"Happy Anniversary, Mrs. Charles."
I look up at my husband leaning in the doorjamb. He's appearing very much the cat who caught the canary, grinning one of those lopsided grins that makes me want to hit and kiss him all at once. There's a twinkle in his chocolate brown eyes. A look that, years ago, would have been immediately construed as dangerous in my line of work. Things, of course are different now.
"You're late." I give him my trademark Joan Crawford impersonation. I swear under my breath because Joan comes out more like Lana Turner and his grin is already expanding. Shit! Guess that's what married life does to girls like me.
Tragic isn't it?
"There was another emergency in the ICU, we were short staffed today."
He looks tired, but I ignore his weary look in an effort to hold onto my anger. Alright, I'll admit it. I'm stubborn, but I've earned my right to be. If you had to live 36 years of your life in a hellhole like the Centre, you would be too. Trust me.
He loosens his tie and throws it on the arm of the sofa before sitting next to me. I fold my arms across my chest, and cross my legs at the knee, which causes my red silk skirt to ride up a little higher on my thighs. Bingo.
He's staring at my legs. The exhaustion in his eyes giving way to hunger. Ha! If he was ready for what I knew was on his mind that minute, he couldn't be that tired.
Jarod loves my legs. I mean absolutely loves them. Many men do. But Jarod really worships them. And he should. I log over eight hours a week at them gym to keep these gams looking like the nutcrackers they are. And believe me they've cracked quite a few nuts in their time to earn that distinction. Of course, a half a decade of chasing after him in four inch high stilettos didn't hurt either.
It's a shame really. I'm wearing the red pumps tonight. I was tempted to slip into the Mrs. Claus suit earlier, but that insipid red Toole and itchy green lace really made me feel like a simpleton.
"Mmmm." he sighs, "you're wearing the perfume I bought you." He brushes a lock of my hair away from my neck and I flinch. When he slowly drops his head in for presumingly the kill, I can't get up fast enough.
Jarod stares at me, his face deadpanned in what could be considered a look of pure surprise. He takes one look at my angry scowl and suddenly looks crestfallen.
"Honey, it's our anniversary." He says pleadingly.
I grab the $200 dollar bottle of insanely expensive champagne now sweating in a bucket of melted ice on the dining room table and shove it to the back of the refrigerator.
Jarod joins me in the kitchen, watching me from a safe distance as I dump platters of Foie Gras, and Crepes A L'orange into the new spill-proof containers I threw down $100 bucks on at the Ladies League Tupperware party he guilt tripped me into attending last week.
"Parker," he begins cautiously. "Honey, what are you doing?"
His weak baritone almost causes me to soften. Almost.
I slam the refrigerator door and bang pots into the sink before spinning around to meet his eyes. "I hate this."
He sighs, shoulders slumping. "Hate what?"
"This, Jarod." I gesture to nothing in particular. "Our life, you.working like you're running a marathon, me.looking like of joined the cast of Leave it to Beaver. If I have to do this one more minute, I'm going to shoot someone."
"You can't" he shrugged. "I removed the firing pin months ago."
I throw a plate at him, but Jarod's quick. He ducks and the china just barely misses him before shattering into pieces all over the linoleum tile.
Eyes wide, my husband looks up at me. They say the eyes are the windows to the soul? Well, let's just say I didn't like the view.
"Dammit! What's gotten into to you?" he growls. "You could've injured me with that! Is that what you want? For us to end up in the Emergency Room on our anniversary?"
"Why not?" I hiss back. "You already live there!"
"Baby, I AM sorry, but it was an emergency." Jarod says softly. "A man would have died. Would you rather have had me live with that on my conscience? Don't you love me?"
I can't resist the sadness in his voice. As I look at his confused expression, the ice around my heart melts. I brace myself against the countertop and hang my head. He's good.
"You know I do." I say in a barely audible whisper.
He crosses the room in graceful stride, one strong hand reaches up, gently combing my brown tendrils away from my face, the other cups my cheek.
"I'm sorry." He whispers again
I tilt my face up so that I can see his eyes. They're melting again. He loves me. I know he always will.
A tear cascades down my cheek and he brushes it way with his thumb.
"I'll make it up to you." He says softly. "I promise."
I shrug. "Don't say that." I turn my back toward him so that I'm facing the sink and he's standing behind me. "My father used to say that all the time."
Jarod massages my shoulders and presses his forehead against the back of my head. I know where this is going before I hear his sigh.
"We're not your parents Parker."
"Aren't we? Jarod, you are constantly at the office, just like Daddy. And I am more like my mother than I have ever been."
"Your mother was an amazing woman. Don't deny yourself that part of her."
I slide out of his grasp. "Dammit Jarod. Have you looked at me lately? I AM my mother. All my life people have told me how much I look like her, how much I sound like her, so much so that I spent years trying to be someone else."
"Like your father." He says sadly.
"No," I protest. "Like ME. Jarod, I crafted a life for myself in Blue Cove. I had responsibilities, a purpose!"
