Fifteen: Jogging, News, and Caramel

    Two months, one week, and three days. James and I had been married for two months, one week, and three days and so far, we'd yet to be befallen by the tales of woe that were associated with the first year of marriage; we'd been able to settle into married life rather comfortably. We were doing everything perfectly, every morning I'd wake up, do to the kitchen, open the fridge and see that he'd made me my morning protein smoothie the night before, then I'd do jogging around the block- I'd decided, since we were house hunting and soon I'd have to give up the luxury of owning a treadmill, I should adapt and start jogging.
   It was serene, seeing the city before it had awakened. The hustle and bustle of rush hour had yet to set in, instead the streets were sparse, only a few lone, yellow taxi cabs and economical cars, a few years old, belonging to those who were either returning from their grueling night shifts or on their way into work, bright and early at six am, would pass you on the street.
   The pastel lavender and peach sky, streaks of golden light from the sun, who was also arising from its slumber, would stretch on and on, highlight the city's horizon-skyscrapers made of concrete and metal, looming above you, yet to be filled with those dutifully working their nine to five shift. A dewy haze, whispy strands of gray, left the emerald green grass with droplets of condensation, releasing the clean perfume of nature, a perfume that mixed with the horrendous stench of sulfur, car exhaust, cigarette smoke, and smog.

   Every morning, this stench would fill my nostrils, as I'd grimace, my muscles aching as I jogged two, three, four miles, then return home to James, return home to Skedaddles, home to my apartment. James' old apartment was on the edge of the city, mine was downtown; I could easily walk ten minutes and be at work, he could drive five and be at his. The homes we were looking at, suburban family homes that were in quaint townships that had great school districts, wouldn't be far from the downtown, twenty minutes, perhaps, however they'd be far enough away that my morning jogging route of two months would be no more. House hunting was a bit of a struggle, we were looking at mostly two story, slightly older than the rest of the township, three bedroom, two bath, in attempt to keep the cost close to two-hundred thousand dollars. We'd looked at a gorgeous home with a spiral staircase, an expansive fireplace, James and I both agreed it was perfect, however I highly doubted we'd get it, considering the owner's original asking price and our measly offer.
   After I returned from my jog, I'd shower, change into my work attire, then I'd cook eggs and bacon, pancakes, or omelets, and, depending on whether James worked the 911 dispatcher night or morning shift, he'd either return home and eat the meal as his dinner, before going to bed, or he'd wake up and eat breakfast, regardless he'd always kiss me before eating and say "Darling, I love you", to which I would reply with various witty or sentimental retorts, depending on my mood.
   My breathing became more labored, as I slowed my pace and glanced at my pedometer. I'd ran two point three miles however I was less so than usual, peculiar, considering that I was jogging in a sweatshirt on a seventy-five degree, Pittsburgh September Saturday, as I felt my stomach grumble, aching, an unpleasant feeling creeping up in the back of my throat. Nausea overtook my, as my hands flew out, grabbing onto the side of the brick planters, planters were my protein smoothie- banana, Greek yoghurt, flax seed- made a reappearance.

   "Fuck." I groaned, clenching my stomach. Protein smoothies, while delicious going down, were putrid coming back up. "What's wrong with me?" I muttered, as I stepped over towards the concrete sidewalk, attempting to hail a cab- my interest in breaking my record of twenty-one minutes and twelve seconds, the time it took me to run three miles, dissipated with my breakfast. Vomiting, lack of sweating... I went over the supposed symptoms as I slid into a musty cab and rattled off my address.
   I, like any rational young adult who could have easily visited her general practitioner, which was covered under her insurance she got through work, if she felt so inclined, decided to Google my symptoms and hope that, which a combination of Yahoo Answers and WebMD, I could figure out what was the cause of my obviously not food poisoning spurred vomiting. The general consensus suggested that I was dehydrated, despite my tongue not being swollen and palpitations,the feeling that your heart is pounding, being a fairly normal symptom of strenuous exercise. Dehydration? I had been jogging in weather warmer than the air conditioned apartment gym and I usually forgot to hydrate after my workout, so it seemed reasonable enough.
   I handed the cabbie his allotted amount of cash, then slipped out of the cab, meandering into the lobby of the apartment, grateful that another tenant was holding the elevator for me, as I sprinted towards it.
   "Hello, dearie."
   "Hi, Ms. Swanson." I smiled, weakly. She'd been the one to break the news of the Elkins, West Virgina suicide to me a year and a half ago and, ever since she'd found out that the lady also happened to be my biological mother, she'd been extra motherly towards me. Right now, all I wanted to do was down some ginger ale to sooth my stomach, which was still churning, brush my teeth, and take a cool shower, as sweet as the elderly woman was, I didn't want to engage in half an hour of chit-chat.
   "I baked a lovely strawberry rhubarb pie to bring to my granddaughter Siree, she broke her leg, darling thing, and I have an extra, would you like it?"
   "It sounds delicious, but no thanks. I hope you have fun visiting your granddaughter and I hope she heals quickly." I moved past her, onto my floor, towards the apartment door. I unlocked the door, throwing it open, to see a bright yellow sticky note stuck to the fridge.

