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Suburban Chicago: February 14
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LIKE A BOLD, GLORIOUS WARRIOR, the golden-haired stranger was garbed in reindeer hides and a horned helmet, brandishing a gleaming sword and shield. He was tall, with an impressive physique. Breathtaking. It didn’t matter that his impassioned words were in a language she didn’t understand. Her heart knew they shared the same soul-deep secret.
“Is it you?” she whispered. “My Viking? My Varik the Bold?”
With the hint of a smile, he nodded. Pursing his lips, the Viking blew the merest whisper of breath down the length of the sword he’d aimed at her heart. Watching the polished blade glint, she had no fear he’d come to slay her. On the contrary, his mission was to ensure her consummate pleasure.
Mesmerized, every fiber of her being tingled with longing as his blue-eyed gaze lovingly appraised her body. Reaching out to him, she silently beckoned. Upon sheathing his sword, his fingers extended toward her and she anticipated the thrill of feeling them exploring her flesh.
A sigh escaped her lips as she realized their physical union was imminent and she was about to be blissfully seized by her beloved Viking.
Lust, or perhaps it was love, danced in his eyes as his lips drew close and he whispered...
“I’ve got an early staff meeting. Can you put on a pot of green tea while I jump in the shower?”
~ ~ ~
“Hmmpf?”
No...oh please, no. The last thing Delaney Kullerton wanted was to be roused from her delicious dream, especially right before her Viking was about to—
“I need you to get up, Del. I’m running late.”
Cracking one eye open, Delaney spied the alarm clock on her nightstand, groaned and pulled the covers over her head. Four-thirty. An hour earlier than her usual wake up time. How cruel. She could have spent that hour wrapped in the arms of—
“Del! Come on, get up.” This time she was being poked and prodded, effectively eradicating the last delicious vestiges of her dream. If that weren’t enough, at the sound of his master’s voice, her husband’s gargantuan dog galloped into the bedroom, barking his fool head off.
Clapping her hands over her ears, Delaney admonished the creature—the dog, not her husband—with a firm, “Knock it off!” She threw back the covers and sat up. “Okay. Okay, Roger. Green tea.”
Late winter’s chill permeated the bedroom, invading her bones through the thick flannel of her nightshirt. Being a cheapskate as well as a health nut, Roger kept the thermostat set low to save money, and because he believed cold air was healthier.
Still foggy, she cocked her head in wonder. “Roger...I thought you said you didn’t have any classes today.” In the next instant, Ruff jumped up, bracing his front paws on the bed and giving her a big sloppy lick. Uttering an audible gasp, Delaney grabbed a handful of tissues from the box on her nightstand and wiped her face.
“Down, boy.” She pushed the beast off the bed. He sat there looking dejected but she refused to feel guilty. It was too damn early in the morning to be baptized with dog spit.
“They called a special faculty meeting,” Roger said.
“But I was hoping we could—”
“Could what? You’re working today, aren’t you?”
“Just until noon, remember? Maybe this afternoon we can—”
“It’s most likely an all-day meeting.”
“Oh.”
Ruff angled his head, whimpering as he looked at her, almost seeming to sense her disappointment. But that was ridiculous. He was nothing but a dumb, destructive, trouble-making canine.
Delaney didn’t know why she bothered to hope she and Roger might spend the afternoon together. Even if he remembered it was her birthday...and Valentine’s Day, which he never had in the past, he wouldn’t make any effort to celebrate it. Roger lumped birthdays and holidays, like Christmas and Valentine’s Day, into the same category. They were nothing but crass commercialism, just another excuse for retailers to line their pockets with his hard-earned money.
She remembered feeling cheated as a kid on her birthday once she was old enough to realize all the fuss was about some saint named Valentine, instead of celebrating the day she was born. With all the Valentine exchanging, and heart-shaped boxes of chocolate being given and received, people generally forgot about her birthday. She eventually grew used to it, not minding too terribly much because she told herself that one day when she grew up and got married, she’d have a wonderful, considerate husband who adored her enough to make her feel special on her birthday.
After marrying Roger, Delaney decided that on a list of husbandly qualities, the trait of ignoring birthdays and holidays probably wasn’t such an awful thing. Mature adults were supposed to overlook such minor disappointments. It was childish for her to expect to be the center of attention just because it happened to be the anniversary of her birth.
