Her hair is falling out of her ponytail and there are dark circles under her eyes. Her uniform is wrinkled and stained with coffee. She drops her purse on the counter and yanks the rubber band out of her hair as she huffs.
"I had a rough day," she snips. "Can we not do this?"
I set down the spoon and turn to face her. Her jaw is clenched and her hands are balled into fists. Whatever happened today has left her wound up tight.
I know just how she feels. How many times have I felt the same way coming home from one job or another that didn't go well? It makes me wish she'd just quit that shitty job, but she was right when she pointed out that if she quits, she'll have a difficult time finding more work when we get that annulment.
"Come sit down." I gesture toward the table. "Dinner's almost ready." I wasn't intending to have to share, but I did make extra so I'd have some left over. But I don’t mind doing this. It makes me feel a bit domestic, cooking dinner for her to come home and share a meal like a real couple.
She doesn’t really move. Her shoulders are stiff but not squared as she stares at her feet.
"I'm not hungry." She crosses her arms. "I'm going to shower."
I turn off the burner. The sauce can wait and right now, I need to figure out what has her so agitated.
"What happened at work?" I lean back against the counter and plant the heels of my hands on either side of me on the counter.
"Nothing." She won't meet my eyes.
"Tell me what happened." Coaxing this out of her feels like an interrogation. I suppose if I'd done anything to make this feel like a real relationship from the beginning, she'd be more pliable for me, but I didn't have time to romance her and wait it out. I did what I had to do and it had to be done fast, and that made this chasm open up between us.
She finally looks up and her green eyes are blazing. "Why do you care?" She takes a step toward me. "What? Do you wonder if this is gonna cause problems for you? You don't really care what happens in my life."
She's not wrong about some part of that. I don't want more trouble in my life, but that wasn't why I was hoping she'd open up. I am interested in her anger on a human level, though I can see that pushing her will only make it worse. So I turn back to the counter.
"Sit down and eat, please. You're hungry…" I start plating the food. "We can talk or we can sit in silence."
I hear her chair scrape and when I turn, she's sitting at the table with her arms crossed, so I set a plate in front of her and sit down with my own. Danica picks up her fork and then sets it back down without taking a bite. She's staring at her plate blankly and it looks to me like she's trying to keep her anger in check, or perhaps she's stopping herself from crying.
I take a bite of food and groan at how delicious it is. Sometimes I think I should've been a chef, but the magic of the moment is lost when she glares at me. "Come on. Just tell me what's wrong. I'm not a monster, Danica." Twirling my fork in the pasta, I cringe as she shouts at me.
"So you can fix it? Control it?" she spits venomously, and I bite my tongue so I don't snap at her.
I set down my fork and lean back. This is veering in a direction I wasn't expecting. "I'm trying to have dinner with my wife." I know I keep using that word, but it feels comfortable. I don't know what else to call her. She isn't a friend or a client. I can'tsay she's the woman I love because that notion is far from the truth. So I'm not sure what else to call her.
Danica laughs bitterly and shakes her head then runs a hand down over her face and the glare returns. "Don't call me that." Okay, something has really gotten into her. Whatever it is, I'm not sure I like this side of her coming out again. I thought we were past the bitchy bickering now, but it seems something at work has reminded her how much she hates this arrangement.
"What am I supposed to call you?" I stand slowly.
She opens her mouth and then closes it. Her hands are shaking and I watch her ball them into fists. "This is a transaction—nothing more." She points at me.
Her words make me stop short of snapping back at her because I can't respond. She is, of course, very correct—coldly so—no matter how much the past ten days have seemed so natural to me. Coming home to someone has felt inviting and warm. Almost like a part of me was missing and I’d found it. I got so comfortable so fast, and I can see how wrong of me that was. But it doesn't change that I can see her frustrated and I want to help.
"Then why are you so upset?" I move toward her, but her hand shoots up in a motion meant to halt me.
Danica shoots to her feet and backs up, and her jaw locks as she grits her teeth, but she manages to say, "Because you won't leave me alone." But her voice is shaky, not fierce and determined. She's scared, not angry. "You forced me to marry you and now you're everywhere."
She turns and walks toward the bedroom shaking, but I follow her because this needs to be resolved. Doesn't she realize that whatever is going on, I can help her? I have so many resourcesavailable to me, and for the fact that she married me to help me out, I can’t see why I wouldn’t go to any length to fix whatever it is that's happening to her.
But when she stops in the doorway and goes completely still, I know an explosion is imminent. I move up behind her and see what she's looking at. Three boxes are stacked against the wall with her name written on them, collected from her house by my guys earlier. I thought she'd feel more at home if I had her belongings brought by, and I can tell right away that maybe it was the wrong move.
"What is this?" She turns to face me and her expression is murderous.
I should have anticipated this but I didn't think it through. She did freak out when they brought her some clothes, but I assumed that blow up happened because the wedding was so sudden and forced.
"I had Nenad and Jovan bring over the rest of your things," I say softly. "I thought you'd be more comfortable… Besides, if immigration sniffs around, they'll want to see evidence of our life here. You need your things here." The words make guilt riddle my gut. While it may be true that MUP could pressure her for marrying me, I know they'd figure out she was under duress and let her off. What I cringe at is how slimy I sound. Trying to intimidate her into silence is so childish of me, and that's the way I handle men who don't submit.
But Danica isn't a soldier I can manhandle into submission. She's too… I don’t know the word.
