My breath caught in my throat. There he stood looking so elegant and handsome in his black tuxedo with a long box nestled in the crook of his arm. He was so handsome, how could I be so lucky?
“Andrew, come in,” I had no idea this date was so formal, but was glad I wore my basic black dress. “I guess we are celebrating.”
I excused myself and hurried into the bedroom to add my grandmother’s pearl necklace so I looked as elegant as him. No doubt about it, I was in store for a special evening. Patting my dress, I took a last look in the mirror and straightened the pearls then hurried to join Andrew.
“Ah, my lovely lady,” He bowed from his waist before he presented the box to me.
I opened it to find a dozen long stemmed red roses. “Oh Andrew, they’re beautiful.” Their soft fragrance filled the room. My pulse quickened and I couldn’t wait to see where we were going.
“Your chariot awaits, my love.” Andrew took my hand and tucked it through his elbow.
“Wait!” I couldn’t help but laugh at his exaggerated politeness. “Wait! I have to find a vase and get these in water first. What are we celebrating anyway?”
“My promotion came through.” Andrew kissed my hand before letting it go. “Along with a hefty raise, and I’m not being transferred out of the Hawthorne plant.” He took the flowers from me, handed them to Jenny, and gently pushed her still open mouth closed with his other hand. “Take care of these for us please.”
“Andrew, that’s fantastic!” I tucked my hand through his elbow and walked beside him to the car, thrilled at the news. “I’m so excited that you don’t have to transfer someplace else.”
That had been one of our biggest fears. Both Andrew and I were family oriented, and the thought of moving to another city didn’t sit well with either of us. Although, I knew Andrew would do it in a minute if the opportunity presented itself.
I leaned back and snuggled against the rich leather seat of the limo, enjoying the luxuriousness of the ride. This was by far the best date ever. We stopped in front of Andrew’s apartment and I gave him a questioning look. He opened the door and reached for my hand.
“What...?”
“Just wait and see.” He interrupted, before I finished the question. Outside his apartment, he covered my eyes with one hand. “I want this to be a surprise,” he whispered. The hint of his breath on my neck sent chills through me.
When he removed his hand, the room took my breath away. Candlelight cast a magical glow around the room, and vases of beautifully arranged flowers enhanced the apartment. A table set for two with candles in crystal holders added to the romantic atmosphere. The fact Andrew owned a white linen tablecloth and elegant fluted champagne glasses, not to mention the gold-rimmed china and real silverware, surprised me. This man never ceased to amaze me. I twirled around the room, looking from one thing to another.
“What...? How...?” The usually drab apartment had been transformed into something deliciously elegant. “It’s so beautiful. How...?”
Andrew laughed, obviously pleased with my reaction. “For the love of my life, nothing is too good for you.” He pulled out my chair and served a delicious meal of Chicken Kiev. He waited on me and refused to allow me to help. “This is my dinner, my treat,” he said.
To say I felt like a queen is an understatement. Andrew certainly treated me like one, especially that night.
After our excellent dinner, Andrew poured champagne and stood to make a toast. I couldn’t help but laugh at his formality. Of all the romantic dates, this had to be, by far, the most romantic evening yet. I didn’t think he could top it.
He smiled at me and raised his glass. “To the most beautiful woman in the world.” He took a sip and knelt in front of me on one knee, took my hand, and slipped a diamond ring on my finger. “Meg, I’ve thought of a million ways to say this, but I can think of only one way to say I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want you as the mother of my children. I want you for my wife. Will you marry me?”
I stared at the ring on my finger. Never, in my wildest dreams, had I expected this. I couldn’t help it, my eyes filled with tears. My heart beat against my chest until I thought it would burst. “Andrew—I...I...yes. Oh yes!” I stood, pulled him up, and threw my arms around his neck.
The memory of the proposal still brought tears to my eyes, even after all these years. The whole romantic evening sent shivers up my spine. It was the most romantic night of my life.
