Fear strikes me, deep in my heart, at the thought of her. I won’t be able to show my face around the house at Thanksgiving if word of this disaster makes it to myabuelita.
* * *
“Four weeks.”His voice is full of awe.
“I think that’s a new record.”
“It shows our growth and development as a couple, as parents, for sure. We’re really progressing.”
A not-so-elegant snort erupts from me. “Can you imagine? We’re finally blessed with a fish we can’t kill, and its name is Crap Bag.”
Chance laughs, and I just admire the way that Adam's apple bobs as he does. “Watch this one outlive all of us.” He shakes his head in amazement, before pulling back from where he’s been staring into the watery depths of the bowl where Crap Bag lives on the windowsill above the kitchen sink.
He strolls over to the fridge and opens it, sticking his face in there instead, for the third time in the past ten minutes.
“Are you hungry?” I just fed this man, I don’t know what he’s playing at.
He tosses his head side to side. “Not really.”
“Then what are you looking for in there?”
“I dunno. Just seeing if anything’s changed.”
“Since I haven’t been grocery shopping, we haven’t had anything delivered, and you’ve been next to the fridge for the entire three minutes since the last time you checked…no, Chance, nothing has changed.”
He sighs heavily. “Just had to be sure.” He sounds soforlorn.
My turn to sigh. “Do you want a snack for our show?”
He turns around, eyes lighting up excitedly. “Do we have a new episode out?”
“We have two saved.”
“Fuck yes!”
Some things in a marriage are sacred. I’ve had a few chances to watch the most recent episodes ofMidnight Empirewithout him these past weeks, but after I snuck in aTed Lassoor two without him a few years back, and it felt tantamount to cheating on him when he found out…I didn’t make that mistake again.
Man, this show is so addicting. It’s become our way to unwind together. The plot of it would make a hell of a mafia book, actually. And that younger lead actor in the show? Aaron something or other? Whoo girl, I’d take him as the main character in one of my books any day.
“K, go get it queued up, I’ll bring something over.”
He does this dorky little jump, closes the fridge door, kisses me on the cheek, and hightails it into the living room, calling out over his shoulder on the way, “I’d say you’re all the snack I need, babe, but please bring another one with you!”
After an obligatory eye roll, I look over my shoulder to make sure he’s not paying attention, and I open the freezer door. Pull out the bags of cauliflower rice that have been there since 2018, find the bag of Brussels sprouts behind it. Quick look again to make sure he still isn’t watching, and my hand slips inside the open bag, pulling out a couple of bite-sized Snickers. I unwrap and devour them, and I don’t want any judgment from you.
Do you know how hard it is to have a snack for yourself in a house with a full-grown man? Much less with three growing boys living there, too? They can sniff this shit out from the driveway when I roll up with the groceries, or the InstaCart order arrives. It takesconnivingto stock anything I enjoy in this house and keep it around for more than a couple hours. It’s a good thing I’m a Slytherin, and I put my mental prowess to good use. And these bad boys are my little secret.
I whip up a spicy cream cheese-based dip (his favorite), break out the stash of corn chips I have to hide on a shelf that’s too high for the kids (aka too high for me too, but at least I know where to look), and lay it all out in a serving dish, then go to enjoy one of the most sacred rituals of a marriage.
The watching of our favorite show together.
“Wait!” he shouts, jumping up from his spot on the end of the couch, where he was reclined.
The dog startles, jumping off of his lap, blinking up at Chance wearily with these insanely long lashes a stripper would be jealous of. I can’t believe the good Lord above thought it a good use of His lash allotment to grace adogwith those things. I’ve seen dicks that are shorter. It’s just not fair.
This must be important if he dared disturb his bestie, Sir Wags, from their favorite spot on the couch together. I stare, and wait for him to grace me with his reasoning.
Maybe he needs a titty squeeze, or a big kiss before we both taste like garlicky cheese?