"Which was? Jarod asks harshly. "To make my life miserable and destroy your own in the process?"
I flinch and cast my face to the floor.
"Sweetheart, how am I going to convince you that you are so much than that? The Centre is not your legacy anymore. It doesn't have to be!"
Bitter tears prick at my eyes once more. My inner sense tells me to listen. Everything in me that's good knows Jarod is right, but my head tells me differently. When something like the Centre has been apart of your existence or so long, you start to believe that it's all you're destined for, all you deserve. God knows, I don't deserve Jarod. I never have.
"How can you love me?" I ask fretfully. "How, after all I've done to you? All the upsets I've caused? How can you look at me like that?"
"Parker, you are the light of my life." He replies simply. "You always have been. You always will be."
I stare at him, feeling illuminated under his loving gaze. His eyes are smoky, and I nearly choke. This man is the best thing that's ever happened to me.
"We were meant to be." I whisper, my voice cracking with the weight of his words.
Jarod pulls me into his embrace. "From the moment we were born." He whispers.
I look into his eyes. He tightens his arms around my waist as I wrap my own around his neck. We're so close now. Nothing in the room seems to exist anymore. Not the sound of the leaky faucet, or the muffled beeps of the cars passing by of the street below, or even my chatty inner conscience. Just us.
I play with a tuft of hair at the nape of his neck. "I'm sorry."
He leans in and nuzzles my ear. "I love you Melissa."
I hear my name, run my fingers through his hair and say the words for the first time tonight with more emotion than ever before. "I love you Jarod."
His lips find mine and we kiss, sweetly, tenderly and passionately. We moan softly as he brakes the kiss, takes my hand and leads me out of the kitchen.
We leave a trail of our clothes behind as we head in the general direction of the bedroom. Somehow we make it there, stumbling onto our California King panting and flushed like the teenagers we once were.
I know we shouldn't be here. Jarod should be on SL-23 where he's always been running SIMS, and I should be somewhere in Renewal Wing being reeducated. But I do know this: I am the luckiest woman alive because we are together. And, even if it's just for a little while, my husband and I are making a home here. Right now, as our bodies become one, I've never felt more blessed and complete.
Jarod is near sleep and I smile because I've worn him out yet again. We spoon under the sheets, our fingers intertwined, our limbs glistening with the sheen of sweat under the pale moonlight cast through our window. I bring his hand to my lips and run my lips over his knuckles.
"Happy Anniversary, my love." I whisper.
"Happy Anniversary sweetheart," Jarod replies softly, snuggling closer and nuzzling my hair. "Happy Anniversary."
I look up at my husband leaning in the doorjamb. He's appearing very much the cat who caught the canary, grinning one of those lopsided grins that makes me want to hit and kiss him all at once. There's a twinkle in his chocolate brown eyes. A look that, years ago, would have been immediately construed as dangerous in my line of work. Things, of course are different now.
"You're late." I give him my trademark Joan Crawford impersonation. I swear under my breath because Joan comes out more like Lana Turner and his grin is already expanding. Shit! Guess that's what married life does to girls like me.
Tragic isn't it?
"There was another emergency in the ICU, we were short staffed today."
He looks tired, but I ignore his weary look in an effort to hold onto my anger. Alright, I'll admit it. I'm stubborn, but I've earned my right to be. If you had to live 36 years of your life in a hellhole like the Centre, you would be too. Trust me.
He loosens his tie and throws it on the arm of the sofa before sitting next to me. I fold my arms across my chest, and cross my legs at the knee, which causes my red silk skirt to ride up a little higher on my thighs. Bingo.
He's staring at my legs. The exhaustion in his eyes giving way to hunger. Ha! If he was ready for what I knew was on his mind that minute, he couldn't be that tired.
Jarod loves my legs. I mean absolutely loves them. Many men do. But Jarod really worships them. And he should. I log over eight hours a week at them gym to keep these gams looking like the nutcrackers they are. And believe me they've cracked quite a few nuts in their time to earn that distinction. Of course, a half a decade of chasing after him in four inch high stilettos didn't hurt either.
It's a shame really. I'm wearing the red pumps tonight. I was tempted to slip into the Mrs. Claus suit earlier, but that insipid red Toole and itchy green lace really made me feel like a simpleton.
"Mmmm." he sighs, "you're wearing the perfume I bought you." He brushes a lock of my hair away from my neck and I flinch. When he slowly drops his head in for presumingly the kill, I can't get up fast enough.
Jarod stares at me, his face deadpanned in what could be considered a look of pure surprise. He takes one look at my angry scowl and suddenly looks crestfallen.
"Honey, it's our anniversary." He says pleadingly.
I grab the $200 dollar bottle of insanely expensive champagne now sweating in a bucket of melted ice on the dining room table and shove it to the back of the refrigerator.
Jarod joins me in the kitchen, watching me from a safe distance as I dump platters of Foie Gras, and Crepes A L'orange into the new spill-proof containers I threw down $100 bucks on at the Ladies League Tupperware party he guilt tripped me into attending last week.
