Promises Made- Promises Kept

by Jaclyn Rosamond

  Without a pause, the morning rain shifted into bright blue sky. I put in a couple of hours heavy gardening. It’s a point of pride to provide part of our dinner from my veggie patch. Today the garden yielded carrots, green beans, lettuce and some just ripened juicy tomatoes.

  Eddie likes the spoils of our garden and guests oohing over home-grown salads, with zero interest in doing the work. He cruises the internet on days I garden. In the midst of weeding I paused, muddied and happier, I tried to find an interest we had in common. Nothing came to mind. Well, we’d only been together ten months. We’d work it out.

  My thoughts rambled hither and thither. Mum doesn’t know I do all the garden labor. On her visits to our home we wander around the garden together exchanging ideas, while dad works on conversing with his son-in-law. Mum’s work as a renowned permaculture expert and organic gardener is my inspiration. Eddie follows his parents’ less adventurous path, a few rose bushes and a couple of trees suited him.

  Grubbing around in the soil soothed away resentment. And cooking can be fun. I put my heart in it, listening to music while I prepped dinner. Once showered I dismissed Eddie’s choice of a pretty dress and pulled out jeans. They were a tad tight, but I wasn’t at the stage of having a muffin top. I pulled a loose t-shirt over the top to cover a slightly jiggly stomach and pulled my hair into a messy knot. I frowned at my reflection; my hair looked good, although Eddie preferred it loose. Bianca would come with full war paint on her face. I’m not brilliant at makeup, but I made an effort. I’d been more adept at school, but these days it was pointless wearing more than the basic mascara and lip gloss to work. I was often gowned, gloved and masked to deliver babies.

  I made a better than slapdash stab at my own war paint, in preparation for conflict in my own home. Makeup’s not entirely natural for me and I resisted the urge to clean it off and start again – dinner guests would soon turn up.

  Eddie, home from work earlier than usual, strode into the kitchen looking handsome, sleeves rolled up, casual and sexy. I smiled, still chuffed this attractive man had chosen me to spend the rest of his life with. I was nowhere near as pretty as he was good-looking. He kissed me long and hard, before taking in the dinner preparations.

  ‘Smells good.’ He sniffed the air. ‘I smell garlic, onions, basil and something else.’ His eyebrows lifted in query.

  ‘My own special chicken recipe, the one I never got around to naming. You can smell fennel, too, sprinkled through the rice.’

  ‘I love that dish.’ He beamed at me. His eyes dropped to my jeans and top and the smile fell off his face. ‘Aren’t you going to get changed?’

  A frisson of annoyance swept through me. ‘Nope, I’m in a jeans mood today.’ Does every husband question his wife’s choice of outfit? I don’t question his choices, especially when he wears jeans. I happen to think a well fitted pair of jeans is sexy on men or women.

  Eddie said nothing, but his tight lips exuded disappointment.

  Too bad he didn’t approve.

  ‘Okay.’ He gave a slight shake of his head. ‘Well, I’m going to change.’

  He left behind a hint of censure.

  And an irritated wife.

  Some of our friends would be wearing jeans tonight, so what was his problem?

  Wine glass in hand, putting last minute touches to the salad, I heard Eddie greeting our first arrivals. Shona came straight through to offer her assistance – and yes, she was wearing jeans.

  ‘Guess what?’ She bubbled, eyes wide and happy.

  I grabbed her left hand. And there it was, a beautiful pink diamond solitaire ring.

  ‘Oh my God! Congratulations.’ I threw my arms around her for an excited hug.

  ‘I’m so happy my face is hurting.’

  ‘Too much smiling?’ My question was rhetorical. ‘Okay, spill. How did he propose? When did he propose?’

  ‘Last night. It was our two-year anniversary. I’d hoped all day, you know, but he’s soooo good at keeping secrets. We went to a restaurant for an anniversary dinner. And nothing happened. It was only when we got home and I walked into the bedroom I found he’d scattered rose petals everywhere. I turned around and there he was, on bended knee.’ She hugged herself. ‘He was so romantic.’

  We giggled as she filled in the details.

  ‘Promise you’ll be my maid of honor.’

  ‘Of course. Doofus.’

  We were still twittering away when Bianca bounced into the kitchen in high spirits. I hid a grin. She was going to be so jealous.

