Fast Forward 6 Months
Dinner Disclosure
It had been two weeks since Stephen took over the floorwalker's position at Woodward and Lothrop.
Betty and Stephen were sitting down to dinner. The candles flickered and the silverware sparkled in the glow of the flames. Betty watched her husband
wrestling with some inner demon. His forehead was furrowed and he looked furtive. He contemplated his meal, pushing his red potatoes around the plate,
not looking up. He barely poked at his chicken. She stretched her leg under the table, dropped off one of her slippers, and playfully ran a toe up his trouser l
leg. He was lost in thought.
"Stephen! All I've seen is the top of your head! Are you alright? What's up?" she cried.
He sighed and looked up at her, managing a small smile, "I'm sorry, my dear. I've a lot on my mind lately." His eyes glistened in the candlelight.
"I've noticed. You're not your usual self. Anything I can do?"
He took a deep breath, "Betty? I hope you won't be disappointed or embarrassed or ashamed by what I'm about to tell you. Please hear me out before you
say anything."
The bottom fell out of her stomach as she braced herself for the worst. She didn't know what to expect after an intro like that.
"Go ahead," she said flatly, trying not to sound like a paranoid wife.
All at once, the words came flooding, and they tumbled out in one breath, "Betty, I hate my job! I hate being a floorwalker. I thought I would like it, but I
don't. I miss the esprit de corps of working in Packing and Maintenance. The past two weeks, I have felt useless. I miss waking up and watching you lay
there sleeping. I miss the quiet time I used to have in the morning. I miss coming home and you're waiting for me and you hug me as I walk through the door
and tell me I smell good, when I know I smell terrible. I miss my routine. I miss Sunday afternoon football. I miss going to the pub and having a few laughs
with my mates. My whole day is spent refereeing battles between the men in my department, the cleaning staff, and Packing and Maintenance. There is
resentment in my department because I was promoted ahead of them. The men in my department have shunned me, so I eat lunch with Packing and
Maintenance, which causes more friction…" He looked exasperated and the corners of his mouth drooped.
She jumped up, ran over to his side of the table, stood behind him, and flung her arms around his neck, "Oh, you poor thing! You've had all that bottled up all
this time? No wonder you've been looking glum. And your performance has dropped off a bit in the past few weeks as well…"
His eyebrows shot up and he bristled, "It has? What do you mean?"
"Well, you haven't been up to your usual standards," she stated as if she were mentioning the weather.
"Why didn't you tell me?" he snorted.
"One doesn't like to complain about such things. I figured the drop in quality was just a one-off."
"Perhaps after dinner we should go upstairs and work on that a bit! I would like to raise my points in the standings!" he huffed in mock indignation; he was
flirting with her now. She enjoyed his change in demeanor; she missed this side of him. She laughed and he could feel his stress level drop. His eyes were
like little half-moons as he turned his head up and smiled up at her.
"That's my husband," she purred and kissed the top of his head, "I'm glad we've got that sorted out. I didn't know what to expect. You do whatever you
think's best and I will stand behind you no matter what you decide," she declared.
"Really? I was afraid to tell you! I was afraid you'd be cross with me. You seemed so happy that day I came to Grace Brothers to tell you of my promotion."
"I was happy because I thought you were happy about it. Stephen, I didn't fall in love with a floorwalker; I fell in love with you! I married you for you."
He smiled, relieved, and reached up to put his hand to her cheek.
She kissed his palm, "So what are you going to do?"
"I'm going to ask Mr. Woodward for my position back. I like being behind the scenes, the backbone of the store."
She walked back around the table back to her chair and eased into it. She smiled warmly at him, admiring his humility and honesty.
"I'm proud of you, sweetie," she pursed her lips and blew him a kiss.
He picked up his fork and began to tuck into his dinner with gusto.
"Do you want to wash up or wipe?" she asked.
"I'll wipe," he smiled.
After dinner was one of the times they enjoyed being together. They cleaned the kitchen and did up the dishes. He watched as Betty ran the hot water into
the plastic dishpan and squeezed in some dish soap. The basin billowed with suds. She filled the sink with hot rinse water.
She slipped on a pair of pink rubber gloves and began to scrub the plates. After rinsing a plate, she handed it to Stephen. He dried it and stacked it in the
cupboard. He looked at Betty out of the corner of his eye. He moved closer to her and nudged her with his hip, smiling impishly. She smiled at him, leaned
closer and patted his bum with her wet gloved hand. He narrowed his eyes, reached into the dishpan, scooped up some suds and pawed them
onto her nose. She sputtered, blowing the froth from her face, then reached into the sink and slapped at the water, splashing the side of him. He grabbed
the bottle of dish soap, aimed it at her, and squeezed a stream out onto her clothes. She bit her bottom lip and glared at him. He laughed, snatched up
another handful of foam, and smacked her bum. She splashed him again. He grabbed her hand mid-flight and reached for her other hand. Grabbing hold of
it, he backed her against the worktop, wrapped his arms around her, and kissed her. She cupped his face in her wet hands. She liked the way his
body felt against hers. He nuzzled her neck as she slid his braces down, resting her hands on his hips. His eyebrows shot up. He lifted her onto the worktop
and stood between her parted knees, kissing her.
"Only you could get aroused washing dishes!" she huffed. He tittered and buried his face in her chest.