TWENTY
Some Havarti With That Whine?
Arthur
Well, that couldn'thave gone any worse, could it? My wife’s fidelity was questioned, then she was body-shamed on national television by who I now see is a rather nasty person. I’m sorry I ever fancied Veronica’s legs at all. Immediately following the interview, I had to rush off before I could check that Tessa’s okay, so now I’ve been worrying, even though in several text conversations, she’s assured me she’s fine. Angry, but fine.
The rest of my day was spent going from meeting to meeting as we prepare for the upcoming Earth Summit. If I allow myself to think about everything that’s going on right now, it’s rather overwhelming. Not only is the new security system proving to be a real nightmare to install, requiring the entire palace to be rewired and costing an amount of money that would make my wife faint if she knew, there’s been such a backlash to the child endangerment check requests, I think I may have to abandon it for guests. I do understand the babies will never be alone with a guest of the palace and will never be without a bodyguard, but still. I hate to lose on something like this.
Not to mention the fact that the total lack of sex is a bit jarring to the system. I don't want to complain because I know Tessa's got it much worse than me, but let me just say that going from having sex constantly in a variety of inventive positions and places to having absolutely no sex at all for the past several months is a bit of a...letdown.
Then to get really personal for a moment here, because I know you don't mind, Tessa’s new look with regards to her ability to fill out her blouses is rather alluring. I find myself thinking about those new, fabulously full tatas morning, noon, and night. The crap part is I likely won’t be able to get my hands on them at all until they're back to their regular size.
Don't get me wrong, I'm definitelynotcomplaining about her normal size—her curves have always delighted my senses—but these new breasts are spectacular in a way in which I have never known (and am likely never to get to know personally).
So now I'm in the sexually frustrated loop of being able to look but not touch, followed by feeling rather pervy at my new fixation. Yesterday, I almost thought I had a shot at some fooling around, but it turned out that when Tessa asked me for a back rub after her shower, she really literally meant a back rub, full stop. As soon as I had a little thumb on some side boob, the whole thing was put to a halt (rather abruptly, I might add). Not that I blame her, as she described that she feels like an out-of-control hormone-filled balloon. I can only imagine how confusing and awkward that would feel. My already considerable empathy for what women go through to bring the next generation into the world is growing steadily along at the same rate as my wife's chest.
But still...they just look so inviting, you know? So pillowy soft.
Damn. Is it really nine p.m. already? I’ve completely missed dinner with Tessa again. I get up from my desk and stride toward the door, only to have it open before I can get to it.
Gran comes in. “Thought I’d catch you here.”
“I was just on my way out.”
“This’ll only take a minute.” She walks over to my liquor cart and pours herself a sip of Scotch. “I watched that horrible interview today, and I figured you’d be too thick to cancel the rest of your day and look after your wife. I see I was right.”
“She’s fine. As you’ve pointed out to me on many an occasion, she’s a very strong woman.”
“Not in this case. That was awful. She’ll be feeling very bad about herself by now and will need her loving husband by her side now.”
“In that case, I should take your advice and get going.”
Holding her glass up to me, Gran says, “In a second. I also wanted to check on you and see how you're managing. If I remember correctly, most men start to feel a good deal of self-pity right around the middle of the second trimester." Her pinky goes up as she tips her drink back, making her look every bit the regal lady she is. So, the next thing she says should be a shock, but knowing her the way I do, I'm not the least surprised. "You're probably getting sexually frustrated. And in your case, you've got a lot of other stresses surrounding the birth most men don't have to deal with."
I let out a sigh of relief, finally finding someone with whom I can speak openly. I'm just about to unburden myself when she holds up one finger and stops me.
"I didn't come so you could complain. I'm sure you have quite the sob story built up in your mind already, but it will do you no good to dwell on any of it. Now, I'm going to give you a little insider’s information that should help you with some of your—ahem—marital problems. You can thank me later.”
She pours another ‘sip’, which, when added to the first one, is a full drink for a woman who has given up drinking. “Tessa is under an enormous amount of pressure. She is expected to carry a child without ever gaining weight, complaining, swelling up, feeling sick, or having any difficulty whatsoever with labour pains.
“And as you know, the media has been rather unkind to her in this regard. So your job is to bring your husband A game. You need to romance the hell out of her—expecting nothing to come of it, mind you. She needssomeoneto make her feel beautiful, and that someone had better bloody well be you. God knows her mother won’t be any help at all. The woman is nothing short of nasty when it comes to her daughter. It's appalling, really. I've done my best to compliment Tessa and assure her that she looks perfectly lovely, which obviously she doesn't, but she needs to hear it fromyou. Every day, over and over, until those babies are born and she starts the long and arduous journey to get her figure back—which in her case will likely include surgical assistance.”
“Surgery? Do you really—?”
“Most definitely.” She sets the glass down and starts for the door. “All right, I should go. My poker game’s about to start. Chin up. Man up. Be a good husband.”
And with that, she’s gone.
***
WHEN I WALK THROUGHthe front door, I know immediately that Tessa’s gone to bed already. My first clue is that all the lights are off. The second is the incredibly loud snoring coming from the far end of our apartment. I mean, seriously, every night it seems to increase in volume. I’m a little scared that by the time the babies are born, she’ll have lifted the roof off the palace like Fred Flintstone. But that little comparison stays between us. It would hurt Tessa terribly—she doesn’t even know she snores actually. And she certainly doesn’t know how much worse it’s gotten in the past few weeks.
I’m a little crestfallen that she’s asleep already because I have to leave for Geneva before six tomorrow morning and I had really hoped to undo some of the damage Veronica Platt did today before getting on a plane. I hate the idea of having to leave her here, especially since she’s likely feeling less than beautiful.
Grabbing a sheet of paper, I sit at the kitchen table and write her a note:
Dearest Tessa,
In case you’re still asleep when I leave for Switzerland, I wanted you to wake to written proof of how exceptionally perfect you are. I hate like hell that I have to leave you at all, even if it’s only for three days. You have no idea how hollow my days are without you by my side. They’re not only dull, but lonely.
I’m sorry that my life causes you to have to go through things like that horrible interview. If I could hide you away from any criticism for the rest of our lives, I’d do it. But since I can’t, please let me compliment you on how beautifully you handled yourself under such scrutiny (very Grace Kelly).
Anyway, just in case you forget, you’re by far the most attractive woman I’ve ever met. Each day (and this is true, so don’t question it), I am increasingly under your spell. Seeing you grow into motherhood has only solidified my love for you. You are becoming quite the MILF (no pressure, of course, but just thought you’d like to know how badly I want you).
Can’t wait for our weekend away together.
All my love and affection,
Arthur