For all his sweetness, Andrew also had his faults. And, perfect as I tried to be, I occasionally irritated him as he did me. Sometimes his spontaneity drove me up the wall. I liked things planned and organized. Andrew thought nothing of taking an afternoon off and expected me to drop everything to spend an afternoon on the beach or just taking a ride. Sure, it was romantic and fun, but he seemed to forget that, while I didn’t have a job, I still had commitments.
His habit of leaving stuff scattered about annoyed me to no end. His desk looked like a tornado went through it.
It made him angry when I straightened it, and I really tried hard to restrain myself, but sometimes it got the best of me, and I couldn’t control the urge to at least straighten up the papers. What was so hard about putting everything in neat piles, anyway?
A place for everything and everything in its place. I even went so far as providing him with folders, but did he use them? Of course not. Sometimes, I thought he did it just to annoy me.
We also had our fair share of disagreements, often about the house. Although Andrew had given me free rein on decorating, he insisted on having the final say about antiques or furniture purchases. He liked everything big and oversized. Fortunately, the rooms could handle it, but I would have liked some smaller more delicate pieces. The only piece I stuck to my guns about was the small rocker in our bedroom. I would have preferred a Victorian or a ranch style house to begin with, but over the years, had grown to love our big colonial.
I stood and walked around the room. Thinking about it, I realized we never really argued. We disagreed, but most of the time Andrew’s word was final. I hated confrontation, always had, so, I usually gave in. It was easier that way and what difference did it make? I was happy.
Wasn’t I?
I ran my hand along the cherry mantle, enjoying the smoothness of the wood. I loved this room and everything about it. It was cozy, comfortable. We used to spend a lot of time in here in front of the fireplace, reading or discussing books and politics.
What had happened to those days? We lost them somewhere along the way. Raising kids, business trips, and my commitments to various charities had taken over our lives. But still, we used to make time. Until lately, that is.
Lately, with all the traveling Andrew did, we seldom had time for anything anymore. Tears stung my eyes. Picking up our wedding picture from the mantle, I stared at it through blurred eyes. We looked so happy. What had happened to us? We had made so many plans for the future. Had such great ideas.
I recalled the preparations for our storybook wedding that occupied most of my time the year after graduation. I had enjoyed shopping and decorating our small apartment. Andrew preferred me to stay home instead of working. He didn’t have to ask twice, I loved the idea. Wasn’t that my dream to be a wife and mother? I had never been career oriented. Fortunately, Andrew’s substantial income afforded me the privilege of staying home.
His mother had filled her time volunteering at various charity organizations, and Andrew expected the same of his wife. I didn’t have a problem with that. Volunteering in the children’s ward at the hospital and working on fundraising committees was very rewarding. Luncheons at the club with my mother-in-law and other friends helped fill the gap. It was a great life.
Not long after our marriage, I discovered I was pregnant, much to our delight. My dream had finally come true. A wonderful husband and now a baby, what more could any woman ask for?
Excited to tell Andrew, I planned a special intimate dinner and set the table with a blue l
inen cloth and cascaded pink flowers through the center. I carefully arranged and rearranged them so many times, waiting for Andrew to come home‑‑it surprised me the flowers didn’t wilt.
Andrew finally came in and kissed me hello.
I threw my arms around him. “Andrew, guess what? We’re going to have a baby.” I couldn’t contain my excitement anymore and blurted the news before he even saw the dining room.
“A baby! When?” He twirled me around the room. “Meg that’s wonderful.” He stopped dancing, held me at arm’s length, and put his hand on my still flat stomach. “When?”
“July.” I laughed at the expression on his face, like he expected the baby any minute.
“July.” He counted on his fingers. “That’s still seven months away. Seven months...that’s...that’s like forever. Are you okay? I mean do you feel okay? You don’t have that — what is it — morning sickness, do you? You better sit down, get off your feet.”