  Shona instantly thrust her left hand out of sight. Announcements were for later.

  Bianca looked good. Instead of her slapper look she wore jeans and a T-shirt. Three women wearing jeans so far. Eddie would have to be dense not to get the message that jeans were fine. Mind you, her jeans looked fantastic, outlining a very appealing derriere and her T-shirt seemed glued to her sexy figure. While I felt justified in jeans, yet again Bianca had upped the ante in an unexpected way. The extra pounds I’d put on over our honeymoon needed to go. Especially with Shona’s wedding coming up. Nearly two years away. Plenty of time, but no way did I want to be an overweight bridesmaid.

  ‘Ooh, your beautiful ring. Why aren’t you wearing it?’ Bianca pounced on my engagement ring lying on the kitchen bench. She picked it up, eyes avid, holding it aloft to catch evening sunlight sparkling on eight diamonds.

  ‘I’ve just cleaned it and left it to dry,’ I said, voice icy, willing Bianca to put it down.

  ‘If it was mine, I’d never take it off.’ Bianca spun round, pouting bright pink lips at me.

  ‘Well, I can’t wear it at work, so it has to come off most days.’

  Perplexed, she looked at me.

  An edge crept into my voice. ‘I might scratch a patient.’

  Uncomprehending. ‘Huh?’

  ‘You know, I’m a midwife, don’t you? I help deliver babies.’ Had she heard of midwives? ‘Or I might catch it on a hospital bed and break a finger. I definitely can’t wear it when I’m assisting a birth, it might tear my surgical glove and damage mother and baby. I love it, but it’s not practical at work.’

  ‘Well, I’d still wear it.’ Bianca slipped it on her finger.

  Shona gasped. ‘Hey! You shouldn’t do that, it’s not yours.’

  Bianca flashed a cold smile, hand lifted to the sun’s rays. ‘It looks great on my hand.’ She slid a mocking sideways glance at my shorter fingers and uncared for nails. My hands closed involuntarily. My ring did look better on Bianca, with her long slender fingers and gorgeous painted nails. Scrub that, a surge of dislike overcame reason – I hated her nails – they were acrylic and far too long. Useless for practical work like gardening, cleaning or computer work.

  I shook my head. Why did I let her get under my skin?

  ‘Give it back, please.’

  She knew I was pissed off. Not even my closest friends would be rude enough to try on my ring without permission.

  Bianca handed it back with a sly smile.

  Typical. She delighted in upsetting me.

  I rinsed it pointedly under the tap and slid it back on my finger. I’d be wiser to keep my ring in the safe when I couldn’t wear it, in case Bianca’s light fingers “borrowed” it.

  Shona glared at Bianca. ‘Don’t try that again while I’m around.’

  With a cruel smile, Bianca tossed her head and flounced out of the kitchen.

  ‘Bitch! She’s horrible.’ Shona looked daggers as the door swung shut.

  ‘Forget it.’ I let out a long groan. ‘God, Shona, I can’t stand her. You know, if I tried telling Eddie what just happened just now, he wouldn’t get it, would he? Most men probably wouldn’t. They don’t get it when women are foul to each other.’

  ‘Maybe. But Martin would.’ She shrugged. ‘Shouldn’t you tell him how sneaky she is?’

  Hopelessness slid into my stomach and my shoulders tensed up. ‘It was his idea we have her over for a meal. He feels sorry for her, so if I told him this
stuff, he’d think I was being petty towards her. He wanted a cozy dinner, with just the three of us. You know that’d never happen. Can you imagine? She’d be treating him like a demi-god, while undermining me at every turn. Nightmare. I mean, it really would be a nightmare. I’ve had one already about her. That’s why everyone else is here.’

  ‘Good plan.’ Shona hesitated. ‘You don’t think she’s making a play for Eddie, do you?’

  I frowned. ‘I don’t think so. Eddie’s a bit out of her league, don’t you think? I mean he’s middle-class and she’s, you know...’ I trailed off.

  ‘You mean she’s a slut from a broken home on a council estate.’ Shona didn’t mince words.

  I nodded, my eyes flashed to hers. ‘Guilty, your honor. You said what I was thinking, I’m just too prudish to say it out loud.’

  We shared a conspiratorial grin. Guilt evaporated.