She eyed the toasty spot on the bed she’d just vacated, longing to return. Maybe if Roger hadn’t finished with his morning rituals she could squeeze in another fifteen minutes of cozy warmth. “Have you done your yoga and meditation yet?” she asked.
“Done,” he said. “I’m getting in the shower now.”
Delaney stifled a groan. “You want your smoothie for here or to go?” Giving in to a mighty yawn, she stretched and stepped into her fleece-lined slippers. Ruff was right at her side, acting all chummy because he knew she’d be feeding him and letting him outside once they got to the kitchen. Somehow Ruff’s care had mostly fallen on her shoulders.
“I’ll take it with me,” Roger said, entering the bathroom. “There won’t be anything to eat at the meeting except for donuts, bagels and muffins, and you know what I always say...”
Nodding, Delaney answered with the expected response, which was easy enough because she’d only heard the mantra a million times for each year they’d been married. “The devil’s in the white sugar and flour.”
“Remember that.” Roger pointed a cautionary finger.
“Always,” she replied. As if she could ever forget.
“Don’t forget to add the mustard greens leftover from last night’s salad.”
“I won’t.”
“And make sure to add the powdered wheatgrass and brewer’s yeast. You forgot them yesterday.”
“Okay. Sorry.” She stifled a shudder at his treasured combination of superfood ingredients.
“Remember to add the ground flaxseed after the yogurt and molasses so you don’t overheat the flax in the blender.”
“I’ll remember.” She nibbled her bottom lip. “I, um, don’t suppose you’ll be letting Ruff outside or filling his water or food dish before you leave.”
“No time. You’ll have to do it. While you’ve got the cutting board out, chop some fresh raw beet greens along with some of the turnip peels I told you to save. Add them to Ruff’s food dish along with a sprinkle of the brewer’s yeast and a clove of raw garlic. He loves it and it keeps him healthy.”
“Will do,” Delaney acknowledged to the closing door, nixing the juvenile urge to salute him with a crisp “Yes sir, Professor Kullerton, sir!” If Roger ever greeted her one morning with a sunny disposition or an affectionate peck on the cheek, she’d know without a doubt he’d been taken over by aliens...which wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing. The wicked thought had her chuckling.
She headed to the kitchen, following the merrily prancing Ruff. No way in hell would she add beets, turnips, brewer’s yeast or garlic to the dog’s food, not when she was the one stuck cleaning up after the animal. She’d learned the hard way that colorful-veggie-spiked dog food made for a disgusting elimination nightmare, nearly impossible to scoop up outside, much less clean off the deep pile carpet. Then there was the most godawful Caution: Gasmask Mandatory issue as a result of Ruff’s unbearably odoriferous gas wafting through the house.
About to open the patio door, she looked down at Ruff and sneered. “So you have a discriminating palate, do you? You love stinky colorful veggies and brewer’s yeast because they keep you healthy, hmm?” she scoffed. “Yeah, right. You’re nothing but a living, breathing four legged trash can.” The simple minded dog responded with a tongue-lolling smile.
After letting the dog out and seeing to his rations, Delaney plugged in her phone’s earpiece, tuning to one of her favorite playlists, a combo of jazz and rock selections. The earpiece was necessary to hide her listening choice from Roger, lest she get another tongue lashing about her mind-rotting music versus brain enriching classical music. It’s not that she didn’t appreciate classical, but Delaney preferred starting her day with something lively.
Stepping and swaying to the music as she quietly sang along, she opened a kitchen cabinet, smiling when she spotted the six-inch tall crocheted teddy bear greeting her.
The lopsided stuffed animal sat on the shelf between the canisters of green tea and coffee beans, a bar of premium milk chocolate nestled in its lap. The heart-shaped Valentine resting against its belly read, “Happy 35th birthday, Delaney! And Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart! Enjoy your special day. Have fun and celebrate! Love, hugs and kisses always...”
“Aw Roger...” she whispered as her fingertip traveled across the card embellished with hearts, flowers and a smiley face drawn in marker. “How sweet and thoughtful of you.” She closed her eyes and hugged herself, luxuriating in the loving feel of the message. It was the perfect visual to start her Valentine birthday morning.
It would have been even better if the note had actually been from Roger.
It wasn’t.
She only pretended it was.
