Dinner is a painful affair until Pa arrives. The atmosphere changes, I hold my breath when he pulls out a seat and share a worried glance with Brandon whose discomfort is palpable. Only Ma seems to find the situation funny. Why won’t she when she’s sitting between me and my husband, asking questions about a trip she knows he never went on. My foot drum into the floor, I stir the food in my plate without tasting it.

Behind Ma’s polite smiles directed at Brandon, false interest in every answer he gives to her question is simmering anger. And I am partly to blame for it. If I did not break down, he would have still been in her good books. Casting him another furtive glance, my nails dig into my hips when his eyes remain glued to his plate like he has resigned to his fate.

Defeat doesn’t become him, it breaks my heart to see him this way and I clear my throat to interrupt Ma’s next question. Her head snaps to me, I maintain eye contact and she scoffs. Enough. After dicing his chicken, Brandon swaps our plates with a wink that has my heart stilling. I offer him a smile he reciprocates and my heart resumes its duty.

The chicken disappears into my belly, he swaps my empty plate with his and I gobble his meal. Ma slides a full plate to his front when she notices what I have done to both of our food, we pretend not to notice and for the rest of the meal, everyone eats in silence.

My hand goes over my mouth to muffle my belch, Ma shoots a glare my way and I pout. Brandon watches our exchange silently and I blow him a kiss to frustrate Ma, he must be uncomfortable by the arrangement but I guess it will teach him not to hurt me again. I squeeze Ma’s leg under the table, her frown morphs into an apologetic smile, I don’t like that she hit him. But I have to admit he deserved it. And a lecture on communication.

Though Pa is present, he barely speaks and I feel bad for pouring all of my attention on my husband instead of my father. I flash him a smile, his eyes crinkle with laughter and I slide to the seat beside him. We have not had much time to talk. I don’t understand why he still works when Brandon has him on his payroll. In some way, I get it, that need to be independent but he is old, now is the time to enjoy his hard work. Rest. Go on vacations.

There is a slight tremor in Pa’s hands when he picks his cutlery, I glance at Ma who is speaking in hushed tones to Brandon. She had better not be scolding him. A long look at Brandon and his eyes settle on mine, a smile lifting the corners of his lips. I don’t bother to hide the fact I was staring. His smile is reassuring, I nod, he is handling himself.

Sandwiching Pa’s hand between mine, I ask, “How was work?” He mutters a reply about boring routines. My head falls on his shoulder, I close my eyes. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” He chuckles. “You have never liked coming home,” he adds in a whisper and shame floods my body. I will be kind enough to admit the truth to myself.

The truth that our financial situation frightened me. It scared me to watch us go broke in only a couple of months. A low chuckle escapes me. Life wasn’t the best with Clarissa but it was my safe place. Pa pinches my cheek, I snuggle closer to him until someone taps me.

“Leave my husband alone,” Ma says in our dialect, her eyes darting to Brandon sitting alone with plates stacked in front of him, he flashes us a smile. “Go to your husband.”

Instead of shooting her a reply, I kiss Pa on his forehead and return to her seat which is still warm. My hand slides under the table to find Brandon’s, I maintain a straight face while guiding his hand under my gown. His fingertips caress my skin up to the wetness between my legs, I swallow. I need him to know. There are no barriers, all I want is him.

The chair scrapes the floor as Ma helps Pa into a standing position. “Goodnight, El,” they chorus in our language before turning to Brandon to repeat the same thing in English.

As soon as they leave, Brandon retracts his hand, dodging my lips when I try to kiss him. I scoff, he can’t be serious. I haven’t seen him in three weeks and he won’t let me kiss him. Fine. Whatever he wants. Without a word to him, I snatch the plates and head to the kitchen. I might as well get started on the dishes while he takes his leave. What the hell is he here for if I can’t get a kiss. Maybe he has gotten enough from his business partner.

“El, look at me,” he says from behind me but I don’t listen. I dip the sponge into the sink, splashing soapy water everywhere. I didn’t hear him come in. “Elna. Don’t be like this.”

