"Then what do you need?" She's getting emotional now.
"I don't know! Spontaneity? Normal human interaction? Not having sex toys displayed on my dining table while we eat pasta?"
"You don't like any of this?" She gestures at all her careful preparations.
"No! None of it! This is—" I stop, looking at her face.
She looks genuinely upset. Like she actually thought this was helpful. Like she put real effort and thought into this.
Either she's the best actress I've ever encountered, or she's completely serious about all of this.
I honestly can't tell which option is worse.
"Liana." I sit back down, trying to be calmer. "Why did you do all this?"
"I told you. To be prepared for marriage—"
"No. Really. Why did you actually do this?"
She's quiet for a moment, her expression vulnerable. "Because I want to be a good wife. Like my mother is to my father."
"Being a good wife doesn't mean scheduling intimacy like dental appointments."
"Then what does it mean?" She sounds lost.
"It means being present. Being real. Being..." I gesture helplessly. "Not this. Not schedules and charts and plans."
"Oh." She looks down at her laptop, at the schedule she clearly worked hard on. "You don't want the calendar system?"
"No. Absolutely not."
"Or the birth control comparison charts?"
"We can discuss birth control later. Privately. Without charts and graphs."
"What about the honeymoon options?"
"We're not going to a swingers resort. That's final."
"So that's a no on the toys too?"
I look at the collection on my table, struggling to process. "Take this away. All of it." I gesture at everything. "The schedule, the charts, the toys—everything. Take it all away."
"But I worked really hard on this—"
"I don't care."
She starts packing things back into her tote bag slowly, methodically. Looking completely dejected.
I should feel victorious. I should feel relieved.
Instead, I just feel confused and suspicious.
Because part of me—a very small, very cynical part—wonders if she did this on purpose. If she showed up with sex toys and swingers resort brochures knowing exactly how I'd react.
But why would she do that?
"Liana," I say as she's packing away the last of the toys. "Can I ask you something?"
