Married for Christmas (Willow Park) (11 page)

She let out a breath. “Yeah.”’

“So can you please tell me? I can’t fix it if you won’t let
me know why you’re unhappy.”

“There’s nothing to fix,” she said at last, her voice a
little hoarse. “It’s not like you’ve really done anything wrong. And I don’t
want you to feel guilty or anything, or be obliged to act in any way you don’t
want.”

She could barely see him frowning in the dark. “I don’t know
what you mean.”

“I know you don’t. I know.” She blew out a frustrated
breath, wishing she’d just kept her mouth closed to avoid this awkward
conversation. She pulled the covers up over her, causing him to adjust the
covers over himself too. “It’s just that…it’s just that before we got married,
I thought we were close.”

“We
are
close.”

“I know. I
know
. But it felt different before. We
were honest with each other, and basically open about what was going on with us,
and we spent time together. And now that we’re married, we…we don’t. We aren’t.”
She took a shuddering breath, afraid of saying too much. “And I’ve been kind of
upset about it. Since it feels like we’re not even as close as we used to be.”

“We’re still clos—” He broke off his initial response, as if
he’d just processed what she said.

“We haven’t been close this week. I mean, you’re always very
nice, but you’ve…you seem withdrawn, and I don’t know why. I don’t know what
I’ve done to make you pull away from me.” She felt painfully vulnerable saying
the words and wished she could suck them back up.

He rolled over onto his back and stared at the ceiling. A
faint glow from the moonlight played around the edges of the blinds on the
windows, casting dim light across his face. “You haven’t done anything.”

“Then why…” She didn’t finish the question. She didn’t need
to.

He didn’t answer immediately. Just shifted slightly beneath
the covers. Then eventually he said, “It’s hard. Harder than I thought. Getting
married again.”

Her chest suddenly clamped down in pain at the halted
explanation. What an absolute, insensitive idiot she’d been—not to realize that
he might be struggling with something really difficult.

“It feels like I’m moving on,” he said. “Even if I can’t
let… Even if it’s not the same, I’ve started doing things with you that I’ve
never done with anyone but Lila. And not just the sex.”

It hurt the way it had the first time, to hear him once
again affirm that he was never going to fall in love with her, but she already
knew that was true so she pushed it aside in the face of what was so much more
important. “I understand,” she murmured, reaching out to put a hand on his
chest. “I’m so sorry. I never even realized…I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault. I know I shouldn’t
feel guilty for moving on, but I do. Sometimes I do.” Emotion was shuddering
under the surface of his composure, so intensely it seemed to vibrate the air
around him. “I didn’t realize it would be so hard.”

Her eyes burned with feeling. “It’s okay, Daniel. It’s
really okay. I shouldn’t have tried to push you—”

“You didn’t push me at all. I should have told you what was
wrong. I’ve been trying to be a good husband to you—I really have—but I haven’t
done a good job this week.”

She couldn’t resist anymore, so she rolled over to give him
a hug.

He hugged her back, so tightly she couldn’t breathe for a
moment.

Then he murmured into her hair, “I’ll try to do better.”

“You don’t have to do better—”

“I do. I don’t want you to be unhappy. It’s my
responsibility to make sure you aren’t. And I don’t want you to ever doubt that
we’re friends, that we’re close. You mean so much to me, Jessica.”

She didn’t doubt it anymore. He felt real and warm and human
beneath her, strong and vulnerable both.

He added, “And, if you’re upset about something, would you
try to let me know what it is earlier too?”

“Yeah. Sorry. I didn’t want to grumble, since it’s not a
real marriage. I mean, a regular marriage. You don’t owe me anything.”

“I owe you being a good husband, and I’m sorry I haven’t
been that.”

“I’m sorry too.”

She felt a lot better, and she didn’t want to move out of
his arms, so she shifted against him, getting a little more comfortable.

He didn’t seem inclined to push her away tonight, so she
stretched out against his side, her arm wrapped around his waist.

As the minutes past, she started thinking more and more
about sex. He was so big. And strong. And solid. And hot. She wanted to feel
him in every way.

But she was determined not to put any pressure on him. Not
if it made him feel guilty. Not if he wasn’t ready. There was no reason to be
selfish, just because her body had ideas of its own.

She kept shifting, however, since her body was responding to
thoughts she shouldn’t be having. She tried to keep her hand still, but it was
moving slightly against his side—quite against her conscious volition.

Without thinking, she moved her hand down to his hip, past the
waistband of his pajama pants. She wasn’t doing anything intentional, just idly
stroking her fingers.

Then her forearm brushed against something unexpected.

She sucked in a breath and couldn’t help but move her hand
down to investigate.

He was aroused. It was obvious beneath the fabric of his
pants.

“Jessica,” he said, his voice very thick. She gave a ragged
gasp as she gently palmed him, thrilled with how he felt beneath her hand.

