Square One Ch 03

"I promise to never stop dating you" he shared in his vows. Alluding to the countless conversations we had over the previous year about my fear that once we got married everything would change, and become a transactional contract rather than a mutual and loving relationship. "I promise to never ask you to be less than the dynamic and evolving woman that you are. I love you today, and I think there's a pretty good chance I'll love you tomorrow. And maybe even all of the tomorrows after that."

Everyone laughed, and he flushed with joy. Making people laugh is one of David's favorite things. I had to pull a veto card when he told me that he planned to do stand up comedy for our wedding guests between when he got up there and I came down the aisle.

"Veto." I said. "Do whatever you want at the reception, but the ceremony will be comedy routine free, thanks."

We have gone on dates every Tuesday night since our wedding two years ago, except for those that were impacted by sickness or travel. We take turns planning and executing. This Tuesday is my date to plan.

I lay out his pink polo and a pair of shorts so he'll match my blue and pink plaid dress. Date nights are for matching, afterall.

We take a selfie and he turns in for a last minute kiss on the cheek, resulting in one of the cutest pictures we've ever taken together. I post it on Instagram immediately. #datenight

I drive us to his favorite Italian restaurant and as we park he exclaims excitedly, "This is why you told me to be hungry! I can't wait to eat ourselves into a pasta coma."

After we are seated we review the menu and share our top two picks each so we can tell each other which one we'd prefer, we always share food.

David didn't share meals before he met me. He thought it was absolutely bizarre the first time he came out to dinner with my family and we spent the whole evening passing each other our plates until all of the food was gone.

"Is that a normal dinner for you guys?" He asked me and the boys as soon as we were all buckled into the car.

Truly not understanding the question, I asked for clarification with my face and my body language more than with my words, "Umm... yes?" I turn to the back to see if the kids understand.

He laughed good naturedly and said, "I mean with the sharing. Do you guys always share your food?"

"Oh!" I exclaimed. "I didn't know that was weird!" I laughed as I considered the fact that I did not frequently see the other tables rearranging the table every few minutes as if everyone had been served the wrong plate. "But now that I think about it I guess it is not totally normal. But to answer your question, yes, it's normal for our family."

"Yeah, mom, it's weird." My eldest son chimed in with a giggle from the backseat.

I whip my head back, shocked that he's saying this to me for the first time.

"I like it," David gently disagreed. "It's intimate. Me and my family barely talk when we have meals together. Your family talks and shares food. It's a disaster. I love it."

My father was in the military, so we moved a lot growing up. Me, my older sister, and my parents learned to enjoy each other's company. It was convenient, considering every 18 months we became the only people any of us knew in a thousand mile radius.

Sharing food was just the tip of the iceberg for the eccentricities of our family dynamic.

I beamed at him from the passenger seat, thrilled to have him unquestioningly accept a quirk that I actually really love about myself and my family.

Three years later, he has still yet to refuse my request to share everything he orders, even if he doesn't want any of mine.

We order separate appetizer salads, as if to pre-emptively atone for the massive amounts of creamy pasta that we are about to consume. Our entrees are negotiated and finally decided based on the strategy of selecting one red sauce based meal, lasagna, and one cream sauce based meal, chicken alfredo.

I theatrically unroll my napkin from my silverware and messily tuck it into my collar as if I'm at a crawfish boil.

"You're embarrassing yourself." he says matter of factly while he unrolls his own silverware roll.

He grabs his napkin by one corner and snaps it loudly down by his side, aggressively straightening it out. He then tucks it meticulously down into his collar just enough that it will stay, and smooths it down into a perfect diamond so it is covering significantly more of his front than mine is.

"Ameteur." He says while pressing invisible glasses up his nose.

I snort and then laugh, like I always do when he joins me in my silliness.

"I love you." I say, surprised that it catches in my throat. I cough and pick up my glass of water, gulping until I realize that the tickle in my throat is not from thirst, but from the threat of tears.

"Are you okay?" He asks while he pulls his bib down into his lap, as if he's about to need to perform life saving first aid.

"I don't know. It's been a really weird week." I remove my napkin to wipe my mouth and face. I take a deep breath, "I don't want to talk about it though, it's date night!" I say dismissively.

Our salads arrive. "Perfect timing." I think to myself, silently thanking the server for staying to chat for a moment, diffusing the awkward moment between me and my husband.

"Tell me something exciting that's happening with you."

"I mean you know what's up with me, babe. I work, I eat, I sleep, and I hang out with you and the boys. It sounds like you've had a more eventful week than me, spill!" He gestures gently around the entire restaurant, inviting me to take up as much space as I need.

I immediately burst into tears.

His face changes from jovial and playful to intensely serious.

"This is such an over-reaction." I explain, as I feverishly wipe away my tears as quickly as they fall. "I don't even know why I am bothered. This is ridiculous."

He reaches across the table for my hands. I place my tear soaked hands in his. "You can tell me anything. Even if it's ridiculous."

"It IS ridiculous." I repeat.

"You do not have to talk about anything that you're not ready to talk about" He offers me an out.