She’d written it herself last night, setting it in on the tummy of the teddy bear she’d lovingly crocheted. Roger rarely opened kitchen cabinets, so Delaney wasn’t concerned he’d find her fanciful self-congratulatory display. Just as she’d planned, seeing the greeting first thing in the morning made a positive difference in her special day.
As far as Delaney was concerned, reality was overrated. Embroidering a touch of harmless fantasy atop reality made her happy...and happiness was every bit as healthy as greenish-gray drinks brimming with wheat grass juice. If that meant occasionally resorting to squirrelly behavior, like creating sweet notes and handmade teddy bears for herself and pretending they were from her unimaginative, unromantic husband, then so be it.
Mindlessly listening to the music, Delaney prepared Roger’s tea, allowing her thoughts to linger on the hunky nocturnal Viking. She’d had similar dreams multiple times over the years, frustrated and disappointed that they always ended at the same spot. Something inevitably interrupted before she and the gorgeous specimen of masculinity had an opportunity to become intimate.
She’d never be unfaithful to Roger in real life. He might be peculiar, persnickety, and sorely lacking when it came to romance, but he had plenty of positive qualities. She chose to focus on those. He was smart, well read, logical, ethical, organized, and a dedicated, caring educator. He was also passionate about his health and hers, tirelessly researching the latest scientific findings to ensure their hale and hearty longevity.
However, if living to a hundred and ten meant weak green tea and blended vegetable drinks each morning instead of indulging in an occasional donut and cup of coffee, she’d rather check out of life at a happy, well-fed ninety-five.
“My Viking wouldn’t ask for a soy yogurt molasses wheatgrass drink,” she muttered. “Varik the Bold would prefer a mug of strong brewed coffee, some eggs, bacon, sausage and a crusty chunk of bread slathered with real butter instead of soy margarine. No, scratch the coffee. He’d demand a tankard of ale.” She hoisted an invisible stein.
The thought of coffee made her sigh. She was dying for a cup but after ten years of marriage she knew better than to start the coffeepot before Roger left for the university. He refused to have his morning polluted with the odors of unhealthy food or drink.
She wished she could be as steady, rational and controlled as Roger. He couldn’t understand her habit of operating from emotion rather than logic, and failed to comprehend why she was so stubbornly optimistic, even in the face of opposing facts. He made no attempt to hide his disappointment at her lack of self-discipline when it came to her unhealthy addiction to chocolate either.
He was right, of course. Roger was always right.
Fortunately, he loved her enough to be remarkably patient and persistent. Although clearly frustrated by her frequent failings, Roger refused to give up on her.
“From now on I’m going to act more responsibly, more mature,” she vowed, measuring ingredients into the blender.
She’d start tonight by cooking Roasted Beet and Turnip Loaf, a recipe she’d found in Roger’s collection of health food cookbooks. Along with that, she’d serve Pureed Kale-Soy Gravy and a side of Rutabaga Tofu Puffs.
“And I’ll cook and serve it all without even gagging once.” She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I might even try to eat it.” Delaney smiled at the satisfying thought of serving a celebratory dinner on her special night...even if she couldn’t eat it.
“Roger will be ecstatic, absolutely transfixed by my new acumen in the kitchen.”
The tapping of dog nails on the patio door reminded her to let Ruff inside. She groaned when she saw he was caked with snow. He must have rolled around in it and now the stupid mutt would get it all over the house.
God forgive her but she was half-tempted to leave him outside. Maybe he’d get the hint and run away.
Ruff tapped the glass with his paw again, offering Delaney a sad-eyed pleading look. He wasn’t an ugly dog. She had to admit he was kind of cute with his short black fur and tan eyebrows and trim that made him look like he was sporting a goatee. He appeared to be part German Shepherd and part...donkey. His rambunctious personality kept him from being truly appealing.
He looked at her again with those huge dark eyes and Delaney’s heart thawed a little. “Dammit, I couldn’t live with myself if I was responsible for turning the poor dumb animal into a dogsicle.”
She cracked the door open just enough to reach out and clean off the snow clumps, but Ruff took advantage of the opportunity, muscling his way inside. He jumped up to greet her, bestowing another face lick, before running off to wreak havoc throughout the house.
It wasn’t even six in the morning and already she been baptized twice with a profusion of dog spit. Now she was sopping wet with snow too. Shivering, she disconnected the music and put her earpiece in a kitchen drawer before heading back to the bedroom to change, vowing yet again that one day they’d leave Chicago, moving someplace without frigid winter temperatures, ice and snow.
