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“That’s different, and you know it. I mean, shit…” I took a quick look to the man in particular at the neighboring table. He was the one who seemed most interested in our conversation. When I looked in his direction, he was staring right at me. Didn’t bother to look away or even appear embarrassed to be caught eavesdropping.
“What the fuck are you looking at? Maybe if your own date was a bit more exciting, you wouldn’t be so invested in ours. Hmmm?” I bugged my eyes out as a prompt for him to defend himself.
But the guy was a total pussy and finally had the sense to look away. When I refocused on Carmen, he was grinning.
He just shook his head. I had no idea what the smile or the gesture meant, but at least he didn’t seem mad about my outburst.
“My God, people can be so rude,” I muttered and took a bite of my meal. And promptly groaned in delight now that I allowed myself to taste it. “Dude, you weren’t kidding. This is fabulous,” I commented, stabbing my fork downward toward my dinner.
“Thank you for eating. I hate wasting food, or money for that matter. And I’m not trying to ruin our evening. I seriously thought it would be better to give you some warning on the expectation rather than spring it on you Sunday morning.”
I really didn’t know how to proceed. I didn’t like being railroaded into doing things I didn’t want to do, and the whole situation was giving me déjà vu. Deciding to just lay my cards on the table, I took a deep breath and attempted to explain to my man why I got so riled up. Marriage was all about compromise, after all. Right?
“I’m just going to be straight with you here, okay?” I waited for him to assent in one way or another and then just blurted what came to mind before I lost my nerve. “I feel cornered when you try to make me do things I don’t want to do. And I’m not referring to sex in this statement at all because that’s a whole different conversation. But I feel minimized as a person and as a partner in our relationship when you treat me that way.”
Wow. I impressed the hell out of myself with how articulate that was. He had to give me points for the honest communication if nothing else.
Then I couldn’t seem to stop myself from explaining further. “My parents treated me that way my entire life. Even as an adult. Oh, flighty Agatha can’t make her own decisions. We better tell her what to do.” I held his stare with my own for a few beats, then finished with, “I don’t want to feel that way with you too.”
Carmen was thoughtful for a bit, and I got very nervous in his quiet. He took a couple bites of his meal, thoughtfully chewing over my words along with his food.
When he spoke, I expected praise for my articulate expression or a comment about the context, at least. Instead, he said, “This is the best steak I’ve had in a long time. I think they have a new chef here.”
I stared at him with a blank expression. And not the manufactured one I slid on when I was hiding my true feelings. This was legitimate, dumfounded confusion. Really? We were going to talk about beef and the current employee roster of the restaurant? I was just more vulnerable than I had been with anyone—or cared to be—and that was the feedback he gave me?
“Darling, listen to me. It’s two hours out of your life.” He lifted a brow and continued. “Can you just do this for me?”
When I didn’t immediately reply, he added, “Please?”
“That’s a dirty tactic, and you know it.” Yeah, another thing that reminded me of my parents, but did I share that with him? What good would it do other than make me more vulnerable, and I’d already had my share of that for the evening.
“I’m not trying to play dirty. I’m not playing at all. Why do you feel that way?”
“Because it feels like you’re guilting me into doing what you want! How don’t you hear that in what you’re asking?” My volume grew much louder than appropriate for a restaurant, but the frustration strangling me dictated the level.
I needed to calm down, so I slid my wineglass toward him by the round base. Of course, he had an opinion about that too.
He looked at the glass like he had never seen such an object and then raised his eyes to meet mine. “I’d prefer if you ate more food first, Storm.”
Through clenched teeth, I hissed, “Right now I don’t give two fucks what you prefer. Either fill my glass, or I’ll stand up and do it myself. I’ve had enough of your controlling bullshit for one evening.” I raised a finger before saying, “No, strike that—for the rest of time.”
Begrudgingly, he filled my glass halfway and slid it back toward me. I snatched the thing so aggressively, some of the liquid sloshed over the rim and onto my hand.
“Goddammit,” I muttered. Even after wiping with my napkin, my skin was still sticky. “I need to go wash my hands,” I said in explanation as I stood. “He can wrap this to go if he comes by.” I waved toward my barely eaten dinner.
I stood in front of the mirror in the restroom and just stared at my reflection. I really could use a sit-down with my sister to try to straighten out all these mixed-up emotions I was having.
There was a constant battle going on inside my brain and, if I were honest with myself, in my heart too. This whole damn situation I’d gotten myself into had so many facets, I couldn’t settle on one feeling and stick with it. First, I thought the whole thing was ridiculous, and I needed to get myself out of it just like I’d gotten myself in. No one would be coming around to fix this for me.
But then he would do something sweet or kind and considerate, and I’d go to mush inside. And what the hell was that all about? I wasn’t the mushy kind of girl typically. This man had me turned backward and sideways and every other way possible. I couldn’t even take the physical attraction into consideration because I’d throw away all my common sense and vow to spend the rest of my life with the man. It was that intense…it was that good.
On the other hand, we bickered so much it was exhausting. But what did I expect would happen when I moved in with a man I barely knew? The parts of him I did know, though, I liked. A lot, as a matter of fact.
Carmen had a clever sense of humor, and once we settled into a groove financially, I had a feeling we’d have a lot of fun doing everyday things and special things too. But we had to figure out how to stop arguing.
I’d already lived through years and years with people judging me for every move I made. I wouldn’t choose a partner with the same propensity. No way. I thought talking to him openly and maturely would be the way to find our even ground. But when I’d just tried that at the dinner table, it was a huge backfire.
My God, I was so confused. And if I didn’t get my ass back to the table, he’d probably break down the ladies’ room door to make sure I wasn’t in here throwing back shots.