I take it. "I just want to enjoy our dinner. We can talk about it later when I'm more emotionally stable. I'm probably just dehydrated." I say as I gulp the rest of my water and look around for anyone who might be making rounds with a pitcher.

"Yeah..." He laughs and rolls his eyes playfully as he says it. "It's probably just dehydration."

I realize how absurd this suggestion is and we both laugh, soothing the tension that my outbreak had created between us.

"Are you more excited for the lasagna or the alfredo?" He asks as a kind detour.

"The alfredo, obviously. What about you?"

"The lasagna" he lies, like he always does when he wants to make sure I get to have the bigger half of the one I'm most excited about.

I smile knowingly at him and squeeze his hands as I release to dry the few remaining tears. I sit up straight and tuck my napkin back into the neck of my dress, just to make him laugh.

We chat about everything from the books we're reading to which child is currently each of our "favorite". We always make sure that if one of us has a strong opinion that the other will pick the remaining child.

He picks Andrew, the 16 year old, defending his choice by explaining that Judah was still surly from having been scolded for dropping an open jug of orange juice at breakfast a few mornings ago after I had already left for work. "I know it was an accident, but I had to move the refrigerator AND the oven to clean the floors!"

He gestures towards the floor, laughing, still just as frustrated as he was that morning.

I laugh too and role-play both my and his dialogue from his furiously whispered call, as soon as he had finished mopping up. We take all of the calls we don't want the kids to hear in our walk-in closet so I perform all of his 'lines' with my napkin bunched up over my mouth, imagining him with his head between two blazers to mute his rage.

"You were so upset!" I finish, unhelpfully, crying from laughing so hard.

"I know I owe him an apology for snapping at him, but damn. That sucked."

"That's okay, he'll be ready for your apology when you're ready. Judah can be my favorite until then, because that's totally something I would have done and you know it."

We laugh and kiss and eat every single bite.

Despite being full we order the house-made Tiramisu. This is why we really come here.

The server clears our salad and entree plates and sets two spoons in front of us before returning to the kitchen to retrieve the dessert.

"Remember that customer I told you about last week? The one who came in and withdrew their entire account in cash?"

"Of course, the one who said she was taking it to Vegas?" He scoffed and added "How could I forget?"

"Right?" I ask in far too high of a pitch. "It was weird." I state in my normal voice. "She came back into the bank today." I pause for his reaction.

"I told you she'd be back! No way was she going to follow through on Vegas, she's crazy."

"No. She did go!" My eyes are wide and my hands are splayed in front of me. "She said she wanted to tell me about it, and that was why she came in."

He rubbed his hands together with delight, he loves a good customer service story about a wild customer. "Incredible. Tell me everything. Did she lose it all? Is she a millionaire now? What happened?"

"I don't know. She didn't tell me."

"I thought she came in for the whole purpose of telling you."

"Yeah, she did. But she said she wanted to take me out to coffee so she could tell me about it... like on a date."

He reaches over and spanks the side of my leg while laughing and saying "She's got good taste!"

When I don't laugh he clears his throat and says, "What's the problem? A customer asks you out once a month."

"Yeah. I know." I say. "But this time it felt different for some reason. Probably because I've never been asked out by a woman before."

Suddenly it occurs to me to ask, "Wait! Am I a homophobe?"

"I mean, probably! The way you were raised..." David chortles, despite himself.

He always says I was raised in a cult, and while he's not completely wrong, I'm feeling a little sensitive about it tonight for some reason. "But I've changed."

"Change doesn't happen overnight, Soph. You know that. You've come a long way but it makes sense that you're still sorting through the things you haven't had to come face to face with since leaving the church."

The server drops the dessert at the table without a word, sensing the conversation's momentum. We both pick up spoons but neither of us takes a bite.

"Did you..." he stops, considers his words, and puts down his spoon. "Did you want to say yes?"

"Of course not!" I answer too quickly, and too loudly.

His face goes completely flat, and he waits for me to explain why there is so much weird energy around my response.

We sit in silence for a few moments, spoons in our hands.

"Should we take this to go?"

He waits for me to respond, and when I can't seem to decide he waves down the waiter and asks for a take-out container while simultaneously handing him his credit card.

"I knew this conversation would ruin date night." I muttered, like a wounded child.

Instantly his face changed and he put his hand on my cheek to draw my eyes up to his own. "No, Sophia." He uses my full first name, like he always does when there is tension of any kind. But he continues sincerely, "You did not ruin date night. But some conversations should be had in the privacy of our own home."

All of my words get stuck in my throat despite my best effort to offer agreement. I reach up and press his hand deeply into my face, kissing his palm, blinking back boiling hot tears.

***

We drive home in silence, holding sweaty hands.

My stomach is in knots, and I actively bring my thoughts to our wedding day.

I picture his face as I walked down the aisle towards him.

I chuckle as I remember the moment halfway through his vows where I suddenly realized that I had forgotten to tuck my own handwritten vows into my cleavage like I had planned. I reached up and grabbed both of my boobs and squeezed them in surprise in front of everyone.

He cackled, knowing exactly what had happened because I had said to him at least a hundred times, "What do you want to bet I forget to tuck my vows into my tits?" He had always responded to that with, "We don't need no stinkin' vows. Just say I do when it's your turn and I'll be happy."