Her grandma’s adopted town of Glassfloat Bay, Oregon sounded ideal. Rebekka Eriksen waxed poetic about the small coastal town’s charm and its warm, friendly residents. There were no glacial temperatures in the winter or hot, sticky days in summer. Pacific Northwest winters were overcast and rainy, but as Grandma Bekka liked to say, “You don’t have to shovel rain.” The abundant rainfall provided lush foliage the rest of the year, along with plenty of sunshine.
Once Delaney’s sisters, Laila and Reen, and her brothers, Gard and Nevan, had visited Bekka they fell in love with the Pacific Northwest, moving there one by one. When their youngest sister, Kady, finished her overseas backpacking trip, she planned to settle there too. They kept urging Delaney to visit, certain she and Roger would love Oregon.
She had no doubt they were right. She’d been trying to talk Roger into a trip to Glassfloat Bay since Bekka moved there nearly ten years ago. He argued the cost of airline tickets was too great, and traveling across the country by car would eat up too much of his vacation.
So Delaney satisfied herself with the plentiful photos her grandmother and siblings had texted and posted online, along with their stories about the little town. She’d love to live in a picturesque spot like that one day...maybe when she and Roger retired.
“Wearing your good khakis, I see,” she noted as Roger dressed. “I hope the dean is impressed.” She offered a playful wink.
Stepping into his slacks, Roger gave her a distasteful appraisal. “Look at you. You’re all wet.”
Delaney couldn’t help laughing at her husband’s astute observation. “That’s because your beloved fur-bag decided to frolic in the snow. We got several inches overnight.” She caught a glimpse of her raccoon-ish reflection in the mirror, groaning at her wet, messy black hair and the smudges of makeup beneath her eyes.
Roger chuckled. “Dogs will be dogs.” Ruff chose that moment to prance to his master’s side and glance up adoringly. He mussed the dog’s fur. “I’ll bet you had a good time out there in the snow, didn’t you, boy?” Ruff responded with a cheerful bark. “Animals innately know the brisk, cold air is healthy for them,” Roger informed Delaney.
She paused briefly, biting her tongue to avoid saying bullshit. Wives of English professors didn’t resort to such crude verbalization.
“If you say so, dear,” she responded instead. It boggled her mind that her overly health conscious husband apparently saw nothing wrong with having a big, hairy, four-legged beast run amok in their house, spreading dog germs over every surface, even peeing and depositing disgusting piles of poop on occasion.
If Roger would ever clean up one of Ruff’s messes, rather than leave them for her, he’d probably change his tune pronto.
A few months ago Roger found the big shivering mutt huddled next to the trashcans outside their suburban one-story townhouse and brought him inside. Delaney’s first memory of the sizeable creature was watching him lift his leg and pee on the side of the sofa she’d just had reupholstered. “Do you have any idea what dog pee does to wool tweed?” she’d asked the dog. Not getting an answer, she posed the question to Roger who didn’t reply either.
The found-dog announcements they posted went unanswered. When no one came forth to claim the lively fiend, which was no surprise to Delaney, Roger decided to keep him. She only tolerated the animal because Roger claimed Ruff reminded him of the dog he’d had as a boy and lost to a car accident. Well hell. How could she throw the beast out—Ruff, not Roger—after a heartbreaking story like that?
Delaney ran the hairbrush through her damp hair. A moment later she reached for a tissue, wiping at her smudged eye makeup.
“Are you sure you have time for all that personal grooming? I’ve got to be out of here no later than—”
“Your tea has steeped. It’s ready and waiting,” Delaney assured. “And your smoothie will be ready when you are. Just like always.” Jiggling in place, she made an O-face. “But right now I’ve really got to run to the bathroom to pee.”
Roger’s pained expression, accompanied by a distinct shudder, couldn’t be missed. She knew what was coming before he even opened his mouth.
“Why must you insist on using such crude, rudimentary terminology?”
Fighting back a giant tsk, Delaney smiled at her proper-grammar-obsessed English teacher husband. “What I meant to say, of course, is...” pretending to hold a monocle to her eye, she affected an upper crust accent, “I must abscond to the lavatory so that I may urinate before my bladder ruptures.” She couldn’t help tacking on a giggle. “Better?”
“I find nothing amusing about this, Delaney. We are judged by our speech.”
