Ruthless Creatures by J.T. Geissinger

I knew he was going to propose. There were never any
surprises with him. Every move he made was methodical,
planned far in advance, plotted out precisely on an Excel
spreadsheet. He never took unnecessary risks. He never made
rash decisions. He never allowed himself to be carried away
with his emotions, even when we made love.
That was planned in advance, too.
Even the sex wasn’t spontaneous.
There was a reserve inside of him, one I couldn’t reach. An
untouchable place I bumped up against at unexpected
moments, like the Christmas morning I asked him what his
favorite memory was from his childhood and his face went
blank.
He never did answer the question. He simply changed the
subject.
I never brought it up again.
Now, standing here in Kage’s arms with all the need and
devotion shining so plainly in his eyes, I realize David and I
might not have been as good a match as I thought we were.
I once pledged my life to a man who gave me a budget for
an engagement ring. A very small budget. Then disapproved
of each one I chose, until finally he suggested it would really
make more sense to put the money toward the ailing
carburetor that needed replacing in my car.
I pledged my life to a man who folded his dirty laundry
before putting it in the hamper.
To a man who made love with his socks on because his
feet were always cold.
To a man who always looked away just before I kissed
him.
“Kage?”
“Yes?”
“Do you fold your dirty clothes before you put them in the
hamper?”