The Romance Novel Cure (5 page)

I got home, feeling this weird excitement in my stomach. I was nervous about seeing my own husband, how crazy is that? Not just nervous… excited.

As soon as I saw the table set, though, I got a stomachache. Seriously, it just started hurting. Because I got the picture: he was planning a romantic night.

It had been so long. I don’t even want to say how long.

I just felt all messed up about sex.

I leaned back against the door, letting my bag slide to my feet.

“Hey,” said Ben, coming around the corner, smiling.

He took one look at my face and his smile disappeared. He came right up in front of me.

“What is it, Greta?” he asked softly.

I just looked up at him. I took a look at the table, then at him, and swallowed. I could do this, I could say: that I was sorry, that I wasn’t ready.

When Greta arrived home, I took a deep breath. I heard the door shut, then silence. I went over to the door and saw her leaning against it. She looked up at me, her eyes looking so troubled, and it made my gut twist. I asked her what was wrong. She looked down, then up at me, and I don’t know how, but I just got it.

She thought I was planning a big reunion seduction scene.

Damn.

My first instinct was to back away, probably babbling something random. But I took a quick breath and asked myself what Silas would do. Crazy,right? But still.

Swagger
: I leaned one arm against the door and looked down at Greta. I smiled, just a little, one hand in my pocket.

“Oh, I can see what you were thinking,” I said slowly, looking into her beautiful eyes. “You thought I was all, “tonight, yeah, baby,” didn’t you?”

She blushed and looked down, then back up at me, starting to smile. She looked embarrassed.

I leaned just a little closer, and said even more quietly, “no way, I wouldn’t put that kind of pressure on you.”

I looked into her eyes, savoring the rare feeling of being so close to her. I felt my heart start to speed up. I backed up, putting my other hand in my pocket, heading back into the kitchen to finish preparing dinner. I heard Greta go down the hallway to the bathroom. Within a few moments she was sitting at the table.

“Can I help with anything?” she asked.

“All set,” I said, bringing the food to the table.

I had remembered she liked this kind of frittata
(rule number one: listen to Greta)
that Whole Foods makes, so I had gotten that, and wild rice, salad, and sliced pineapple.

It was awkward, but also nice. We hadn’t sat down together to share a meal in what felt like so long. We were pretty quiet, with Greta saying softly that she liked the food. She looked around, curiously.

“You cleaned up,” she said, surprised.

I started to say something defensive about how it wasn’t as if I never helped, and I was waiting for her to criticize me, but again, I stopped myself just in time. What would Silas do?

Rule number two: take care of Greta.

“You work so hard,” I said, putting my fork down, and looking seriously at her. “Then you keep our home clean and everything. You always make awesome meals. You leave tea for me every morning. I appreciate that. I
don’t
take that for granted. You take care of all those little kids and teach them such important stuff. You know how much I admire that. Or maybe you don’t, anymore. I do, though. Admire that. Admire you. So, yeah. I’m planning on helping out more, to help take care of… you.”

Greta’s mouth was open by the end of this spiel. She blinked.

“That’s… thanks, Ben,” she said, her voice shaking a little.

We finished eating in silence.

I started to clear the table, Greta helping.

“Let me,” I said. “Do you want to watch
Breaking Bad
with me?”

“Okay,” said Greta, looking down.

“Meet you on the couch in ten,” I said.

I thought she might plead tiredness, might want to go off into her room and read. Part of me had wanted to quit while I was ahead. I just tried to be brave.

When I got there, Greta was in her pajama pants and a soft, old tee shirt she has had for years.

Stripy pajama bottoms.

She had her face scrubbed and was wearing this stretchy hairband she wears at night to wash her face. I smelled the faint rose scent of the lotion she puts on her face and arms. Totally weird to be aroused by the scent of roses, I’m sure, but I had this association with it. So many nights of going to bed, smelling that scent, kissing her and pulling her close. Yeah. I sat down quickly and pulled a pillow on my lap.

“Should we start over?” I asked, holding the remote.

She looked at me questioningly, a startled expression in her eyes.

“I mean, with
Breaking Bad
,” I said. “We saw, what, the first three episodes? That was a while ago.”

“I think,” she said, clearing her throat, “that we can catch up. What about you?”

“I think we’ll pick right up where we left off,” I said, grinning. I stayed in my corner of the couch but I couldn’t help staring at her sweet face, and letting my eyes take a quick trip down the length of her.

Greta stared back and then blushed, looking down quickly, then smiling back at me, before looking straight at our flat screen television. I kept looking at her, grinning. She bit her lip, not meeting my eyes, but smiling, too.

I pressed play.

After watching
Breaking Bad
, I said good-night to Ben and started walking to the bedroom. I paused and looked back.

Ben had been watching me walk away. He lifted his eyes quickly to my face.

He had been
looking
at me, I really think he was.

Me in my old pajamas.

Me who had gained some weight this past year.

And by some I mean… forget it.

I bit my lip.

“Thanks again for dinner,” I said quickly, turning away.

“
Greta
-
le
,” he called softly after me.

I turned back.

“Are you busy tomorrow?” he asked.

Tomorrow was Saturday. I had been planning to hole up in my room and write all day, with breaks for reading.

I shook my head, looking at him questioningly.

“Spend the day with me,” he said softly.

I nodded, smiled, and turned away again. How stupid to be shy of my own husband, right?

“Greta,” he said, very low.

I turned back.

“I need something to read tonight, or else I’ll toss and turn. What are you reading, right now?” Ben said.

Uh-oh.

“Want me to send you a link?” I asked breathlessly, “of some good, soothing novels? There’s this mystery series that takes place in England. The detective has a cat who helps her solve the crimes…”

Ben was shaking his head slowly.

“What are
you
reading?” he asked again, softly.