Her shoulders slumped. It was too early in the morning for this. “I know, I know...but Roger, it’s not even dawn and I’m still half asleep. Give me a break, huh?”
“Once proper English is ingrained it flows naturally regardless of circumstances or time of day.”
Her mouth popped open to object but she snapped it shut. Since he’d only find a way to condemn her protests, she figured she may as well play it safe. “You’re right, Roger. Sorry. I’ll make more of an effort.” Before returning to the kitchen she glimpsed her husband’s attire. Determined to maintain a chipper attitude despite his usual morning crankiness, she noted, “Must be an important meeting. You look very professor-ish today.”
Roger stood statue-still for an instant. “Professor-ish?” Gazing at his reflection in the dresser’s mirror, he gathered his thinning auburn hair into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. “Is that bad?”
“No.” She gave him a kiss on the cheek. “You look very debonair. See you in the kitchen.”
He’d become self-conscious about his thinning hair and his appearance in general lately, which was certainly understandable. For Delaney, losing weight had become more difficult after turning thirty, but at least she’d be thinner after a diet. Poor Roger, however, couldn’t do anything to restore his hair, except for resorting to hair plugs or a hairpiece.
She’d tried to tell him in the kindest way possible that, rather than make him look younger, the ponytailed style only drew attention to his hair loss. Roger disagreed.
By the time she’d chopped all the veggies for his smoothie, Roger was at the table sipping his unsweetened matcha green tea.
Nudging the folded Lifestyle section of Northwest Suburban Gazette, their local newspaper, closer to him, Delaney cleared her throat to get his attention. It didn’t work.
“Did you see the paper, Roger?”
He was totally absorbed in a Happy Peaceful Planet magazine article extolling the overwhelming virtues of veganism. She only knew the nature of the article because he’d instructed her to read it the day before. Calling the tedious article mind-numbing was being kind.
Without looking up he said, “No.”
“Take a look,” Delaney encouraged, tapping the newspaper with her fingertip. “There’s something very special you might want to read. A brand new column that just debuted today.” She was so excited she could barely contain her delight but knew better than to do anything as silly as a happy dance in front of her husband. He’d think she was nuts.
Glancing at the paper, he glowered. “I have no interest in the Lifestyle section. You know that. I don’t read that sort of tripe.”
A monumental sigh escaped her lips. “Roger, it’s my new weekly column, “Delaney’s Diary.” I told you about it, remember? Complete with my own byline. There’s even a little headshot.” She smiled as she glanced at the tiny photo. Damn, if she didn’t look just like a writer! Oh God how she wanted to squeal with joy.
“It begins with Dear Diary.” Her fingertip traced beneath the type. “It’s the same way I start my blog posts and newsletters, to make it feel more personal. Good idea, hmm?”
She’d had a few articles published online and in women’s magazines but nothing important had ever come of it. After years of submitting her work to publishers, she’d collected enough rejection slips to paper a small bathroom. Getting her own column was monumental, and having the first column debut on her birthday was the icing on the cake.
Roger looked at her as if she’d just suggested they jump out of a plane without a parachute.
“Good idea?” He spat the words as if they were venomous. “It’s immature. Juvenile.”
Delaney flinched.
“I thought we talked about this,” a weary looking Roger reminded her. “I’m not enamored of my wife writing a humor column for our local paper, much less having it plastered all over the internet for any simpleton to read. It isn’t dignified. This latest whim of yours is ridiculous.”
Oh what Delaney wouldn’t do for a good, strong cup of coffee right now. Maybe with a good, strong shot of Kahlua on the side. Okay, Kahlua wasn’t strong by any means, but it might help soothe her wounded ego.
Resisting a tsk, she countered, “There’s nothing undignified about it. Some people might even think it’s quite an accomplishment.” Roger shot her another disbelieving look. “I just muse about daily life with a humorous slant. Kind of like Erma Bombeck, Dave Barry, or even Nora Ephron.”
His features soured. “Who?”
Delaney forgot. She couldn’t expect a man born without a humor gene to know anything about humor writers.
“Erma and Dave had syndicated newspaper columns, which grew into books, TV shows and movies.”
Crickets...
“I’m sure you’re familiar with Nora. She wrote When Harry Met Sally, Sleepless in Seattle, You’ve Got Mail, ooh, and she wrote Julie and Julia too. You know, the movie with Meryl Streep and Amy Adams about Julia Child and the blogger?”
