Commitment

by Golland, K. M.

  An unexplainable feeling came over me as I sat there by my pool, at my son’s birthday, witnessing how Bryce and Alexis interacted with each other; the love and lust filled conversation they conveyed with their eyes. I couldn’t for the life of me remember if Dean and I had ever done that, ever communicated with just a look, and it made me sad. It made me long for something I hadn’t realised I longed for until now. It made me question what I had, what I didn’t have, what I wanted, and what I needed.

  It made me question my marriage.

  In hindsight, it shouldn’t have made me question anything. I mean, Bryce and Lexi acted like newlyweds. Their relationship, albeit two years old, was still fresh and exciting … still in that stage of discoverability. But I guess that was the key, because when you stopped discovering your partner, intrigue ceased to exist. And intrigue for wanting to learn all there was about someone was what kept a connection alive. It kept marriage strong.

  Dean and I had no intrigue.

  “Mmm…” Bryce hummed, his voice deep and prurient. “Your mummy is in trouble when we get home, Bray. Big trouble.”

  “Lucky your mummy likes being in trouble,” she replied, her intention equally lascivious. Oh my God, that, right there, is so fucking sexy.

  I wanted that sexiness; that desire. I wanted to be in trouble for simply handing my shitty child to Dean. I wanted something other than a quick fuck on my back that put me to sleep. I wanted more. But how did I get more from a man who already gave all that he was? I had no idea. And honestly, I wasn’t sure if it were possible.

  Looking away from the two horny fucks who were giving me a serious case of green-tinted skin, I caught Dale’s eyes settle on me as he tipped his beer to his mouth. I also caught my husband’s — one set, smiling warily. The other set, drowning in need.

  * * *

  I hadn’t been able to sit by the pool with them both gazing at me for a second longer, so I’d decided to head inside and immerse myself in food and cake preparation. Plus, and maybe it had been the sun, but I’d felt clammy.

  “Sembri malato. Cosa c'è di sbagliato? Hai bisogno di una mano?” my mother asked, placing her hand on my forehead. She was such a worrywart, always fussing over my siblings and I.

  I took her hand off my head and kissed it, reassuring her that I was fine and that she could help by setting out the salads. “Sto bene, Mumma. E sì, grazie. C'è insalate in frigo che devono essere messo sul tavolo.”

  “Va bene, sì.” She went about grabbing bowls of pasta, potato and green salads, and set them out while continuing to mumble in Italian that I worked too much and needed to look after myself more, to which I replied with — in Italian, because Mum missed my late father dearly, and they’d always conversed in their native tongue — that my brother and sister-in-law had bought a holiday home.

  My plan was to distract her from giving me a hard time.

  She mumbled again about fearing they’d move away to said new holiday home and take her grandchildren with them. I laughed and looked up from arranging the sausage rolls out on a platter to find Dean pivoting, seemingly trying to escape our presence without being noticed.

  “Dean, can you help with the sausage— oh never mind,” I huffed. “I’ll do it myself.”

  “Combattere?”

  “No, Mumma,” I said, answering her question as to whether Dean and I were fighting. He’s just being weird, and so am I, because my vagina kinda has a crush on the guy I work with.

  “Ladies, can I help with anything?”

  I startled and nearly tossed a sausage roll at Dale’s head. “Damn it!”

  “Spider monkeys?” he asked, laughing. “Gee, that must be some world record.”

  “Ooh,” my mother drawled, “che cosa un uomo bello con un bel culo tesa.”

  I closed my eyes for the smallest of seconds. Yes, mum, I’m aware he is handsome and has a nice taut arse. “Dale, this is my mother, Maria. Mum, this is Dale. We work together.”

  He took her hand in his and kissed the top of it. “Si prega di conoscerti, Maria.”

  I nearly tossed another sausage roll. Holy shit! He speaks Italian, which means he just heard what my mother said. “You speak Italian?”

  “Yes.” He winked at Mum. She winked back. “Studied it at Uni and lived in Italy for two years on assignment.”

  “Assignment?”