“Go away if you can’t kiss me,” I respond and swipe at my runny nose. A little rejection and it is already showing off its skills. Scrubbing the plates with anger causes water to spill on my clothes but I don’t care. He doesn’t want me. He should have come sooner.

“How will I kiss you if you have your back to me?” I freeze. His chest presses to my back, he retrieves the sponge in my death-like clutch and spins me to face him. “I missed you.”

Each word is punctuated by a kiss to my jaw, I whimper when he lifts me to the edge of the counter, sink my teeth into my lip. His hand sneaks inside my gown, I jerk as it itches deliciously close to my warmth and my head falls back. My fingers roam his chest, I keep my eyes open to remember every part of him and he grabs my hands to press his chin to the top of my head. I slide my arms around his waist when he lets go with a sigh.

“I missed you more,” I tell him. He squeezes me, his scent envelopes us. I pull away from the hug, his hands come on each side of me and he leans forward. “Why won’t you kiss me?” I tug on his beards, he needs a shave. My eyes flicker to his face, I trace his bottom lip with my index finger. “I want to kiss you,” I say and push his head down. “I missed it.”

“Me too.” I nod, I like the sound of that. My heart rate triples at our closeness, crashing to a halt when he adds, “But first, we need to talk.” I start shaking my head, roll my gown up so my thighs are more visible but he pushes it down with a frown. “Let’s talk.”

Looping my hands behind his neck, I push myself up, try to smash my lips on his but he refuses. I scowl, I don’t understand him or his recent need to talk. “After, please. Baby.”

“No.”

My hands lower, I stare at the floor to allow the tears quickly filling my eyes to subside. A crooked finger reaches for my jaw, I slap his hand before any contact happens. He retries and I shove him. “I hate you.” The look he gives me burns my conscience, I add, “Just go.”

In silence, he retreats and my heart skips, I didn’t mean that. I relax when he turns to the sink, my hand runs up my arm in pitiful comfort and I watch through teary eyes as he towel dries the plates. Standing beside him, I return the plates to the cabinets, he dries his hands and drops the towel without another word to me. I stare at my reflection in the window with a forlorn look, he didn’t even comment on my braids. I left it down.

“I like your hair,” he says. I jump, catching a glimpse of his smile through the window.

“Ma made it,” I reply then turn to him, grateful he has bridged the gap between us.

The playful grin still adores his face but he is staring into space and I seize this chance to openly ogle him. After all, he is my husband. My eyes lower to his plump, puckered lips, chills spread all over my arms, I want to feel it on mine, find out if it tastes just like our dinner or better. He coughs, embarrassment floods me when I notice how close my fingers are to touching his lips. I lean back, using the counter to support my weight.

“She used to make my hair all the time,” I volunteer to clear the awkwardness. I am so close to him, one accidental move and our lips will lock. Will a little accident upset him?

Twirling a braid around his finger, his eyes keep mine captive. “It looks good on you, I like it.” A grin appears on my lips. “She did a great job.” I nod. His closeness shuts down my ability to think, to speak, I simply exist in his presence. I suck in my breath when he palms my stomach. “El,” he says and I nod my permission for him to check on our baby.

A slow smile spreads to his face, a look I haven’t seen on him takes over his features and his free hand joins the first. His brows crease, he rubs my belly with fondness. His innocence warms me, I want to preserve this moment so I stay still until he has touched his fill.

“I’ve been eating well,” I murmur to break him from his hypnosis and his eyes fleet to my face. “Eating for two.” He laughs, presses his lips to my forehead and my heart melts.

“Good girl,” he says, allowing my fingers run through his hair. In a few months, it should be back to its original length. I moan in satisfaction, uncertainty dances across his face and my hand returns to my side with a grin. “Can we talk, in your room? I’ll leave after.”

My head shakes vigorously, I cling to him, pressing my cheek to his chest, his heart that I assume beats for only me and my baby at this moment. “Don’t leave, stay the night.”

Brandon nods. He is quiet as I guide him to my room. Once the door locks, the first statement he utters is, “I am sorry.”