Still silent, Roger gave her that same blank, vacant look.
Sucking in a breath, Delaney continued. “My editor thinks “Delaney’s Diary” has great potential for syndication.” Tossing her arms up with enthusiasm, she said, “Can you imagine? Who knows what that could lead to, Roger? Isn’t that exciting?”
Roger’s attention was solely focused on his stupid vegetable article.
“I’m using my maiden name, see?” She pointed, trying again to drum up a smidgen of interest in her accomplishment. “Delaney Malone. That way you won’t have to worry about your coworkers disapproving.”
She’d finally succeeded in snagging Roger’s attention.
“And just how many Delaneys do you think there are writing silly, mindless fluff for our local paper, Del? Everyone will know it’s my wife. That’s humiliating.”
“Aw, Roger, just read it, please. It’s short. It won’t take you long. I-I thought maybe you’d be proud of me. It’s not easy getting a newspaper column. It’s a big step for a fledgling writer.”
“My time is valuable.” Roger breathed an extended sigh of frustration. “I don’t choose to waste it reading an inane article you wrote for an addlebrained female audience. You want to make me proud? Use your brain to actually learn something of importance, like how to speak proper English for instance. I can imagine how you can expect me to take you seriously as writer when you can’t even speak the language properly.”
Ouch.
“Or you could take a class in how to prepare healthy vegan meals. Or...” she detected a semi-sneer as he gave her a head to toe appraisal, “perhaps you could learn how to curb your gluttonous chocolate habit.”
Delaney swallowed a sharp retort. She knew arguing wouldn’t get her anywhere and would only antagonize him even more.
Maintaining her calm, she said, “I try, Roger. I really do. And I promise to do better. Just wait until you see the wonderful vegan dinner I’m making for you tonight. You’ll be so impressed!”
“If you insist on writing for the newspaper,” Roger continued his harangue, “then for the love of God, write something intellectual...meaningful. Articles like this one.” He gave a backhanded slap to the magazine with the godawful boring vegan article.
Tears bristled behind Delaney’s eyes but she refused to cry. She wouldn’t allow Roger to ruin her special day.
“I hope you’re making a smoothie for yourself too this morning.” Roger cracked a half-hearted smile. His change of subject and demeanor indicated he was finished discussing her newspaper column...or her writing career. “It’s important to begin each day with food-derived antioxidants, chlorophyll and phytonutrients.”
“Absolutely,” she lied, waving a handful of parsley and attempting an enthusiastic smile. “I’ll make a fresh one to take to the office just before I leave.”
“Don’t add too much apple, beet or carrot. You don’t want to start your day with too much fructose.”
Heaven forbid. “Right.”
She’d never been a big meat eater, but oh what she wouldn’t give for a few strips of bacon, a burger, or a slab of baby back ribs now and then, without the guilt of feeling like a wayward child.
But Delaney’s idea of a satisfying meal was at direct odds with Roger’s vegan dogma. He had a nose like a drug detection dog, except he used it to sniff out meat. Those rare times she’d transgressed, eating an offending food during the day, he’d sniff the air, wince and declare she stank of dead animal flesh. Then came one of his dry lectures about the evils of consuming anything that once had a face or a mother.
The man excelled at taking the joy out of appreciating a good cheeseburger.
It wasn’t like Roger didn’t have any positive traits. He was honest, loyal and patient...well, semi-patient. And he was highly respected in his field—all exemplary qualities in a husband. Just because he had no idea what the split end of a hammer was for, didn’t know what a socket wrench was, and was clueless about needle nosed pliers, didn’t mean he wasn’t a real man. After all, just because she was handy with tools and could fix whatever needed fixing around the townhouse didn’t mean she wasn’t a real woman.
Roger groaned. “I feel a tension headache coming on.” Looking pained, he massaged his temples. “I could use some extra protein. Better add some tofu to my smoothie.”
“Sure.” Delaney stifled a smile as she drew the tub of tasteless white slabs from the refrigerator.
Varik the Bold would curl his lip in disgust at the thought of ingesting tofu.
“I’ll be leaving in precisely six minutes,” Roger informed her, glancing at the display on the perfectly synchronized watch he trusted more than his phone’s digital readout. Without looking in his wife’s direction, he held out his hand, wiggling his fingers.