I closed my eyes. Here it was, the moment of truth. I felt really self conscious. I couldn’t lie to Ben. I could tell him that I didn’t want to tell him, but I couldn’t bear to. There he was, looking at me so sweetly, but there was also something kind of… cheeky in his expression.

“The
Caspian Chronicles
,” I said in a rush. I took a deep breath.

Ben looked confused.

“Caspian… what?” he asked.

“The
Caspian Chronicles
,” I said. “By Calliope Matters. I’m on the third book right now. It’s so good. I mean, if you like those kinds of books. And, you probably don’t, or wouldn’t. But.” I took another deep breath. “I do.”

“You do, do you?” asked Ben, starting to grin.

“Yeah,” I said, looking up at the ceiling. “Caspian is a vamypre. Valerie is his, ah, girlfriend. They, uh, fight forces of evil together, save each other’s lives, you know, stuff like that.”

“So, it’s a what, an action/adventure kind of series?” Ben asked, curiously.

“Well, definitely lots of action. Lots of adventure. Yup. Suspense, too,” I said, stalling, “but, it’s a romance series. Paranormal romance.”

“Okay, then,” said Ben. “I’ll download the first one. I’ll read myself to sleep.”

Very glad that conversation was over, I nodded and turned to go.

I felt Ben’s eyes on me.

When Greta told me her favorite series was the
Caspian Chronicles
, I felt confused. I wasn’t expecting it. What about Silas and Sera? The
Dark Shifters
series? Was I reading the wrong books?

I quickly got ready for bed and found the books online, downloading them to my Kindle app. I propped myself up on a few pillows and started to read. An hour later, I looked up blearily. I knew I needed to shut the light off and get some sleep, but damn, one more chapter.

Personally, I liked the
Dark Shifters
series with Silas, better, but the
Caspian Chronicles
was great, too. Like Harry Potter, for grown ups, with erotic scenes and seriously scary moments, too. I think what I liked better about the Silas and Sera series was the connection between the two of them. There was so much flirtation, humor, and real moments in their interactions. Caspian and Valerie had this very intense, troubled bond full of angst, with lots of conflict, which made for compelling reading. The language was graphic, explicit, and there was a great deal of tension. It was only my second look at paranormal romance series, but just in my opinion, Mireya Santos was a better writer. I liked how she captured how two people would speak, and I thought the sex scenes in her books were crazy hot, because I found myself feeling everything that was going on.  Don’t get me wrong, Calliope Matters did an excellent job, too. Like the Silas and Sera books, the
Caspian Chronicles
didn’t exactly soothe a reader into sleep.

In the morning, I heard the faint sounds of Greta tapping onto her laptop keyboard. Maybe she was journaling. She always woke up early, even on weekends, after years of waking up so early to teach. I used to sleep in and find her curled up on the couch, with a pot of tea, her laptop open in front of her, or a book. She used to close her laptop, stretch, and smile so sleepily at me, as though she were so glad I was awake. She would stretch again, holding out her arms to me, and I’d get onto the couch with her and start nuzzling her neck, kissing her. She would taste like tea and these gluten free pistachio biscotti she liked instead of toast. She always got everything gluten free, and learned all about celiac disease when we first met each other, from day one.

One time, and this illustrates perfectly what an amazing person she is: when we first started dating, I said something offhand about how she would not have given me a second glance if she and I had met in college. Or if she did, it would be a look of horror. I don’t know how it came up, I think I was deflecting a compliment she gave me, saying something self- deprecatory. She called me on it, and I tried to brush it off, briefly explaining how severely I’d had acne, and how scary skinny I was with undiagnosed celiac.

“You had the same soul, looking out of the same eyes,” she said fiercely. “I would have
recognized
you.”

I had to reach up, and touch my jaw, looking down at Greta. I would find myself forgetting that my skin, although rough and scarred, was clear of acne. I didn’t know what to say. I believed her. I couldn’t help it. She was so small, looking up at me, so fiery and full of conviction.

That’s when I told her I loved her for the first time.

Because what else could I do but love her forever? A woman with a heart like that?

My Greta.

Later, that day, we were in bed. Greta asked me about what it had been like, looking different, how people treated me. At first, I made a joke. She asked me again, in another way. She was so gentle about it, as though she really wanted to know. As though she really wanted to know…
me
. So, I said something about how it made me a stronger person, how it lead to my getting into art. She didn’t let it go. I almost felt angry, the way she kept looking at me, wanting more. There she was, naked, resting on my chest, looking down into my eyes, with so much love in her eyes. It broke down some wall, and I told her. I told her how it had felt, what it had been like. I told her about how in freshman year at UNM, I got a crush on a girl. She was one of those friendly, flirtatious types. I just read too much into it. One evening, I talked myself into going to her suite with the plan of asking her out. I had never done anything remotely close to this, and I was petrified. But somehow, I had some hope and excitement, too. When some other students and I had been waiting for a shuttle earlier that day, she had held my hand and swung it, then spun in a circle under our arms, laughing. I got the idea that she liked me, so, I wanted to ask her out before she started liking someone else. When I got to her suite, I overheard her talking with her roommates. Their door was open.

“I know, he should try Proactiv. It’s really sad.”

“How could anyone even get close enough to kiss him?”

“That’s so mean!”

“I’m sorry, but would you? Can you imagine?”

“Hard. Pass.”

I turned around and left. If they had only known how many medications I had tried. The thing is, I didn’t feel angry at them, I didn’t blame that girl. I understood. That made it worse, somehow. Made it harder to bear.

I hated remembering it, but somehow it felt good to tell Greta. I didn’t like how sad it made her look, though. Her eyes held so much pain. She tried to speak and couldn’t. She shook her head and slowly kissed me, all over my face.

What else could I do, but love her forever?