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“Fine.” I manufactured a forlorn face. “Fine.” I didn’t waste her agreeable mood, though, and scooped her hand into mine to entwine our fingers.
She sneaked a glance or two at the image our two hands presented. My silly green wedding ring on top where my hand completely engulfed hers. I didn’t tease her about the visual sweep, though, because I knew how often I looked at the one on her delicate left ring finger.
“Do you want a real ring? Like a diamond or whatever?” I blurted without giving it any consideration. Seriously, where the hell would I get money for a diamond?
Agatha splayed her free hand out in front of us while we walked as though she were showing me the most treasured heirloom piece of jewelry. “No, I actually like this one. It suits me, and it’s my favorite color, so there’s that.” She gave a little shrug while we both continued to admire her jelly band and then added, “I don’t know. It seems perfect for this whole thing.” She made some sort of lassoing gesture above us, and I guessed she was indicating our entire relationship thus far.
I chuckled then too. “Yeah, I guess it does.”
Her check was waiting in the mailbox like she’d hoped, along with the electric bill and an offer for a credit card I certainly didn’t need or want.
But my wife was uncharacteristically quiet, so I looped around the complex to where the greenbelt offered a few tables and benches along with a couple of public grills.
“Want to kick back here for a bit?” I asked, thinking if we got this talk out of the way now, we could enjoy the rest of the day. Maybe if we had the talk out in the open, she wouldn’t get so hostile.
“Sure, if you want to.”
“You seem a bit off this morning. Did something happen I don’t know about? Have you spoken to your family?” I said as a way to kick off the conversation.
“I think I’m just tired. I slept so well last night, but sometimes, because my sleep debt is so big, when I get quality sleep, I feel worse. Like I was just teasing my system with what it needs so much more of.” My gorgeous girl ducked her head sheepishly, and I was sure I’d never seen that gesture from her before.
“I don’t know if that makes sense, but that’s my theory,” she explained further.
“No, I get it. It actually makes perfect sense. If you want to sleep the whole day, baby, go for it. It’s the weekend after all. And other than tomorrow morning, we don’t have anything planned.”
Yes, that was a minor shot across her bow to remind her she wasn’t getting out of the commitment I made for us to join my family for Sunday mass. She didn’t even know that I had to just about sell my soul to keep the family dinner afterward an uncommitted invitation.
Beside me on the bench, she sighed and drew her knees up to her chest and sat there huddled in a little ball. She looked so young and small and, fine, I’d admit it…unhappy.
“Storm, I’m sorry it feels like I’m forcing you to do something you don’t want to do,” I said so she would at least hear me acknowledge that I knew what this engagement tomorrow was costing her. It still didn’t mean I’d relent, though.
Quietly she asked, “Then why are you doing exactly that?”
I angled my body toward her and wrapped my hands over her knees. “My family goes to church every Sunday morning. It’s a tradition in our household, and even though I no longer live in the same house, I’m expected to attend. Not just by my parents, but by the entire parish. It’s noticed immediately when someone’s missing, and then the hens start clucking. I won’t cause my mom that sort of grief. She doesn’t need it, especially when it’s something I can easily do for her. For the whole family.”
“So it’s not at all about the unity or spirituality of the gathering. It’s about the gossip and saving face. Do you hear how fucked up that is?” she challenged but remained calm.
“Of course I do. I’ve been complaining about the hypocrisy of modern religion since I’ve been able to organize my own thoughts. But tradition is tradition in the Sandoval household, and if you want to keep the peace, you don’t rock the boat.” I paused there, and she didn’t add anything more. I concluded by saying, “It’s not the hill I want to die on. You know?”
“But how does that involve me?” she fired back and dropped her feet back to the ground.
“Because you are my wife. Do I really have to spell that out?”
“No one even knows you have a wife, Carmen. Unless…” She looked at me skeptically. “Have you been telling people?”
“Not a single person. To this day, the only two people who know are your sister and my boss. That’s it. But if I’m being honest with you, Storm, I don’t want to hide it. I’m very proud you’re mine.”
And I really was. If she needed a list of reasons why, I had at least a dozen. I also didn’t miss the little grin she had because of my declaration—even though she was doing her best to hide it. I was starting to pay very close attention to that type of reaction from her. The natural ones she tried to keep under wraps. She was a lonely girl inside that brash shell, and it seemed like a little genuine love went a long way with her.
Fine by me, because I had a ton to give. And a ton to shower her with, specifically. She deserved to be loved and to freely love whomever she chose. Each time I learned one of these little secrets she guarded so carefully, I felt like I completed another piece of the Agatha puzzle. Eventually, I’d have the complete image figured out, and then we could really start enjoying building our life together.
There was something about me I hadn’t successfully gotten through her stubborn little head. When I cared about a person, making them happy and caring for them in all the ways imaginable genuinely made me happy. My sister always commented that when it came to love languages, I spoke them all. She pretty much hit the nail on the head with that assessment, but I wasn’t surprised. Gray knew me better than anyone else in my life. She understood what made me tick, and we both wanted the other to be happy.
“So let’s move on to the events of last night,” I suggested. At that point, we’d pretty much beaten the church attendance thing to death. We were going, period. If I had to carry her into the sanctuary kicking and screaming, I’d do it.
But my God, I hope it doesn’t come to that.
Agatha rubbed wearily at her brow and wouldn’t meet my gaze.