   "Having breakfast with the boss, wanted to talk at last minute, James. P.S. Darling, I love you." I read, curiously. Last night, he hadn't mentioned anything about a meeting, so by last minute he must have been contacted by his boss this morning, after I'd left to go jogging. I supposed that meant there was no need for me to make breakfast now.
   James' work was demanding, he'd be gone all day or all night, if he was gone during the day, I didn't get to see him because he'd work ten, twelve hour shifts and be exhausted when he got home; he'd eat, then go to bed. If he was gone during the night, things were even worse, because he'd return home when I was getting ready to leave work, he'd sleep, we'd eat dinner together after I came home, then he'd go to work. I supposed I was used to the schedule; when we were dating it had been the same, however we hadn't been living together, he'd make time to see me, even if it meant that he was a bit sleep deprived. I hadn't known how demanding his job was, it wasn't physically taxing, however he had to listen to the calls of people whose houses were on fire, the smoke billowing from the building that contained all their earthly possessions, the building that sometimes housed a trapped pet, a trapped loved one.
   He didn't tell me many stories of work, he wasn't fond of talking about it, since it consumed half of his day, when I asked him how it was, he'd smile, say that it's mostly people calling for an ambulance to take them to the hospital because they had a splinter or saying that their cat was stuck in a tree.
   I moved to the bathroom, glancing at my reflection in the mirror. I was a sweaty mess, who needed to shower. I took down my hair, slipping off my leggings and casting aside my forest green sweatshirt.
   "Lavender, I'm home!" I heard James' gruff voice cry, as the front door clicked shut.
   "I'm in the bathroom." I exclaimed, as he opened the bathroom door. "How was the meet- Woah." Hed placed his hands firmly on my back and dipped me down.

   "Darling, I have bloody blinding news."
   "What is it? How did the meeting with the boss go?"
   "To hell, with the meeting with the boss, I received a call from my mother and-"
   "Your mother?" She was a sweet woman, the only interactions that I had had with her was the morning of our wedding, though she seemed kind and generous enough.
   "She bought us the house, she put in an offer one and a half more than the asking price as a late wedding gift and now the house is our's."
   "The, the house? The one we both loved? The- Oh my God, this is wonderful."
   "There's a few details, we need to sign a few things, but by the end of the year, we should be moved in."
   "James, I... God, I love your mother."
   "I love you."

   "I love you, too." He began kissing my, his lips were soft, his kisses hungry, as I felt his hand grasping at my bra clasp.
   "Want someone to join you in the shower?" He chuckled, as I pulled away.
   "Tragically, no, I want to get clean, I feel so, so dirty..."
   "You're a dirty, dirty lady, now are you? Need me to help you? Hot water, steam, I think we could work something out..."
   "Not to spoil your little thing that you've got going on, but I threw up today."
   "You what? Are you alright?"
   "I'm a bit dehydrated, but other than that, I'm fine."
   "Are you sure? Did you go to the doctor?" He was so sweet, caring, worried about my health.
   "James, I'm fine, I'll drink more water and be fine."
   "Okay, then we should go out to celebrate almost being homeowners. We're going out." James declared.

   "What the hell are we gonna do?" I murmured. Cheap beer, somewhat drunk sex in a dirty bar's bathroom stall followed by a morning hangover, strong, black coffee and aspirin, didn't seem quite as appealing, considering my renewed disdain for throwing up.

   "No idea. It's seven-thirty on a Saturday morning and right now the only plans we have are to stay in like some old married couple."

   "We are a married couple." I pointed out, shrugging. "And I don't feel like get smashed and having a goddamn mind splitting hangover tomorrow." 

   "We don't have to get smashed. We can go to a disco or watch some shatty cover band or go to the cinema and make fun of a rom-com's protagonist."

   "As appealing as that sounds..." I paused, as he stared at me, his eyes wide, dark abysses, his lower lip trembling. "Dammit. How the hell do you manage to look like a whimpering puppy and so goddamn attractive at the same time?"

   "It's the Brit blood." He charismatically responded, his lips twisting into a smile, as he stood. "So,what do you say tonight we dress up like a million bucks and go to some overpriced lounge?"
   "I suppose that might be doable."