  “Top secret,” he said, leaning over and stealing a sausage roll.

  I was just about to tell him they were hot when he shoved the whole thing in his mouth. His eyes bulged and watered as he munched it down quickly with an open mouth. I playfully rolled my eyes, went to the fridge, grabbed a beer, popped the top, and handed it to him with a ‘suck shit, serves you right’ expression on my face.

  He just nodded.

  I nodded back.

  “Now, if you wouldn’t mind, could you please take this tray outside to the table that’s set up under the pergola?”

  He gulped his beer, choking a little. “It would be my pleasure.” Dale picked up the tray and walked off, coughing. “Really good sausage rolls, btw.”

  I giggled.

  Mum murmured.

  “What was that, Mum?”

  She smiled, shook her head and said ‘niente’ as she carried two bowls of salad in the same direction as Dale. Nothing my arse, Mother.

  I, too, picked up a plate of sandwiches and a quiche and headed outside, nearly bumping into Dean.

  “Whoa! Eyes up, babe. What I can I help you with?” he said all cheerily, as if his absence inside and lack of help was completely kosher.

  I stepped around him. “Nothing. It’s all done.”

  He jumped in front of me and tried to take the plates from my hands. “Give me these. Where do you want them?”

  I lowered my voice and kept a firm grip. “I said it’s fine. I don’t need your help now. Before, maybe. Now, no.”

  “What’s gotten into you? You’re acting like a crazed bitch,” he whispered.

  My jaw dropped, and I was seconds away from slamming the quiche into his face, if only for the fact that it was a good quiche — sundried tomato, rocket and feta — and I wasn’t going to waste it.

  “You have gotten into me, Dean. I did all of the food prep and cooking on my own while you were outside by the pool drinking all afternoon.”

  “You told me to stay by the pool and make sure no kids pee’d in it, so that’s what I’ve been doing!”

  “Are you serious? They’re gonna pee in it regardless. It’s what they do. Gee, I might be a crazed bitch, but my God you’re thick sometimes.” I wrenched the plates from his grip and continued outside, unwilling to argue with him anymore. Not at Thomas’s party. I was a simmering kettle of emotions ready to boil over, and I didn’t want to snap in front of all of our friends and family, especially Dale.

  * * *

  After chilling with a wine or two, playing kid’s party games like Marco Polo, Treasure Hunt, and Whack Derek With A Pool Noodle, we’d sung happy birthday, cut the cake and said goodbye to our guests, and it was now time to relax on the sun lounge while cuddling my birthday boy.

  “Did you enjoy your party?”

  “It was the best party ever!” He squeezed me tight, his wet boardshorts dampening my dress.

  I pretended to push him away. “Argh! You’re all wet.”

  “Yep.”

  “Gee, thanks for that.”

  “You’re welcome,” the cheeky bugger replied.

  “So, have you opened your presents yet?”

  “Yep.”

  “What did you get?”

  “I got this really cool security set from Dale. It’s real, Mum. Not a toy one.”

  I looked down my nose at his face, which was nestled against my chest. “What do you mean it’s real?”

  “It’s not plastic with stickers.”

  “Right. So what’s in it?”

  “Handcuffs, two headsets so that William and I can do secret missions, a taser, a—”

  “A TASER
?” I screeched, sitting upright and interrupting him.

  “Yeah. But that one isn’t real. It just buzzes a little.”

  A sigh of relief parted my lips. “Oh. Good. Why don’t you go and get it and show me.”

  “Okay.” He jumped off my lap and headed inside, which was when my mother-in-law, Carol, sat down beside me.

  “I hope you have sunscreen on, dear? You’re starting to look a little pink.” She gave my body the once over.

  I smiled. My mother-in-law was a good egg; loving, caring, kind, and she only ever had positive things to say about the world and those who were in it. She adored her son and grandsons, and she was your textbook baker granny, always in the kitchen conjuring up the yummiest cookies and cakes for when the boys visited. She really was ten out of ten in the mother-in-law stakes. Mind you, her optimism was a little irritating at times.

  “Yes, Carol, I’ve lathered up.”

