Authors: Isabell Lawless
“I usually date slender women, but your boobs are actually quite nice. Not that I really care that one boob is a little bit smaller than the other.”
Those were the things that would escape his mouth, forcing her to place that banana back in the fruit bowl on the kitchen counter, and the milk back in the fridge. Not that he watched his diet. She really tried to care about what she'd purchase at the grocery store to make sure she established an understanding between them that the fridge was always stocked with healthy foods such as chicken, fruit, and veggies. Nothing that could make her fat. Still he would plainly slam the fridge door closed, moan loudly through the house, load enough for her to hear, and once again grab his car keys simultaneously yelling that he had to eat at his mom's house since 'his girl' apparently hadn't cooked anything edible.
He would go home to a mom whom he exclusively mentioned on a first name basis, never called her “mom” like she did with hers. A mom whom he would dare to give the finger if she didn't say the right thing or do his laundry when he demanded it and a mom who accepted him calling her a “fucking whore” without doing much more than shaking her head and walk away.
On some instances she would then turn to her, smile, toss her hair back in the air, and mumble “he's always had a bad temper, ever since he was a kid.”
In Danielle's mind he was a disturbed, angry man, and she should have left the first time this behavior was observed. Yet, the utter shock and surprise of it happening seemed to stun any emotions she'd had, and sometimes, she had to question herself if she had really seen things accurately and if her hearing was truly okay. No one shouts profanities at their mothers like that. And being a whore? ... I doubt she'd ever had anyone else around except for his dad.
Thinking back, a favorite complaint of his had been his never ending accusation of her poor memory since she never remembered any family events or birthday parties. She always had to scramble together in a few short minutes to get ready for these events. Then having to embarrassingly face his family in an attempt to explain why they were late or had forgotten a present. He would stand at the side or wander off somewhere else just grinning and shaking his head.
“Yeah, I know guys, she's a little loony, but this is the shit I have to deal with.”
She'd never had bad memory. She'd never forgotten a party invitation. But after hearing the same accusations, going through the same embarrassment over the course of months and years, she suddenly started to question her own judgment of all things in life.
That's exactly what he did to her. She always had to question her own opinion, her sanity, and accuracy of her thoughts. She was never right, always wrong, involving anything from choice of meat at the store, someone's last name she'd met at a party, or even what song was playing on the radio. She could never shake her head in annoyance to his comments or behavior. Only he could do that to her, and he did all the time in front of her, and in front of others.
The acceptance of things that had been going on for so many years started to become a true reality that she learned to cope with, work around it, and sometimes even change to better fit into something that SHOULD work. A relationship WAS work. Wasn't that what everyone said?
With him it sounded so true and so obvious. According to him, nothing in life was smooth, and their relationship, like any other, needed work and lots of it. On a daily basis he would ask why she never did what was expected from her as a girlfriend in a committed relationship, and she never stood the chance to be perfect in his eyes. However, problems or discussions of that nature would always be done in private and not be shared with anyone. If she had questions or comments, they should be directed to him. Not to involve friends, co-workers (if she ever had any), and especially not parents - being the little mama's girl she was in his eyes. They were adults, and adults dealt with these things on their own.
“Isn't that right?!” He used to say, expecting an agreement.
Her mind and body continued to defend him, and in all likelihood, still did. He had always made everything sound so straightforward, obvious, and unquestionable in their relationship. After all, he wasn't abusive in any physical way, being such a small guy compared to her, perhaps only a foot apart in height.
Well, except for one drunken night - but who doesn't do stupid things when they're really, very, over the top, drunk? She had no outer marks to prove anything. His kick was aimed at her lower back and hips, shoving her over the edge of the bed onto the hardwood floor while she was still asleep were not really that bad.
Yeah, so her hips had always been a little out of line ever since that moment, according to the physical therapist she had had to visit, but she blamed an old sports injury and was not really bothered by it. Nor had his continuous shouting and following her around the house, shoving her around that same night. She's tried to get away from him and ended up locking herself into their car parked outside the house just to get some peace and quiet, hoping he would just go inside and pass out.
None of that had ever stopped her from doing anything she wanted and enjoyed. Shocking perhaps to her system that it had actually happened, but she was not terribly hurt. Thinking back, she probably could have withstood a lot worse. She was tough. She was into lifting weights at the gym for God's sake. According to him, she had to perfect that body of hers.
Chapter 1
They purchased their old house just a few months ago in their darling South, where the weather was warm, the history of the country was always present, and the culture of the people was just more laid back. The poor shape of the house looked depressing as if it was reaching out with open arms just screaming for help to survive. Looking at it the day of the open house that had been exactly why they couldn't resist the purchase. Sure, there would be hours, and even weeks of hard work to even make it livable, but it was worth it.
A few of the spacious rooms had high ceilings where crown moldings were lining the top of the walls and some had already been remodeled and repainted, while others were still waiting for restoration. Like their kitchen; still covered in soft white linoleum flooring dusted with yellow Primroses, dented white wooden cabinet doors with overused dirty knobs, and outdated laminated beige counter tops. Livable but not workable.
