She laughs. "Absolutely. Given a choice, my Francis would have happily continued his single existence without ever committing. It’s just, I knew better."
"You did?"
"Of course. It’s why I left him."
Huh? "Then what happened?"
"He came after me, of course, wanted me back. I told him only if he committed to me.
"And he did?"
She swipes her hair over her shoulder. "We were married within the week."
"Wow."
She holds up the ring with the single diamond that graces her ring finger, "I’ve never taken this off, since that day."
I draw in a breath. "So, you’re saying I need to, somehow, play hard to get, show him what he could be missing out on?"
"Now, now, don’t go putting words in my mouth. You're a smart woman, aren’t you? Surely, you’ll figure something out?"
Arpad
I slide my razor down my cheek, then shake it off under the tap. It's an odd time to shave but my whiskers had begun to bother me, and I wanted to shave before we headed out again.
The bathroom door opens and she walks in. She meets my gaze in the mirror, then heads over to the commode at the far end. She pushes down her panties, perches on the ceramic bowl and her piss tinkles down the sides.
What the—? I blink. Did she just do that? The audacity of the woman… The complete comfort she has in her own skin, the way she tilts up her chin and watches me watch her as I stand there with the razor poised half-way to my face. Why the hell do I find this everyday act of hers so erotic… Not to mention, the domesticity of this scene… It’s mind-blowing, and real, and so natural, so easy. Is this how it would be if I had her in my life always?
I watch as she tears off a piece of tissue paper, slides her hand under the skirt of her dress to wipe herself. Then rises to her feet, pulls up her panties and straightens her dress about her hips. She flushes, then heads to the sink and washes her hands, before drying them. She turns to leave and I call out, "Hold on."
She ignores me, and I scowl. As she brushes past me, I grab her arm and stop her.
"What?" she snaps.
"Don’t ignore me."
"And what if I do?"
"Try it and find out."
She peers into my face, then huffs, "Fine, I’m here, aren’t I? What do you want from me?"
"What did you and Grandmama talk about?"
"Let go of my arm first."
"Tell me first."
"No."
"Yes."
"You’re such a bully."
"And your husband, for as long as we are under this roof."
She throws up her free hand. "Why do you always have all the answers? It’s so annoying."