  “Good.” She straightened her legs on the lounge beside me and covered them with the material of her dress. “So, how are you, dear? I didn’t get to see you much today.”

  “I’m good.” I leaned over and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze before letting go. “Oh, and once again, thank you so much for making Thomas’s cake. He loved it. It was delicious.”

  A proud smile lit up her face. “You’re welcome. Anything for my boys.”

  “You have to tell me what was in that cream filling?”

  “Uh ah. A chef never gives away her secrets,” she said, placing her finger to her lip.

  “Carol, you’re not a chef.”

  “I beg to differ. I’m highly trained, despite being trained by moi. And for your information, I’m chief of my own kitchen. That makes me a chef in my own right.”

  I laughed. “I suppose you’re right, as per usual.”

  Carol didn’t say anything. Instead, she patted my leg and fell silent, and I instantly knew something was on her mind.

  “Okay, fess up. What’s brewing in that head of yours?”

  “Oh, nothing, really,” she said hesitantly, her voice all of a sudden timid. “ Just something Dean mentioned.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Annnnnd?”

  “And … well, he said you’ve been a little … what was the word he used? …”

  I hazarded a guess. “Crazed?”

  “Yes, that’s it. He said you were crazed and all over the place and that he thought you might be going through menopause. He’s worried, Natasha. And so am I, of course.”

  I steepled my fingers and laced them together, resting them on my lap. It was all I could do to prevent them closing into fists and seeking out my stupid husband.

  “So … how have you been feeling? Do you think it could be the grand climacteric change?”

  Fuck me to the underground and bury me with Hades. Surely, he DID NOT tell his mother I was crazed and going through menopause.

  Carol waited patiently, concern and sympathy swirling in her eyes, but I couldn’t answer. I was stunned for having been placed under a spotlight and pressured to confess something that wasn’t happening.

  I felt violated and ashamed; I felt betrayed.

  She gave my leg another encouraging pat, and all I could do was blink.

  And blink some more.

  And deliberate the many ways I was going to kill Dean.

  Chapter Ten

  Tash

  Dean had slept in the spare room that night, after we’d had a major argument about my supposed menopause and why it was so fucking way out of line to tell his mother and get her involved. The dimwit just couldn’t comprehend why I was so angry and embarrassed that he’d discussed such personal matters with Carol. His response had been, “You’re a middle aged woman, so is she. I thought it was a topic of conversation you could discuss. I was only trying to help”. Firstly, I was not fucking middle-aged. I was thirty-six. THIRTY SIX! And secondly, I’d discuss menopause when I was bloody well going through it. Argh!

  I was so mad at him, and although I had every reason to be, deep down I knew I was angry at more than just his slip of the tongue. I was angry with him for not being the man I craved. I was angry with him for not being the man he could be. I was angry with him because … because I just was. And I couldn’t help but feel that way. It was horrible and I hated it. I’d also hated crying myself to sleep in an empty bed.

  As per usual, we hadn’t crossed paths the following morning and, again, that had been a good thing because seeing him would’ve been pointless anyway. He’d have chosen to either mope around or pretend nothing had happened.

  It was typical Dean. And I was typically over it.

  Feeling stuffy — not because menopausal hot flashes but because height of summer — I opened the door to my office to allow better ventilation. I’d been stuck behind the computer all day, putting together the Easter promotion proposal for the board, together with finalising bits and pieces for the Australian Open gala, which was to be held this coming Friday evening.

  I was exhausted and wanted a tea break, although taking a break meant my thoughts would drift to my problems at home, and I didn’t need that. What I needed was to remain focused.

  Lifting my hair and holding it in a messy bun on top of my head, I rubbed my exposed shoulder, allowing a cool breeze to caress my sweat-dampened skin. I also oscillated my sore, stiff neck, wishing that I was currently enjoying a hot relaxing bath or that I was at the mercy of a masseuse. Suck it up, Princess, you’ve got shit to get done.

  Just as I was about to take my own advice and get stuck back into the joys of celebrity tennis player seating arrangements, my phone beeped. I picked it up and found a message from Dale.