She jerked away when she realized what she was doing. “I’m
so sorry. I’m so
sorry
. We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready
for. I shouldn’t have—”

Horribly guilty and horribly embarrassed, she rolled over to
her side of the bed and pulled the covers up to her neck.

He rolled over toward her, dislodging the safety of her
covers.

“Jessica,” he said, taking her face in his hand, “I’d like
to have sex again, if you want to.”

“But I thought you said—”

“I’ve been feeling guilty, but it’s not a rational feeling
and I shouldn’t indulge it. I think it’s better for me to… I’d like to have sex
again, if you’d like to too.”

“I would,” she admitted, reaching up to slide her fingers
through his hair.

He leaned down to kiss her, and it was just as good as last
time. His tongue slowly explored her mouth until she was shuddering with
pleasure. She stroked his cheek, loving the feel of his beard beneath her palm.

It didn’t take long until both of them were completely into
it. She was even more eager than last time—so eager, in fact, that she came once
during foreplay, a fact that seemed to please Daniel inordinately.

When he slid inside her again, he was just as hot and hard
and urgent as he’d been the week before.

He seemed to try to control his rhythm, slow his motion
inside her, but he couldn’t. Soon he was grunting with the same kind of primal
need she’d felt in him last time.

She loved how it felt, loved how he so obviously took
pleasure in her body, how he seemed to need what she could offer him.

She didn’t climax from intercourse, but after he’d come with
a loud exclamation of release, he kissed her some more and brought her to
another orgasm with his fingers.

She was limp and replete when he finally collapsed beside
her with a long, low groan.

She couldn’t help but smile at how exhausted he sounded.

“Surely having sex with me isn’t such an arduous task,” she
teased.

He reached over to pull her to his side. “It’s exhausting.
You’re quite the taskmaster.”

She giggled foolishly. “Well, you performed admirably.”

“Glad to hear it.” He leaned down to press a kiss into her
hair. “Are you sore?”

“Not nearly as much this time.”

“Good.”

She eventually got up to go to the bathroom and make sure
Bear was sleeping soundly.

When she came back to bed, she rolled back over to his side
and fell asleep very happy.

The following week, she was
determined to do better—to enjoy what she was getting out of this marriage and
not hope for or expect anything more.

She’d always had a certain idea about what a home would feel
like after she was married, and there was no reason why she couldn’t cultivate some
of those feelings—whether Daniel was in love with her or not.

Her first step toward this end was to cook dinner on Monday
evening. In all of her visions of herself as a wife, she would at least
sometimes make meals other than canned soup and sandwiches.

They’d had a potluck at church on Sunday evening after the
final practice for the children’s Christmas pageant, and she wasn’t about to
bring something she tried cooking for the first time to be tasted by half the
church. So she brought fruit salad to the potluck. No one seemed surprised that
she hadn’t tried anything more ambitious, but she was determined to eventually do
more than people expected of her.

She spent all of Sunday and half of Monday mulling over what
she would to try to cook on Monday evening.

She finally settled on a roast, since she remembered how tasty
and homey it had been when her mother cooked them. It felt like an impressive
meal, but the recipes she found looked doable. She went to the grocery store on
Monday morning to buy a good piece of meat and all the vegetables and
seasonings she needed. She took a long, late lunch break to get it all
prepared. She followed the directions exactly and double-checked every step.

She used the simplest recipe she found, and she was sure
she’d done everything correctly as she put it in the oven.

She was excited. Ridiculously proud of herself. It might not
be as easy for her as for other women, but she could prepare a home-cooked
dinner for her husband, just like any other wife in Willow Park.

It started to smell good as it got closer to dinner time.
Bear planted herself in the middle of the kitchen to wait. The dog had never
smelled a piece of meat being cooked in her house for such a long stretch of
time, so it absorbed her attention for the entire afternoon.

Jessica brought her laptop into the kitchen and worked on
some stuff that didn’t require the entire computer set-up in her office. She’d
always been good at tuning the world out as she worked. It was one of her gifts,
and it came in very handy as she worked from home.

Her supervisor had just sent her a new project, so she
started making plans—the bare bones of the design and the timeline.

Eventually, she became aware that Bear had started to pace
the length the kitchen.

“Lay down,” she said distractedly, typing as quickly as she
could.

The dog didn’t lie down.

“Bear, sit.”

Bear sat, but then popped up again less than a minute later.

“What’s wrong with you?” Jessica groaned, finally turning
toward the dog, who was now standing frozen and pointing toward the oven.

Jessica gasped and leapt out of her chair. It was past time
for the roast to come out. Daniel would be home any minute.

“Shit!” she burst out, running toward the oven and grabbing the
hot pads she’d put on the counter earlier in the day when she’d been careful
about every detail.

