazed by my proposition.

Downing the rest of the wine, I blow out the candles and change into my normal, worn pajamas. As I lay in bed and think about everything that happened, I can’t help but remunerate in the sting of rejection. When was the last time I truly felt wanted? The rejection is all too familiar and dredges up childhood baggage I thought I’d put behind me. All of a sudden, I’m the little girl whose mommy chose substances over her. Thankfully, before my wine-induced spiral can take me too far down the rabbit hole, sleep pulls me in.

* * *

The next morning, I decide I don’t have the energy to confront Phil about all this. I don’t really want to hear his excuses or platitudes. Even worse, I don’t need him to confirm my deepest fear: that I am unwanted.

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