  Dale: Someone needs my hands on them.

  Someone needs a swift kick to the balls. I read it again, which was when I realised what it was that he was doing. You perverted spy.

  Swivelling my chair, I looked directly at the security camera in the hallway outside my office door and flipped him the bird before swivelling back around again. And not even five seconds later, my phone danced its merry vibration jig along my desk.

  Dale: Cute. I bet that finger tastes good.

  Oh my God! Shocked — and in all honesty a little turned on at the thought of his lips on my skin — I stood up, strode to my door and, right before closing it, placed my finger in my mouth and sucked on it for him, slowly dragging it back out before the click of the door’s latch stole his view. A devious grin met the tip of my finger, which was still teetering on my bottom lip. That tasted … salty.

  “Yuk.” I tried to remove the taste from my tongue by half spitting and half blowing a raspberry, as I stepped away from the door and sat back down at my desk, facepalming as mortification hit tenfold. Natasha Idiot Jones, what the hell was that? You just performed a finger blowjob to a security camera perched on the roof. Are you insane?

  Maybe I was. Maybe Dean was right and I was menopausal, crazed and out of my mind.

  “No. No. No,” I reaffirmed out loud, raising my head and straightening my shoulders. “He’s wrong and I’m fine. I may be a little misguided at the moment, but that’s all. I just need to focus.” I linked my fingers and straightened my arms, pushing my hands out and cracking my knuckles. “Rightyo. Focus. Back to work. I’ve got this.”

  I woke my computer screen up with the jiggle of my mouse and proceeded to type when there was a knock at the door. Argh! Go away. “Come in,” I called out, turning to see who it was and nearly falling off my seat when Dale opened the door, walked in, and closed it behind him. “Um … my bird-flip wasn’t an invitation for you to come down here, you know,” I stuttered, wide-eyed, my stomach fluttering nervously.

  He didn’t answer as his purposeful strides brought him closer to me, each step he took sending anticipation and further unease surging through my body. It was clear by his direct, resolute approach that he was on some kind of mission — what that mission was, I was about to find out.

  “Dale I … no—”

  “Just sit and t
urn around.” His voice was authoritative but held a softness that instantly alleviated my apprehension, so I did what I was told.

  Actually, I didn’t have a choice in the matter, because he spun my chair around and placed his hands on my shoulders, his fingers gently skating over my sensitised skin before settling and kneading my aching muscles. Oh! Oh wow!

  Heaven descended upon my office.

  “Um … you shouldn’t do that. You need to st— oh my,” I moaned, unable to help myself. “Look, that’s great but … but you really need to stop.” I tried to wriggle out of his grip.

  “Tash, just let me help you.”

  I paused at the annoyance in his tone, adding a little of my own. “Is that all you’re doing, Dale? Helping me?”

  He, too, paused for a few seconds but then continued. “For now, yes.”

  “And after now? What then?”

  “Then is then. Now is now. Honestly, you just need to shut up and let me fix this.”

  I scowled for the slightest of seconds then closed my eyes. Fix this? Fix what … my knotted muscles or my knotted heart and mind?

  He couldn’t do the latter; I knew that. He’d only succeed in making the knots in my heart and mind worse. But damn was I confident he could fix the tension underneath my skin.

  “Okay. Thank you,” I whispered, melding to his rhythm and losing the battle to fight him. “I am really sore and tight.”

  Relaxing, I opened my neck to his touch, drifting into a realm of heightened sensitivity and pleasure, a place where restraint was difficult to uphold. It was dangerous territory, but I needed to go there. Wanted to go there. And he wanted to take me.

  “You’re not wrong, Tashy. Being this tense is not good for your body. You’re gonna have to learn to relax and let go.”

  The push, slide, and glide of his fingers intensified, creeping over my shoulders to the top of my chest. My breath hitched. My chest rose. My nipples hardened. Pleasure shot right to my core like a bullet at a target, and my legs clenched together, tight. I was now more tense than ever and feeling things I shouldn’t, sensations that were not allowed.