"Parker," he begins cautiously. "Honey, what are you doing?"
His weak baritone almost causes me to soften. Almost.
I slam the refrigerator door and bang pots into the sink before spinning around to meet his eyes. "I hate this."
He sighs, shoulders slumping. "Hate what?"
"This, Jarod." I gesture to nothing in particular. "Our life, you.working like you're running a marathon, me.looking like of joined the cast of Leave it to Beaver. If I have to do this one more minute, I'm going to shoot someone."
"You can't" he shrugged. "I removed the firing pin months ago."
I throw a plate at him, but Jarod's quick. He ducks and the china just barely misses him before shattering into pieces all over the linoleum tile.
Eyes wide, my husband looks up at me. They say the eyes are the windows to the soul? Well, let's just say I didn't like the view.
"Dammit! What's gotten into to you?" he growls. "You could've injured me with that! Is that what you want? For us to end up in the Emergency Room on our anniversary?"
"Why not?" I hiss back. "You already live there!"
"Baby, I AM sorry, but it was an emergency." Jarod says softly. "A man would have died. Would you rather have had me live with that on my conscience? Don't you love me?"
I can't resist the sadness in his voice. As I look at his confused expression, the ice around my heart melts. I brace myself against the countertop and hang my head. He's good.
"You know I do." I say in a barely audible whisper.
He crosses the room in graceful stride, one strong hand reaches up, gently combing my brown tendrils away from my face, the other cups my cheek.
"I'm sorry." He whispers again
I tilt my face up so that I can see his eyes. They're melting again. He loves me. I know he always will.
A tear cascades down my cheek and he brushes it way with his thumb.
"I'll make it up to you." He says softly. "I promise."
I shrug. "Don't say that." I turn my back toward him so that I'm facing the sink and he's standing behind me. "My father used to say that all the time."
Jarod massages my shoulders and presses his forehead against the back of my head. I know where this is going before I hear his sigh.
"We're not your parents Parker."
"Aren't we? Jarod, you are constantly at the office, just like Daddy. And I am more like my mother than I have ever been."
"Your mother was an amazing woman. Don't deny yourself that part of her."
I slide out of his grasp. "Dammit Jarod. Have you looked at me lately? I AM my mother. All my life people have told me how much I look like her, how much I sound like her, so much so that I spent years trying to be someone else."
"Like your father." He says sadly.
"No," I protest. "Like ME. Jarod, I crafted a life for myself in Blue Cove. I had responsibilities, a purpose!"
"Which was? Jarod asks harshly. "To make my life miserable and destroy your own in the process?"
I flinch and cast my face to the floor.
"Sweetheart, how am I going to convince you that you are so much than that? The Centre is not your legacy anymore. It doesn't have to be!"
Bitter tears prick at my eyes once more. My inner sense tells me to listen. Everything in me that's good knows Jarod is right, but my head tells me differently. When something like the Centre has been apart of your existence or so long, you start to believe that it's all you're destined for, all you deserve. God knows, I don't deserve Jarod. I never have.
"How can you love me?" I ask fretfully. "How, after all I've done to you? All the upsets I've caused? How can you look at me like that?"
"Parker, you are the light of my life." He replies simply. "You always have been. You always will be."
I stare at him, feeling illuminated under his loving gaze. His eyes are smoky, and I nearly choke. This man is the best thing that's ever happened to me.
"We were meant to be." I whisper, my voice cracking with the weight of his words.
Jarod pulls me into his embrace. "From the moment we were born." He whispers.
I look into his eyes. He tightens his arms around my waist as I wrap my own around his neck. We're so close now. Nothing in the room seems to exist anymore. Not the sound of the leaky faucet, or the muffled beeps of the cars passing by of the street below, or even my chatty inner conscience. Just us.
I play with a tuft of hair at the nape of his neck. "I'm sorry."
He leans in and nuzzles my ear. "I love you Melissa."
I hear my name, run my fingers through his hair and say the words for the first time tonight with more emotion than ever before. "I love you Jarod."
His lips find mine and we kiss, sweetly, tenderly and passionately. We moan softly as he brakes the kiss, takes my hand and leads me out of the kitchen.
We leave a trail of our clothes behind as we head in the general direction of the bedroom. Somehow we make it there, stumbling onto our California King panting and flushed like the teenagers we once were.
I know we shouldn't be here. Jarod should be on SL-23 where he's always been running SIMS, and I should be somewhere in Renewal Wing being reeducated. But I do know this: I am the luckiest woman alive because we are together. And, even if it's just for a little while, my husband and I are making a home here. Right now, as our bodies become one, I've never felt more blessed and complete.
Jarod is near sleep and I smile because I've worn him out yet again. We spoon under the sheets, our fingers intertwined, our limbs glistening with the sheen of sweat under the pale moonlight cast through our window. I bring his hand to my lips and run my lips over his knuckles.
"Happy Anniversary, my love." I whisper.
"Happy Anniversary sweetheart," Jarod replies softly, snuggling closer and nuzzling my hair. "Happy Anniversary."