They were still debating wildly on the design of the kitchen layout as well as the use of materials, so taking the edge off the never ending discussion, they moved their construction focus outside to the new side patio where a wooden floor was being installed. The house was constructed of thick redwood beams and planks with several steps it followed each of the two short sides down to the green lawn area where landscaped plants and flowers were to bloom in the near future. At least it was wishful thinking.
She loved doing handyman work, restoring old houses, and she was over the moon thrilled to have Andy bring home some new machines from his job as a construction manager at A.G. Construction Zoning so she could try them all out. His business was thriving in the Carolinas, and within the first year as a brotherly duo, they'd had to hire five more talented guys to join their crew. He had built up the business together with his brother about a year before she had met him and fallen head over heels in love with his southern drawl, long blonde hair, and laid back attitude. His creativity using his hands to build things never failed to impress her, and with great talent, he demonstrated how his handyman skills could serve in more scenarios than on a dirty construction site filled with men. His hands knew how to weave some toe-curling magic.
Moving into a new house also meant new, clean, and white appliances around the house to use. The Whirlpool washer and drier he had given her for her birthday the year before the house purchased was fully set in stone, and the phenomenal light switches he had installed that could actually dim the lights, not just turn them on or off like night and day. She loved it all: the house, the hubby, the appliances, but the pride of investments, especially for Andy, was the new, heavy duty, DeWalt nail gun, perfectly made for all the wood work on their old hobbling house. No cheesy plastered walls in sight, less work hammering each large nail in by hand through the redwood, just plug in, push, and shoot. That sharp nail would go through those wood beams and boards like a hot knife through soft butter. She loved to use it. Andy didn't have to work too hard and, it would without a doubt, be finished a lot faster now that she could help out as well.
On rare mornings when Andy didn't have to rush out to a job site to oversee his construction crew, he would pour himself a cup of warm coffee, and leisurely sit down, wearing only his pajama bottoms on one of the chairs at their dining room table and play around with different design ideas for their house. He had done a fabulous job creating an architectural drawing of the outdoor patio and the rest of the outdoor design of the house. That porch would be THE place for sweet cuddles under a thin blanket on warm summer evenings, enjoying the heat of an open fire pit, some smoky hot barbecued ribs, and cold wine. God, that was life in a bottle right there.
She remembered what had happened a few weeks ago as they started the porch work. To celebrate putting the beams and wooden floor down, they decided to take a whole relaxing weekend, doing nothing but eating and drinking good food, and not to have Andy run away for work at some construction site.
“Can't wait for this porch to be finished. You've done such a great job on it.”
“No problem. Yeah, I'm just debating if we should have a roof on it, or not. We probably should, so we can sit out here in the summer when it's still hot but the rain is pouring down. What do you think?”
“Sounds like a good plan to me. I'd never decline a snuggle, no matter what type of weather it is.”
“And, thank
you
for that.”
“Are the ribs done?”
“Yep, just gonna let them cool down for a little bit.”
“Here love.” She handed him a well filled glass of chilled Chardonnay, and sunk down next to him on the couch outside. “Cheers to a great weekend, with delicious food, and a hot husband.”
“I think you'll stand for the hotness babe.”
“Alright, cheers to that too. My hotness, ha-ha!”
“Yep, cheers to a woman with the best assets and the bubbliest laugh a man could dream of.”
“Assets. Really? These?” Wine glass in hand she pointed to her ample chests with a slight distaste in her voice.
“For sure. Yeah really. And after we got married, these assets,” he laughed and cupped them both with his hands making her squirm in delight, “became mine. I'm finally allowed to touch these as much as you are.”
The sun was starting to set, and the little table in front of the porch couch was covered in all the delicious weekend foods that everyone thinks they deserve after a hard week at work. Ribs, mac'n cheese, blue cheese salad, two bottles of white wine, and a cheery pie were crowding the tight space of the table top.
Not even thirty minutes into their meal, Danielle started to gravitate towards the pie on the opposite side of the table.
“No more ribs? Just pie for you now?” He laughed leisurely.
“I like pie, alright. Pie and white wine go hand in hand like the cheese covering the macaroni over there.” With fork in hand, she pointed over at the heaping bowl of glowing, golden melted cheese covering the pasta. “Or peanut butter and jelly, or you and boxer shorts.”
“You haven't even tasted my special sauce for the ribs, babe.”
"Your special sauce alright... what are you actually talking about here?” She gave him an evil side glance, and stuck her fork into the pie shell allowing the red cherry filling to seep out over the fork.
“Oh, you have a dirty dirty mind, my dear.” With eyes blazing he aimed his gaze at her face and slowly shook his head.
“It's not my mind, it's the wine working.”
“Then by all means, have some more.”
“You're bad...” Cherry pie now covered half of her plate, but didn't stay long enough to heat up the porcelain. Her fork was piled high as the first round went into her mouth.
“Oh, if you only knew, honey. It's hard to be good around you.”