She opened the oven, coughing at the wave of heat that
rushed out at her. Ignoring it, she grabbed the big pan and dragged it out,
coughing more as she did.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” she gasped, grabbing the
first utensil she could lay her hands on. It happened to be a big wooden spoon.

She poked the piece of meat. It didn’t look burnt. She was
only ten minutes late in taking it out. Surely it wasn’t entirely ruined. She
calmed down at this logical conclusion, although she was surprised and
disturbed that the expensive roast had ended up half the size it had been when
she’d put it in.

Poking the meat with the spoon produced no verifiable
results.

She pushed the meat too hard with the spoon and the pan
started to slide. She reached out to hold it steady, burning her fingers in the
process. “Shit!”

“What on earth is the matter?”

She whirled around, sucking on her burned fingers and
holding the wooden spoon up like a wand.

Daniel stood in the kitchen, staring at her in astonishment.
He wore khakis and a green dress shirt, and his lips were slightly parted.

He looked scrumptious, and she was a perfect mess.

“Nothing,” she managed to say. “I might have overcooked the
roast a little.”

He came over to investigate. “It sounded like the house was
falling down.”

“Yeah. Sorry about the language.”

“It’s fine. Are you sure everything is all right?”

“Yeah. I was just all in a rush when I took it out of the
oven, and I burned my fingers. I don’t usually use that kind of language.”

“I said it’s fine.” He frowned at her. “Do you really think
I judge everything you do? There’s nothing in the Bible that says you can’t use
the word ‘shit’. Believe it or not, occasionally I do too.”

 “You do?” She forgot her roast momentarily in genuine
curiosity. “I’ve never heard you say it.”

“It offends some people, so I try not to use it in public.”
He came over to stand beside her near the counter. His frown had turned into a
familiar half-smile. “But, you know, sometimes things really
are
shit,
and there’s no other appropriate word to describe it.”

She smiled at him sheepishly, then turned back toward her
roast. “Let’s hope this isn’t one of those times when there’s no other
appropriate word.”

“I’m sure it’s fine.” He peered at the concoction in the pan
and pointed out a pale, gelatinous mass. “What’s that?”

“It’s a potato.” The vegetables hadn’t fared well, for some
reason, but most of them looked edible.

“Are you sure?”

She groaned at his dubious tone. “Well, it was. I thought I
did everything right. Surely ten extra minutes wouldn’t ruin the entire thing!”

He started to chuckle but clearly bit back the instinct.
“I’m sure it’s fine. I don’t mind well-done meat. Do I have time to change
clothes?”

“Yeah. I’ll get everything ready. I’ve got to try to cut
this thing up.” She prayed the meat would taste good. It smelled pretty good,
and it didn’t look too bad.

“I don’t mind carving the—”

“I can do it. You go change clothes.”

She moved all her work stuff, telling herself that next time
she was definitely going to set the oven timer. Why the heck hadn’t she thought
of that before? Then she set the table with the dishes they’d received as
wedding gifts.

She lit a candle—not tapers, just a big chunky one that had
been sitting on the counter. Then she cut the meat, which was tougher than
she’d been hoping. She hadn’t eaten a roast like this in a long time, but she
was sure it was tougher than it was supposed to be.

She covered the meat with au jus, hoping the gravy would
soak up and soften it. Then she spooned the vegetables into a bowl, cringing when
a couple of the potatoes broke into mush.

So it wasn’t perfect. But maybe it would taste okay.

She put it all on the table and then decided the candle
might be silly so she started to blow it out.

“It looks great,” Daniel said, entering the kitchen wearing
a t-shirt and a much more beat-up pair of khakis.

She didn’t blow out the candle, after all, since he’d
already seen it. She didn’t think the meal looked great, but he was obviously
trying to be nice.

He said the blessing, and she served the food, intentionally
giving him the potatoes that appeared to have the most internal consistency.

She sipped her water and watched out of the corner of her
eye as he took his first bite.

His face didn’t transform with disgust, so maybe it was
edible.

She watched as he chewed. And chewed. And chewed. And
chewed.

Then she groaned in defeat and lowered her head to the
table. “It’s horrible! You don’t have to eat it.”

He finally managed to swallow, although it seemed to take
some effort. “It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not. It’s nice of you to pretend, but there’s no
sense in forcing yourself to eat this mess.” With a sigh, she stirred her meat
around with her fork. “I don’t know what I did wrong. Maybe ten extra minutes
was just too long.”

“Or maybe it was just a bad cut of meat,” he said, peering
at the roast on the platter. “It probably wasn’t your fault.”

“It sure cost a lot to be a bad cut of meat.” She cringed at
how much she’d paid for it.

All she’d wanted to do is cook a decent meal and prove she
was capable of being a pastor’s wife.