Even now, a chuckle escaped at the memory of Andrew, the typical new father-to-be, concerned, anxious and nervous as all get out. And oh, so attentive. I couldn’t help but laugh the first time we made love after I told him. He was so afraid of hurting me or the baby. It took Doc Miller to finally assure him that nothing we did was going to hurt either of us.
Two years after Jason was born, we found out I was pregnant with Julie. We were ecstatic.
“We have to get a house.” Andrew decided at dinner one evening. “This apartment isn’t big enough for one child, let alone two.” He set his fork down and looked at me, as if for agreement, but went on without giving me a chance to answer. “It has to be the perfect house. I want at least four, maybe five bedrooms, a den, and large yard either with a pool or big enough for one. May as well buy big enough now, we don’t want to be moving again in a couple of years.”
I agreed with him. Besides, we both wanted a houseful of kids. Happy and content with Andrew, Jason and the new pregnancy, the size of the house didn’t really matter. Sure, I would have preferred a Victorian to fix up or a smaller ranch style house, but I understood the importance and prestige of a large house for Andrew.
His job dictated it. He expected me to entertain on a regular basis and, up until then, we had to do it at the club. So I gave in willingly. After all, Andrew had an image to portray. What difference did it make about the size or style of the house? Life was good.
The only stipulation I did insist on was a large kitchen. I loved to cook and wanted room to maneuver and lots of cupboard space. I hated bumping into each other in a small kitchen. And, it had to be an eat-in kitchen, besides a formal dining room. Something about eating in the kitchen, at least for breakfasts and lunches, brought a family together. That’s how I grew up. I loved big warm, inviting kitchens. A place to bake with the kids and share talk of school and other activities. Andrew didn’t even question me. If I wanted a big kitchen, so be it. After all, he said, I was the one who spent my time in it. As long as our dinners were served in the dining room, he didn’t care where he ate breakfast. I would have eaten every meal in the kitchen, but Andrew insisted dinner be formal.
I enjoyed house hunting and set up the appointments for evenings, when Andrew could join me. He had specific things he wanted and gave the list to their realtor. I didn’t want to look at houses alone, after all it wasn’t my house, it was ours. Besides, the house mattered more to Andrew than it did me. It didn’t take long before we found the perfect home.
We moved just two months before Julie’s birth, which left me just enough time to finish Jason’s room. For the first month, I wanted the baby in our room, so finishing the nursery wasn’t a priority. It would get finished soon enough. Besides, I didn’t know whether to do it in pink or blue until Julie was born.
Sadly, complications during delivery prevented me from having any more children. Disappointed that we couldn’t have a large family, we thanked God for blessing us with a boy and a girl, and got on with life.
I soon found out what a handful two kids could be, especially so close in age. When Julie wasn’t crying, Jason was getting into something. And eventually, what one didn’t think of to get into, the other did. But they played well together, and Jason looked out for his baby sister. Even now, they got along well and shared many of the same friends.
The kids grew so quickly, taking on their own personalities. Julie, dark-haired like me, had inherited her father’s sense of humor and spontaneity, whereas Jason, sober-minded and down to earth like me, had his father’s blond curls.
Jason tried so hard to help me take care of Julie. It sometimes made me laugh. Ever the little helper, he brought me diapers even when I didn’t need them and often begged to feed his sister, holding her bottle so carefully in his little hands. Of course, his attention span was still short, and he’d soon be off playing with his toys.
I filled my time decorating the house and caring for Julie and Jason. Life couldn’t get any better. I had everything I ever dreamed of, an attentive, loving husband, beautiful children, and a dream house. What more could a woman ask for?
At that point of my life - nothing.
Life was good until Julie started school. Then I filled my time car-pooling, redecorating their rooms, and volunteering. There was a lot to keep me busy, and that’s when Andrew started traveling. Only a little at first, a week here and there every few months. Nothing major, and he managed to come home to attend Jason’s softball games and other important events. I didn’t mind, between the kids and volunteering, I certainly had enough to keep me busy.
