‘Wrong! Putting food into airtight boxes is not “my” way! It’s the right way!’
‘So your way is the right way?’
‘Well… in this instance, yes!’
‘And you want me to pretend to agree with you?’
If Becky had had a man’s strength, she would have sent a chair flying across the table at him. As it was, the only throwable thing within reach was a nearby tea-towel and flinging that would just look pathetic. She found herself gripping the back of a chair in rage.
‘My god, Bryan!’ she cried. ‘You really know how to piss me off, don’t you?’
‘You and me both.’
‘No! It’s not even close! I’m hurt and angry and my stomach is twisted into knots, while you…’ She waved a hand. ‘…you’re all calm and collected, standing there like a man with a plan! You like these fights! You like picking me apart! You like digging up the shit and then rubbing my face in it!’
‘Becky…’
‘I just want you to love me!’ she cried. ‘That’s all I want! Don’t you get it, you idiot? I don’t care about being right! I just want you to love me!’
And Becky burst into tears and ran from the room.
***
One of Bryan’s greatest assets in his career was his ability to solve problems. Whatever the situation, his approach was to dig down to find the cause, because once you identify that, the solution almost always suggests itself. This methodical approach had proved highly successful and he was proud of his track record.
Yet this was the very thing that riled him about Becky’s attitude. Bryan had no problem letting Becky have her way. He could sacrifice his preference for hers pretty much every time and not lose a wink of sleep over it, but her insistence that her way was right and his way was wrong… now that he couldn’t abide. That was where he drew the line. And during his walk home from the cinema, he had gone through his memory of events with a fine-toothed comb, lined up his arguments and was ready to confront Becky with his observations on what had happened that afternoon.
But as he stood in the kitchen, spoon in hand, staring at the empty space where his wife had been standing just a moment before, Bryan realised that he had got it wrong after all. Becky’s cry for love had the ring of truth. Which meant somehow, in some way, she didn’t feel loved by him. And it shocked Bryan, because if there was one thing he knew, one thing he was absolutely sure of, it was that he loved Becky with all his heart. Even at her worst–and Becky’s worst could be mind-fuckingly bad–that love still burned in his chest. He couldn’t get rid of it even if he wanted to… and there were times when he wanted to. There were times when he looked at his wife and privately thought that his heart was a terrible judge of character.
But not tonight.
Bryan filled the empty pot with water and left it to soak in the sink. He put the lid on the Tupperware box, put it in the fridge and then went to find his wife. He found her curled up in their bed, fully clothed under the covers, sobbing quietly with her face in a pillow.
Bryan glanced at the bedside lamps they were currently using–wooden monstrosities gifted by his mother with flower patterns on the lampshades. Then he climbed into bed behind Becky, half expecting to be kicked and punched. There was no resistance. Becky let him embrace her from behind, her bottom nestling in the curve of his hips. Her hands grabbed his wrists, clinging to him like a child in a thunderstorm. Bryan lay quiet, trying to let go of the blah-blah-blah in his head and simply sense his woman’s body. She was shivering and tense, her shoulders rigid, her legs limp like a corpse’s. It was those legs which told Bryan how upset she was with him.
Becky’s legs and feet could be very expressive. She was as likely to point at things with her toe as a finger–especially when she was undressed–and Bryan could tell when she was enjoying a book just by the way her free foot was moving. But it was in bed that those legs really came to the fore. They would seek Bryan out the moment he got under the covers, the feet stretching and coiling, desiring maximum skin contact. And when he came inside her during missionary sex, those legs would hold him fast, expressing her desire far better than her spoken words. Indeed, it was the reason Bryan never needed to hear Becky say, ‘I love you’ because those legs and her cunt said it way more convincingly.
And now those legs were heavy and lifeless, as though filled with sand. Bryan knew better than to try and force his own leg between them. Instead, he shifted his body so that he could whisper in her ear.
‘I’ve hurt you,’ he said. ‘I’ve hurt you so much. And I am very, very sorry.’
Bryan felt her hands tighten fiercely around his wrists. Her sobs were stilled. She was listening with what felt like her entire body. Bryan swallowed and went on.
‘But listen to me,’ he went on. ‘No matter how frustrated I get or how angry I feel, I never stop loving you. Never, ever. I love you even when I don’t want to love you, even when you’re being a total pain. I can’t help it. But if you can’t feel that love, then I’m doing something wrong. I’m screwing up in some way. I mean, what’s the point of having a heart full of love if the woman can’t feel it, right?’
Becky said nothing. But Bryan could feel her body soften. The hands lightened their grip. The shoulders relaxed. Her breathing went from a cycle of ‘holding breath-remembering to breathe’ to a calm, steady breathing.
‘And you were right,’ whispered Bryan into her ear. ‘I do pick you apart. I put everything you say under the microscope and point out the contradictions. You see, I take pride in how perceptive I can be, so when you act like you see something that I don’t… I just cannot let it go. I can’t bring myself to concede that someone else might know better than me without them showing some sort of proof. And even as I say those words, there’s a voice in my head saying, “Bryan, that’s reasonable!” But if I understand what you said downstairs… all this stuff about perception and being reasonable is completely missing the point?’
Becky began shaking. She was crying again, but this crying was different. Bryan felt the soles of her feet against his shins, felt her legs trying to get one of his legs between them, the way she liked to have duvet between them. Slowly, they melted together, Becky wanting to feel as much Bryan as she could.
‘I love you,’ he said in her ear. ‘I love you, I love you, I love you.’
The words seemed to pour directly into her heart. Bryan felt the woman transform in his arms, the tension gone, the anger dissipated, the coldness and fear turning into warmth and openness. She turned around so that she could put her face against his chest and her hand on his neck. Unlike him, she needed the words ‘I love you’ and Bryan gave them to her, over and over, not stopping until she put the tips of her fingers over his mouth to tell him ‘Enough’.
***
Then they fucked.
Of course they fucked. Without saying a word, Becky started pulling off her clothes. Bryan followed suit and soon the two of them were throwing everything onto the floor, including the duvet which would get in the way of the kind of fucking Becky wanted. And when they started, her cunt was so wet, so hungry, that Bryan found it hard to imagine how he could ever be mad at her. It made no rational sense, but then shoving your cock in and out of a beautiful, horny woman is not really conducive to rational sense.