♢ ♢ ♢

   "Bloody hell, it's ten-thirty, happy hour's over in half- Damn, you're hot." James paused to look at me, as I attempted to pose seductively, before bursting into a fit of giggles. "What?" He asked, befuddlement painting his face.
   "Our relationship could be a drinking game, take a shot every time I attempt to look hot and fail, take a sip of beer every time you look adorably confused."
   "It'd take forever to get drunk like that, it'd be a putrid drinking game."
   "What do you mean?"
   "Beer doesn't get you drunk quick unless you're a lightweight, right now you look quite like a smashing Bond girl and you never have to try to look attractive, considering that you're always bloody smashing."

   "If I'm a Bond girl does that make you Bond? James Bond."
   "I do clean up nicely, don't I? I suppose I've got that Daniel Craig, blonde Bond thing going on."
   "Daniel Craig?" I furrowed my brow, trying to place him. I wasn't so culturally uninformed that I didn't understand Bond references, however I'd never actually seen a double-oh-seven movie.
   "Skyfall? Came out in 2012, has that Adele song? Have you never seen it? Gods, I cannot believe I'm married to a woman who's never seen the best British spy ever. I think it's on Netflix, we have to watch it."
   "What about the lounge? Or the fact that I spent twenty minutes on my cat eyeliner? Or the List?" I smiled seductively, taking his hand, trailing it up my thigh, helping him feel the short, black silk hemline.
   "You're right, we should have sex, then watch Daniel Craig." He smiled, picking up on what I was insinuating, taking my hand.
   "Or during." I raised onw eyebrow, taking his hand.
   "But then we'll miss the action!" He whined, as I sighed, clenching my teeth, contemplating whether to say: 'You won't, you'll be getting some action.' "I was kidding darling." 

♢ ♢ ♢

   

  

  "Pretty good... Pretty good." I murmured, quietly, glancing as Craig returned home to his childhood estate.

   "I thought it was great, though you're right, the fourth time was a bit lackluster. I blame myself."

   "Hey!" I gently swatted his calf. "I meant the movie and you shouldn't suggest things from supermarket magazines, I'm all sticky from the caramel syrup."

   "What can he say?" He shrugged, a small smile crossing his face. "I was feeling a wee bit peckish."

    "Imagine growing up in a home like that..." I gestured towards the television screen.
    "Speaking of homes, remember what I said this morning?"
    "Your mum bought us the house? We should probably write her a thank you letter, pay to fly her over here for the holidays, she can spend the break with us. What do you think? She defies all those shitty mother-in-law stereotypes, I think I could stand my break from work with her."
   "Work, the meeting with my boss... He gave me big news."
   "Oh, my gods- James, are you, are you-?" I couldn't bring myself to say it, as my elation came to a speeding halt. He was such a good employee, he was always on time, he even worked over time- I could attest for that, he was barely home so he could dedicated his life to being a 911 dispatcher. Thankfully his mum bought the house, so we'd have some extra expenses associated with the move, however we wouldn't have to worry about twenty percent down or monthly payments or anything.
   "No, no! Quite the opposite actually. Oliver recently got a promotion, so he;s looking for someone to fill his old spot."
  "That's great, what, is your boss going to join the force?" I gasped, as it hit me. "You got a promotion! That's great, a house and a promotion, we have to celebrate! I think I've got wine in the pantry, w-"
   "I joined the force."
   "Huh?" I paused, looking at him. He knew how much I disdained police officers because of my mother's blindness, he knew that I wanted to discuss all big life choices before they were made. "You... You, what?"
   "It's better pay, plus they're paying for the six month police academy, there's more room for promotion, I won't have solid twelve hour shifts."
   "You... You, bastard!" I hopped up from the bed, anguish twisting my face into a look of disgust and tragic sadness.
   "Me? I'm the bastard, please, Lavender, you're overreacting. If anyone's a bastard in the literal sense-"

   "You will NOT bring up my biological parents." I screamed, tearing off his suit jacket throwing on a dress from my dresser.
   "I wasn't insinuating that at all, I misspoke, please, calm down."
   "Fine, I will calm down. Sure as hell not here, though." I grabbed my backpack and began stuffing random wardrobe items into it. 
   "Lavender, please, we can talk about this, I only took-"
   "NO." I screeched, slamming the bedroom door as I huffed out of there.
   "Fine, be a bitch about this."
   He though I was being a bitch about this? He knew I had a thing with cops, he knew, he knew... God... The tears began welling up in my eyes, as I stormed out of the apartment. I was going to go the one place where I could go without having to deal with any outside criticism, the one place where I'd be taken in and could scream and vent and cry and James could... God. We'd been married two months and were doing everything perfectly. So goddam perfectly and then he had to get a new goddam job without even asking me or mentioning it before.. The caramel. He let me become a sugar covered contortionist, knowing that he harbored bad news. The bastard.

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