Everything slows. My foot pushing forward hangs in the air momentarily and drops with a thud. I gasp, it is barely audible but the silence lends the sound volume.

He is sorry.

Tears pool in my eyes, my hand goes over my mouth. “You have never apologised.”

My eyes round to saucers, I stare at his rigid back. Brandon has always apologised with his actions rather than words, until now, I didn’t realise how much those three words could mean to me. A strange feeling washes over me, I giggle once, soon, I am laughing hysterically. Not in mockery of me or him but pure delight, awe. Oh, my God. He is sorry.

He spins so fast, I back up against the door. “Is it too late?” I shake my head, he takes my hands, eyes closing. “I am sorry for leaving for Paris without resolving the issue like you wanted us to. I am sorry I didn’t tell you about my brother.” His gaze returns to my face, I nod twice, I already forgave him for that. “I am sorry for being an ass.” My head bobs, a small smile forms briefly on his lips. “I am sorry for swapping the pills, I was scared.”

Of what? I want to ask but I let him continue, interlacing our fingers to encourage him.

“I freaked out. I just, I just wanted...” His face contorts into a painful mask that breaks my heart, I cup his cheeks. He takes a large gulp of air, our gazes still locked. “I am sorry, Elna. I didn’t know what to do and maybe I am as stupid as you say I am. Selfish even.”

Tapping my index finger to a corner of my puckered lips, I say, “Stupid? Maybe. Selfish? Never.” I beam at him, urging him to smile and he manages a sorry excuse of a smile that disappears as soon as it comes. “You are too hard on yourself, Brandon,” I whisper.

One of his hands comes beside my head, his gaze settles on me. All his emotions are on display but hurt, guilt are most evident. I draw him into a hug to lend him strength, his arms tighten around me like he is afraid to let go. When we pull apart, he smiles easily.

“At the office when you talked about kids, getting on the pills, I remembered what I did but I didn’t know how to tell you.” He lets out a dry laugh, staring straight at me with his hands in his hair. “To be honest, I hoped you would never find out because I didn’t want to give you another reason to be mad at me.” Stroking my cheek with his thumb, he says, “I keep fucking things up for us yet you try, you try so hard. I don’t understand why.”

“It’s because I love you. I want to understand you, baby,” I say and rub my cheek against his before pulling back to peer at his confused face. “Do you want me to stop trying?” He shakes his head so fast, we both laugh. I palm his face. “But you make it hard sometimes. Very hard.” His eyes gleam with remorse, I smile. “Why do you do the things you do?”

“I’m not sure I know the answer to that.” He sighs. “I like being in control and you upset the balance.” Hearing him confess his feelings shouldn’t have hurt but it did. A sharp pain pierces my heart, I look down at his feet and smile. I hope he will like the shoes I ordered. “Look, at me, El.” I do as commanded because I don’t know what else to do. It is hard holding his gaze, his reply still stings. “I like it.” Relief floods me, my chest falls and he chuckles. “You upset the balance but I won’t have it any other way. It’s so confusing.”

His chest heaves, his smile sends butterflies flying in my belly. “I love being your baby, I love being your husband, I love being your chef. I love being your punching bag though you hit like a lady,” he adds and I manage a laugh. Tears create two lone paths down my cheeks, he wipes them. “Please don’t cry, wife. You make me happy, so happy it feels like a dream and I can’t help trying to ruin it myself before reality pulls a fast one on me.”

I take his hand, kiss the inside of his palm, placing it on my chest where my heart beats. For him. “I’m not a dream, Brandon,” I whisper, he nods. “I’m real. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.” Bringing his hand to my lips, I nibble on his fingertips, he relaxes a bit. “I love being your wife, I like it when you call me wife or wifey. I want to be the mother of your kids, I want to grow old with you.” He lets out a disbelieving sigh, I chuckle. “I am here, I belong to you. Stop trying to control everything because you can’t. Let it go.”

At his look of hesitance, I lace our fingers and bring our hands to my cheek while smiling, I need this man to understand how much he means to me. “Share your burden with me.”

“You can’t handle it,” he interjects.