After plucking Roger’s earplugs from her gadget drawer, Delaney placed them in his outstretched hand, waited for him to put them in, then turned on the blender. He was convinced the noise, as well as high decibels generated by any loud appliance, including the vacuum cleaner, wreaked havoc with his inner ears, thereby creating all manner of health problems Delaney didn’t really understand or care about.
To her, it simply meant Roger’s inner ears were far too delicate to allow him to turn on the damn vacuum to clean up after his damn dirty dog.
Six minutes later, a stainless steel thermos of goopy gray-green liquid in hand, Roger was out the door. There was no “Have a nice day, honey,” or “Thanks for getting up an hour early for me, sweetie.” And most certainly no “Happy birthday” or “Happy Valentine’s Day” or a thumbs up for the coup of getting a weekly column.
But that was Roger.
Tossing his earplugs back in the drawer she sighed. “He’s a little lackluster and opinionated but at least he’s faithful.”
She thought about her mom as her mind wandered while she put away jars, bottles, tubs and cut produce before cleaning up vegetable peelings and the rest of the mess from making Roger’s smoothie.
Astrid Malone managed to hold down a fulltime job and still be the world’s best mom, the one who was always there when one of her six kids needed her, and never missed an important school function. As the oldest child, Delaney would never forget the hardships her mom endured maintaining a relatively sane, stable household while raising the children on her own.
Their dad was a fallen firefighter who heroically lost his life in the line of duty saving children, including her brother, Gard, from a grade school fire. The survivor death benefits weren’t very substantial, so her mom’s income was limited. All the Malone kids pitched in, doing their best to help with chores and, later, when they got after school jobs, sharing their earnings with her without Astrid ever asking.
It’s one of the reasons Delaney rarely dated while in high school and college. There was little time for that as she helped with cooking, cleaning, and taking take care of the younger kids. Astrid felt guilty for Delaney missing out on so much before she married Roger, but it was the least Delaney could do for her amazing mom.
“If anyone missed out, it was you, Mom,” Delaney muttered as she worked. Astrid devoted herself to her lively brood of six. She gave up so much, yet never complained about what she’d missed. Even now, her mom was still sacrificing, passing up the chance to move away from the harsh Chicago winters just so Delaney wouldn’t feel abandoned.
More than anything, Delaney and her brothers and sisters worried about Astrid growing old alone. If anyone deserved a happily ever after with a good man, it was their mom. Delaney’s eyebrows furrowed as she realized there was little chance of that happening.
“I never want to find myself in a similar position.” Delaney scrubbed the counter with more vigor than was needed. “Which is why I’d rather bite my tongue and put up with Roger’s intolerant, antiquated mindset than risk getting a divorce.”
The big mutt sidled up against her leg, gazing at Delaney as she spoke. It seemed like he was really listening and cared about what she had to say. If only Roger would do the same.
“I’m not sure if I’m more afraid of being alone or of getting into the whole stressful dating scene,” she admitted to Ruff. “At thirty-five the last thing I want to think about is online dating.” The thought made her shudder. “The lies and exaggeration, the nervousness and anxiety and, maybe worst of all, the rejection.” A lengthy sigh escaped her lips.
After she’d finished washing the knives, cutting board and prep tools, she paused, glancing down at her captive audience. “What do you think, Ruff? Do I really want to subject myself to all that stress and difficulty?” She didn’t have to think about it long. “Hell no. It’s far better to find ways to placate myself, even if that means planting teddy bears and chocolate in a kitchen cabinet on my birthday.” Ruff offered a companionable woof in response, which Delaney interpreted as his agreement.
As long as she had her Viking dreams to fantasize about, she could put up with Roger’s idiosyncrasies and dictatorial ways.
“It’s not like my Viking dream boy’s about to ride up on a white charger, or row up in a longboat, and whisk me away from my humdrum existence. Nope, I need to be practical and make the best of what I have,” Delaney muttered absently. “Roger’s a great catch. Plenty of women would love to be in my shoes.”
Thinking about all of this was depressing, and that’s the last thing she wanted on her birthday.
She turned on her phone’s music app, sans the earpiece, filling the kitchen with the melodic sounds of jazz as she put on a pot of strong, earthy coffee to brew.
“Here I come, Teddy.” She returned to the cabinet with the teddy bear and plucked the chocolate from its chubby lap.