  ‘You know what you should do?’ Her smile was wicked. ‘You should fuck Eddie senseless, so all he can think about is getting home to be with you every night.’

  I grinned. ‘Already underway. I call it “Mission: Eddie gets laid”.’

  Shona snickered and slapped my back.

  ‘We’ve talked about a weekend away. We’ll just have to do it. I bet I can make it really memorable.’ I waggled my eyebrows.

  ‘Here’s to hot sex and a dirty weekend.’ We clinked glasses.

  Shona and Martin announced their engagement once everyone had gathered. We celebrated with several bottles of chilled champagne.

  Bianca was jealous. Preoccupied, she glanced again and again, eyes furtive, from my ring to Shona’s during dinner. The news kept her quiet all evening.

  In the end I was pleased we had the dinner party. Eddie had insisted on this evening to lift Bianca’s spirits, but the engagement celebration eclipsed her trumped up needs. My mood flattened after everyone had gone. Eddie left me clearing up while he surfed the internet in the study.

  Less than charmed, I banged drawers, hauled rubbish out to the bin, threw leftovers into containers and generally took my bad temper out on an uncaring kitchen. By the time I’d finished and the dishwasher was purring away, Eddie had gone to bed and was fast asleep. Any plans I had to seduce him flew out the window. I’d have turned him down flat if he’d woken wanting sex.

  Too wound up to sleep, I spent hours tossing and turning, incoherent thoughts tumbling around.

  Marriage had to be more than this. I had no intention of spending years stepping on eggshells to appease my husband. Only a few short weeks ago, before our wedding, I could have told him my feelings and he’d stroke my hair, assuring me I’m the only important person in his life and we’d have great sex and fall asleep wrapped round each other.

  Restless, I wriggled trying to get comfortable. It wasn’t only about Bianca. I was also evaluating our marriage. Still newlywed, I was feeling frustrated. I didn’t fancy being an addendum to my husband, doing housework because he couldn’t be bothered, raising kids while he played squash or headed off to the pub with mates, or watched TV while I did everything else. Or, God forbid, he took up golf, and I was a weekend widow to his sports. Eventually, I dropped off and was still fast asleep when Eddie left for work.

  When I woke up, the bedside clock shocked me out of bed. I only had an hour to get ready for my afternoon shift. I raced around showering and drying my hair before sprinting out the door, clutching a muesli bar for a late breakfast. I wondered if Eddie remembered he’d left me with all the clearing up. There’d been no note from him with an apology.

  There wasn’t much time to stew on this, my day was busy with the birth of premature twins. Their early arrival required admission to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit.

  Late that evening, I walked in to find Eddie hadn’t let me down. The kitchen was neater than I’d left it the night before.

  ‘Hello, love.’ He pulled me into his arms and kissed me. ‘I’m sorry about flaking out last night. I was too tired to think.’

  ‘Mm.’ My response was lukewarm.

  ‘C’mon,’ he cajoled.

  ‘Eddie, I didn’t appreciate cooking dinner and then having to clear up without you doing your fair share.’ I wasn’t going to yield without making a point.

  ‘I know. I was a selfish prick. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Okay.’ I was still grouchy. ‘But you should know I was really angry. I felt like I’d been taken for granted and we’ve only just got married.’ I looked at him, eyes worried.

  ‘Oh, c’mon Rose,’ he protested. ‘It was just one night. It won’t happen again. Tell you what – why don’t we go out for dinner tonight, just a romantic dinner for two? Hmm?’

  ‘That’d be nice.’ I snuggled into him. ‘And afterwards we can come home and have a night of hot, passionate sex, how does that sound?’

  ‘Now there’s an offer I can’t refuse.’ He hauled me closer. ‘Sure you want to go out for dinner?’

  ‘Your choice, husband.’ I put my hand on his belt suggestively. ‘I’m just as happy staying here with you and maybe heating up a pizza later.’

  And that’s exactly what we did. Later that night, as we lay cuddled in bed, I could only marvel at how different this night had been from rage and frustration last night.

  Chapter Five

  When does a marriage change? I can’t pinpoint an exact moment. Where is the line that says “here we were happy” and “here things changed”?

  For us it started approximately four weeks after we returned from our honeymoon.

  Exhausted, I arrived home after a late shift and two new births, loving the warm and sunny evening. I parked in the garage and entered the front hall in a stupor of tiredness. I threw my keys in the designated bowl and called out for Eddie.