“I will be the judge of that,” I say with enough conviction to sway a jury. “If I cannot handle it, I’ll be the first to let you know.” He frowns, I sigh. “You have to give me that chance to prove myself. One burden at a time, okay?” He looks away. “Brandon, this is a partnership, I want to feel what you feel. To love and to cherish, till death do us part.”

Time seems to pause after my words, I bring our interlaced hands to my lips, kissing his knuckles. “I want you to be happy,” he finally says, “because if you are happy, I’m happy.”

“So you will let me in?” I ask, a tinge of hope colouring my tone. “Please don’t say no.”

“You are too good for me,” he says. I narrow my eyes to slits, that sentence turns my belly, I don’t like it when he says that and he hurriedly adds, “One burden at a time.”

“Good.” Pouting, I ask, “Now, can I kiss you?” He shakes his head, my heart stops. I open my mouth to ask, “Why?” I have an idea why he refused my kisses, so I apologise. “I am sorry for treating you like a casual hookup. It was horrible but I was hurting,” I say, my arms circle his waist. “I was feeling shitty and wanted you to feel the same. I’m sorry.” His fingers weaving through my scalp elicits a moan from me. “It won’t happen again.”

The tension dissolves, he hoists me up, my legs hook around his waist and my arms slide around his neck. I touch my nose to his. “Good.” Rolling a corner of my bottom lip between my teeth, I nod. It hurt me too. “To be fair, I deserved that one. I fucked up.”

My head rears back, I throw him a warning look he waves off. “Yes, you fucked up but I could have handled the situation better. You didn’t deserve that. Say it.” He rolls his eyes, I smack his cheek and grimace when he winces. His cheeks flush. “I’m sorry for letting Ma hit you, I didn’t know she would do that.” I massage his cheek. “Did it hurt?”

“A bit. She hits better than you,” he says with a twinkle in his eyes, walking towards my bed and my lips twitch. He chuckles. “You should have seen your face. But I deserved it.”

I refuse to unwrap my legs from his waist when he lowers me to the bed so he hovers over me. “You didn’t,” I say and he offers me a sad smile that fuels my anger. I drag him by the collar, maybe it is time to go rogue to allow that fact to sink into his thick skull. He is not the worse man on earth. “At what point do you admit you also deserve the good things?”

Placing my hands above my head, he nuzzles my neck and I squirm, causing my gown to ride up. “Never?” My hands slip from his grasp, I wear a frown. I don’t like this.

“We will have to change that because you do. You deserve all the fine things of life too.”

“That’s easy for you to say.”

Pressing a finger to his overeager lips, I unbutton his shirt, unzip his trouser and leave him to handle the rest while I take off my gown. We are both naked and shy and nervous as our eyes roam each other’s bodies. I don’t want us to have sex without completely clearing the air but my words are no longer getting to him. He deserves happiness too. I kneel at the centre of the bed, he kneels in front of me and I stroke his dick casually.

“Why do you think you don’t deserve all the fine things of life?” I ask. He stops me from touching him, I know I have crossed a line at the guarded look that crawls into his eyes. But that’s what I am trying to change, there should be no line between us to begin with.

“I don’t like your question.”

I shrug, he is too stubborn. Draining. I get off the bed, naked and hurt. “Do you want Caprisonne?” I ask and toss him a pack which he eyes like I might have poisoned it. It irks me. I hiss, finish mine and belch. Without another word, I step into the bathroom.

Away from his stifling negativities. The bathroom is not as glamorous as the one in my new home but it is my safe place, I need a moment of peace. I pass myself a look in the mirror and give myself a thumbs up. Soon, I’ll not be so confident about my naked body.

The floor is cold against my butt, I mask my shock when Brandon’s chest connects with my back. His body provides heat, I lean into him, loving the feel of our naked thighs.

Dipping my palm into the leftover bucket of white paint, I press it to the blue wall. He mimics me, so we have two palm prints on my bathroom wall. Seeing our prints side by side causes love to spread through me, I burst into laughter at the idea that plants itself in my mind.

“What’s so funny?” he asks.

“You will see.”