“Then maybe it wasn’t a good recipe you used—maybe it had
you set the temperature too high or something.” His voice was casual and
friendly, but he was peering at her face in concern.

She thought it was sweet he was trying to take the blame off
her, but it also made her feel even more stupid. “I wonder what I did wrong.”

“I don’t know anything about roast. All I can do is grill
stuff outside. Lila always cooked roast in the slow cooker.”

It probably always turned out perfectly, too. “I can ask my
mom if she’s lucid tomorrow. Sometimes she can remember things like recipes.”

“If not, just ask someone at church—Martha or Rebecca or
someone. I’m sure they’d be able to help.”

There was no way Jessica was going to ask one of the women
at church about why her roast had been a disaster, but she didn’t say so to
Daniel.  She stood up and picked up both of their plates. “I’ll make us sandwiches.”

He helped her by carrying the bowl of vegetables and platter
of meat to the counter.

He peered at her face closely. “Are you upset? Anyone could
have ended up with a bad roast.”

“But
I’m
the only one who did it. I’d tried so hard—”
She broke off, since she didn’t want Daniel to know how much time and effort
she’d spent preparing this meal.

He didn’t respond immediately. Just stood, a little too
close to her, near the counter. “It was nice of you to make it. I thought you
didn’t like to cook.”

“I don’t. I mean, I don’t mind it—I just don’t know how to
do anything. I was trying.”

She felt stupid and young and incompetent and a complete
disaster as a wife.

She turned away from him—toward the sink to clean out the
plates—as she gasped on a ludicrous wave of emotion, one that completely
surprised her.

“Hey,” he said, turning her around with a hand on her
shoulder. “I don’t care if you can cook or not. You don’t ever have to cook for
me.”

“I know. But
I
care.”

“Well, it was a good effort.” He turned toward the very
tough meat.

His face was perfectly sober, but she could see just the
smallest hint of a repressed smile, as though he were hiding amusement.

“You can laugh.”

“I don’t want to laugh.”

“Yes, you do.  It’s ridiculous. You can laugh.”

He frowned at her in annoyance. “I’m not going to laugh when
you’re upset.”

Suddenly, she was hit by a wave of amusement—at how she’d
gotten so worked up over something so inconsequential, at his valiant attempt
to say the right thing, and at the pitiful outcome of all her meal
preparations.

What was happening to her? Just six months ago, she’d never
dreamed she would get so upset over failing to cook a meal successfully. Most
of her life, she’d barely even tried to cook, but she thought it was something
a pastor’s wife should be able to do.

Daniel smiled and looked visibly relieved when he saw her
shift of mood. “Let’s not have sandwiches,” he said. “I’ll take you out for
dinner.”

“Okay.” She wiped her eyes, feeling better over the whole
thing.

“I’ll clear this up. Did you want to change clothes?”

She glanced down at herself. She’d been so intent on the
meal that she hadn’t even thought about putting on something decent or looking
somewhat attractive. She wore sweats, a t-shirt, and no bra.

“Yeah. I better. You can just leave it. I can clean up
later.”

“Okay.”

She went upstairs and pulled on jeans and decent top. She
ran a brush through her hair and was ready to go in about three minutes.

As she came down, Daniel was cleaning up—despite her clear instructions
not to.

She was about to chastise him as she stood in the entrance
of the kitchen, watching him dump the ruined food in the trash.

Before she could speak, though, she saw him pick out a big
piece of meat.

He passed it down to Bear, who was begging just at his heel.

“Shh,” he told the dog, raising a finger to his lips. “Don’t
tell.”

Bear, chomping happily on her meat, did as she was
instructed and didn’t say a word.

***

Cooking dinner hadn’t turned out
exactly as she’d planned it, but she wasn’t prepared to give up on her goal of
pursuing the kind of home experience she’d always envisioned. Her next step
toward achieving that goal was to have a festive, cozy time decorating the
Christmas tree with Daniel.

She’d always imagined families—bigger families than her and her
mom—having warm, joyous times trimming the tree, filled with laughter and
intimacy. She’d always wanted that for herself.

That Wednesday evening was the children’s Christmas pageant.
The program was just an hour, however, and she and Daniel agreed to decorate
their tree after the pageant.

Jessica was very excited.

She’d always gotten a tree for her little house in Charlotte,
but she’d had to decorate it by herself. One year she’d invited friends over to
do it with her, but it hadn’t been the experience she was hoping for. She
thought this evening would be different.

Daniel had to stay at church longer than she did to talk to
someone after the pageant, so she came home and got everything ready.

She made hot cider and got out the Christmas cookies she’d
made that afternoon—the cookies were from pre-prepared dough and she’d sat
vigilantly in front of the oven so she wouldn’t burn them. Then she put on
Christmas music and pulled out the boxes of ornaments both of them had
collected over the years.