  ‘In the kitchen.’

  Cooking smells wafted through the house; garlic, basil, bacon. Fantastic. Eddie making dinner was infrequent. And I was starving. Perfect.

  ‘This smells yummy,’ I said, walking into the kitchen. ‘Thanks for making dinner.’

  ‘Hello, gorgeous wife.’ He pulled me in for a big smooch. He soon picked up my heart wasn’t in a hugging mood. ‘What’s this? Feed my hungry wife, before she starts snacking on me, huh?’

  I grinned. ‘You’re starting to look very tasty right now – and not in the way you have in mind.’

  ‘Sit.’ He pulled out a bar stool and popped a plate of pasta carbonara in front of me, packed full of bacon and cream. A recipe book lay open at the page, evidence he’d gone to some trouble to cook a meal. A modest salad sat next to the meal.

  ‘Thanks, darling.’ I hoisted myself up onto the stool and picked up a fork. Eddie making dinner was fantastic, but my plan to lose extra pounds I’d acquired from our honeymoon, and in the weeks since, seemed a distant goal. I’d been a size ten on my wedding day, now recent purchases were a size fourteen. My looming reflection in changing room mirrors made me squirm as I tried on clothes.

  I didn’t feel healthy. I was tired all the time. I felt boring, too. Instead of enjoying outings with Eddie, or evenings out with friends, I’d lapsed into a habit of reading a book, or plonked in front of the TV for an hour or two while he surfed the net, before falling into bed.

  Eddie kept up a running commentary as we ate. I tuned out a little, because as much as he hates me talking about my work – “all that blood and guts” – I find his work talk a bit tedious, too. Accountancy isn’t stimulating conversation. At least to me. Instead of giving him my full attention, I focused on how our daily life had become dull and repetitive. Here I was at twenty-nine years old, sitting in front of the telly, sometimes with Eddie, nearly every night. Hardly a lifestyle I’d envisaged for us in our twenties. Isn’t that what older people do? What was happening to us? It was too soon to think we’d settled. But we were in danger of settling into mediocrity.

  We needed to talk about this. I waited for a suitable pause in his flow of conversation.

  Then Eddie dropped his bombshell. At the time, it didn’t seem li
ke a bombshell, just a Molotov cocktail of surprise.

  He looked up, catching my eyes, fork poised. ‘By the way, I’ve joined a gym,’

  Taken aback, I uttered one word.

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Yeah.’ His face had that half guilty, half sheepish look of a child expecting trouble. ‘I wanted to do this after our honeymoon, you know, to be as fit as Cal.’

  ‘Right. The surfie hunk. You had buff body envy.’ A small frown creased my forehead.

  ‘Something like that.’ He threw me a sharp look. ‘But you’d like me to look like that, wouldn’t you?’

  Conflicted, I weighed his words. On the one hand he’d implied he was doing it for me, when I knew he wasn’t. On the other hand, if I complained, he might mention my current figure flaws, and my ego couldn’t take the heat. I took the craven way out.

  ‘That sounds great, tell me about it.’

  More than happy for me to listen, he described in detail the weights and cardio program he’d worked out with a trainer. It sounded like a hellish version of boot camp to me. I listened, determined to be positive.

  ‘I did a full cardio workout today, and Jim, who showed me how to use all the equipment, said I was in better shape than some of the tossers who turn up every day, prancing around in gym gear, not actually doing much unless it’s to hit on the gym bunnies.’ He saw my face, ‘I mean women. At the gym.’

  I hadn’t thought of that. There’d be plenty of slim, trim, taut and single women at the gym. One of them might crack onto my handsome husband. How would he respond to blatant blandishments? Especially with an increasingly hefty wife in the background.

  Time to really start losing those extra pounds.

  Eddie’s gym decision floored me. We always talked about big decisions. I broached the subject he’d skimmed over.

  ‘How much does it all cost?’

  A reasonable question.

  A flicker of irritation crept into his face. ‘Well, there was the initial joining fee and then fortnightly payments start next week.’

  My eyes widened. ‘How long have you joined for?’

  ‘A year. It’s cheaper to join for a year than three months.’ His voice took on an edge. ‘Then, if I want to keep going, the payments come out of our bank account until I say I’ve had enough.’