He finished laughing, and then picked up his vows right where he left off. Unbothered.

David never gets angry with me for my brain blips. It is one of the things that made me fall in love with him, and certainly what has made it easy to stay in love with him.

As we pull into the driveway I feel particularly grateful that the boys are old enough to stay at home without a sitter. I do not have the energy for the 5 minutes of mandatory niceties that take place before you can usher them out the door.

"We're home!" I yell up the stairs towards the boy's rooms.

"Okay!" They both yell back, making no move to come down to see us.

"Teenagers." I think to myself.

David and I walk straight to our bedroom, tossing the Tiramasu roughly onto the kitchen counter as we pass by. I throw myself face down into the pillows at the head of our bed as he closes the door behind us.

"I don't like this feeling." I say into the pillows.

"I got none of that." He says to me as he settles into his side of the bed.

I roll over, creating a noose around my neck with my own hair, but I don't bother to fix it. I keep my eyes closed so I still feel hidden and I ask, "Can you just hold me for a minute?"

He scoots down and opens his arms, inviting me into our favorite position: My head on his huge shoulder, our arms wrapped tightly around each other, and our legs thoroughly intertwined.

I untangle myself from my hair as I reposition and nuzzle deeply into his neck. I inhale the smell of him and tell myself that everything is going to be okay.

After a few minutes I break the silence, "I don't think it's that I wanted to say yes." I say reaching up to rub just above my eyebrows, hard, trying to force my thoughts to slow down. "I guess, when I really think about it..."

I pause so I can sit up to face him. He deserves my eye contact.

Seated in the middle of the bed, cross legged, I place my hands on both of his knees and say, "I think it is the first time that I've even considered that I could have ever gone on a date with a female person. It's as if it has truly never occurred to me that it was an option."

David gently nods his head, but doesn't say anything. I can see that he's having a lot of thoughts, but is trying to hold the space for me and my feelings.

Grateful for the clear runway I open my mouth and words begin to fall out. "When I was about 10 years old my aunts stopped visiting us. It broke my heart, because they were the only family that ever came to see us. Everyone else made us come to them every time. When we were finally old enough to ask my father about it he told us that 'even the appearance of acceptance was sin' and that it was important for him to protect his children from people who perverted the holy union of matrimony." I shudder at the memory. "We weren't even allowed to watch TV shows with gay characters."

"That's awful." David interjected sincerely.

"I think I was in love with my second grade teacher." I admit, seemingly changing the topic completely. I can feel my face flush even still as I think about her. "Her name was Ms. Tuart, she wasn't married but she had like four dogs. Come to think of it, I bet she's a lesbian!" I laugh almost bitterly at the sudden realization. "She told us that she kept a bat house in her backyard to eat the mosquitos. I thought that was so cool... Her hair was long and I would ask her to come look at my work sometimes just so she would lean over my shoulder and her hair would create a curtain around us. I can still remember the smell of her shampoo. I once asked her if I could braid her hair..." I clap my hands over my mouth in long overdue embarrassment.

He laughs. "Even then you were a shameless flirt!" He smiles, and it almost reaches his eyes. "That doesn't mean anything though." but it sounds more like a question than a statement. "Not necessarily."

"I know. I loved a lot of my teachers, I am a 'good girl' afterall. Praise from my authority figures was my catnip as a child..." I pause and think for a moment, "but I think I love loved Ms. Tuart."

We sit silently, both searching our minds for a thought worth sharing.

"You know, I used to ask my girl friends if we should practice kissing each other so we would be ready for when we had boyfriends." The third rabbit trail on this conversational journey. "Only one of my friends ever took me up on it, but then she said she didn't like it and we should stop. I asked my youth pastor if that meant I was gay and he adamantly told me that girls are just like that, and that it was okay for me to have those thoughts as long as I absolutely never acted on it. "

David sat up really straight, and blinked back tears. "Sophie I love you, and it's clear that you're processing a lot right now, but I'm about to freak out. Are you about to tell me that you think you're gay."

"No!" I reach forward and pull him into a hug, feeling him finally lose the battle with his emotions. I hold him and rub his back, taking my turn to put my emotions second to his.

"You make me so happy." I offer as reassurance. "We are supernaturally good together."

"That's not the same thing as not being gay."

He stands up abruptly, shaking me off of him gently. "I think I need a break." He walks straight into the bathroom, closes the door, and turns on the shower.

After a moment I hear a click. "You locked the door." I say quietly. "We don't lock doors!"

I throw myself flat on the bed and prop my feet up on the pillows. I am surprised when I find that I am struggling to catch my breath. I force three deep breaths in through my nose and out through my mouth before the tears take over.

I allow myself just a couple minutes to fall apart before I walk out to the kitchen to make some tea and compose myself.

I find the Tiramisu sitting on the counter, looking slightly deflated in its clear plastic container. I am certain that neither of us will have an appetite for it so I grab a couple of forks and take it upstairs, certain that the boys will be happy to take it off of our hands.

**Erotica to come, I promise. Stay with me**