So when did it all go wrong? What changed over the years?
Somewhere along the line, we stopped communicating. We no longer discussed books or politics. We still played an occasional game of tennis with the kids, and sometimes we golfed, but always with a group.
There was never any alone time. Even our dinners were either on the run or with business associates or friends. I couldn’t remember when just the two of us last sat down and had a decent conversation. Andrew began traveling more and more.
As the years passed, Andrew’s business dealings took him out of town so often that he began missing most of the soccer games. Still, he managed to come home most weekends and holidays, of course. But usually, he was gone most of the week and sometimes for two weeks at a time. The kids had their own social lives. Sports, other after-school activities, and their friends kept them too busy to stay home and keep me company. Not that I expected them to. They had their own lives to live. They certainly weren’t supposed to entertain me. That’s when I began feeling lonely. Lonely and abandoned.
This should have been the best time of our lives. Freedom – no more worry about babysitters. So when, and how, had it fallen apart?
The kids couldn’t fill the deep conversation I had with Andrew, not to mention our sex life. I missed that too, but not as much as the friendship we had shared.
Making love with Andrew had always been tender and gentle, loving and fun. Throughout the years we had been adventurous and even experimented on occasion. Andrew had always been a gentle lover, but his spontaneous nature and sense of humor led to an exciting and sensuous relationship.
But lately, our lovemaking had become automatic - still tender and gentle, but it lacked excitement, spontaneity. Andrew often fell asleep instead of cuddling or talking afterwards like we used to. I made excuses for him, but I missed our bedroom conversations.
Heck, I missed all our conversations.
Sometimes, it seemed Andrew preferred television to making love or talking. It had been so long since we discussed a book. It had been a long time since Andrew even read a book. And he hardly ever watched the news, so discussing politics didn’t exist either.
All he wanted to do was watch a movie or go to sleep. He hardly ever stayed awake to watch the news anymore. Oh sure, I knew his job wore him out, but gone was the romantic, spontaneous man I married. Andrew hadn’t done anything spontaneous for years.
Even when the kids were young, he used t
o surprise me with a romantic evening out occasionally. Once he even arranged for my mother to watch the kids for a weekend and took me to an exclusive spa.
What a romantic get-away that was. We slept in an elegant room, complete with a whirlpool bath, fireplace, and luxurious furniture. We dined at the outdoor grill and hiked the nearby trails to Hawthorne Falls. The nights were spent in front of the fireplace curled up with wine and cheese. Our lovemaking was romantic and exciting and not interrupted from the kids cries. I sighed, remembering how romantic Andrew had been. How he had a dozen red roses and a bottle of champagne sent to our room for me.
Still, loneliness didn’t excuse what I did last night. Why hadn’t I stopped Paul? His flattery had intoxicated me, along with the alcohol. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy the idea that someone else found me attractive, but how had I let it get so out of control? What force drew me to him? It was like I couldn’t get enough of him right from the first time we met at the club.
Other attractive men had been attentive to me in the past, even flirted with me a little. Heck, I even flirted back, but never in my wildest dreams had I thought of cheating on Andrew. No one held that kind of attraction to me. I had no interest in other men.
So - why this time? Why Paul? What made me do it? Dear God almighty, he was going to be Jason’s soccer coach.
I still loved Andrew, but my actions last night confused me. How could I begin to explain something I didn’t understand myself? Paul meant nothing to me — I didn’t even like him. Especially now. When I saw him this morning, I wondered what it was that even attracted me in the first place.
Could loneliness have caused me to become so devious? So callous and uncaring? So unthinking? An adulteress? The term sent shivers up my spine. I hated the very sound of it. Hated what I had become.
One thing I knew for sure, I needed to make Paul understand that last night was a horrible mistake, one that wouldn’t be repeated. Ever!
Another Day (Books We Love mature romance) Page 3