_OceanofPDF

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E L L A
I’d gotten my husband a pair of slippers for his birthday. It was a joke
only Logan and his mother laughed at, and when I’d set them at the door
the first time, we laughed again before he went to a dinner meeting.
Byron was still in the picture. Logan had fulfilled his part of the deal by
getting married, so he was in charge. Finally at the head of the table with
Ted in an advisory role. But his wedding had happened so quickly and
unconvincingly, his brother hung around so that Logan was able to “enjoy
his marriage.”
Logan was doing his job. My job was to spend a year being perfect.
I filled six months’ worth of days with Logan’s life, his plans, his
demands. He doled out his companionship in teaspoons, still working every
hour, and I was the perfect wife for a guy who was never around. My art
was a “hobby,” and my friends were available for lunch. Papillion survived
without me, as did Bianca, who called on holidays.
Life was perfect and fine, and I was bored to tears, unfulfilled,
uncomfortable, and invisible.
I was a landmine he brought closer to detonation every time we were in
public. He brushed my skin with the backs of his fingers, kissed me for
show, held my hand, and gently stroked the back of my neck. Sometimes,
even when we were alone, he moved a lock of hair out of my eyes or put his
arm around me.
At Doreen’s birthday dinner, he’d kissed my neck and I’d shuddered so
hard I had to close my eyes.
I thought it would get easier. I’d get bored of his touch, his little
affections, but it had gotten worse by the halfway mark. Without a job