Page 97 of The Man I Hate

“There are no assurances in life,” Marge said matter-of-factly. “Speaking from experience, I can say lasting forever requires a lot of work. Quite frankly, day in and day out, it’s a struggle.”

I didn’t disagree with Marge’s statement, but I was surprised to hear her admit it. I gave her a surprised look. “You and Raymond had difficulties?”

“Oh, heavens yes,” she replied. “The happiest and the angriest I’ve ever been in my life was a result of something my Raymond did.”

I laughed. “Really?”

“He went to the bar to ‘have a few’ with his friends from the Army one Thursday night. The VFW had beer specials on Thursdays, back then. He didn’t come home until Monday. I was worried sick. Friday morning, I took a Taxi to the VFW. He wasn’t there. I checked the police stations, the morgue, the jails, everywhere I could think. I came up empty-handed at every turn. When I got done checking with LA County, I checked Orange County. Then, San Diego County. I had nowhere else to go, so I started working my way up north. By the time I got to Santa Barbara County, it was Monday. He came stumbling through the door, drunker than a skunk. I nearly beaned him in the head with a skillet.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t.” I gave Braxton a look, warning him of what his future held. “I probably would have.”

“I smacked him a good one, more than once,” Marge admitted. “Not with a skillet, but I popped him with a rolling pin, a hair brush a few times, and a spatula a time or two.”

“What did you do to solve the problems?” I asked. “Like with the extended trip to the VFW?”

“I identified the problem and proposed a solution,” she replied. “We didn’t have cell phones back then. Calling me meant he had to ask to use the phone in the bar, which most men saw as embarrassing. I gave him the option to either give me the courtesy of a call or stop drinking. Eventually, he stopped drinking.”

“So, it’s not always easy?” I asked.

“At times? Sure. Always?” She laughed a cute little laugh. “Sweetheart, I wish I could say yes but it would be a lie.”

“For the right man, I think I could be forgiving, understanding—” I glanced at Braxton. “And devoted.”

“The devotion is more important than anything,” she said. “Everything else falls into place if you’re devoted.”

Braxton stood. He gestured toward the noodles, which were in a big stock pot on the stove. “Do you mind?”

“Help yourself,” Marge replied. “Don’t be bashful, I was just razzing you earlier.”

“I’m never bashful when it comes to food,” Braxton said with a grin.

He fixed another heaping plate and promptly returned. He slid the plate in front of his chair and then loomed over me.

I glanced up. “What?”

He brushed his salt-and-pepper locks away from his face. “I’m curious about something.” He smirked. “Come here for a minute.”

Wondering what he was up to, I reached for his extended hand. With his assistance, I rose to my feet.

“Wondering about what?” I asked.

Just like the scene from Casablanca, he pulled me close and kissed me. It wasn’t at all what I was expecting.

In fact, the kiss rocked me to my core.

Standing on legs made of rubber, I gazed at him in complete shock. “Wow.”

His hazel eyes glistened with satisfaction. “I was going to say the same thing.”

I took a quick glance in Marge’s direction. Her hands were clasped together. She was glowing with joy.

If our little charade was a complete improv, I decided to play the part to the best of my ability. I twisted my hips back and forth in mock excitement and batted my eyes. “Can we do that again?”

Braxton kissed me in response, ever so sweetly. When our lips parted our eyes met.

“Do you want to give this a try?” I asked.

“I think so,” he replied.