An elderly woman sits next to me. I wiggle in the seat to give her a little space to settle in as she moves around. Then I glance out the window replaying our fight. What did I think my behavior would yield?
“Absolutely nothing,” I whisper to myself.
“What’s that dear?” Her soft hand brushes mine on the armrest between us.
“Just talking to myself.”
“I was always told, that’s normal unless you start responding to yourself. And I do both.” She chuckles with a slight lean back as she laughs. I smile. “I talk, ask, and answer. Sometimes we’re our best and worst counsel.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The flight attendant stops at the end of our aisle and takes our drink orders. I order a hot tea to settle my nerves. I’m emotional, confused, and quite frankly, disappointed in the way I’ve handled this situation.
“You have the look of a woman carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders.”
I feel a tight smile crossing my face. But I’m tired of pretending. I glance at her hand and see a wedding ring set. “How long have you been married?”
“Fifty years.”
“Wow! That is a lifetime.”
“Tell me about it.” She nudges me with her shoulder. “He’s over there.” She points to the seat over her right shoulder. “We sit apart so we’ll have something to talk about when we get to our destination.”
I laugh with her. “I’m sorry, my name is Jasmine.”
“Verda. Nice to meet you.”
We shake hands. “Nice to meet you. I have to ask the most cliché question. What is the secret to loving and living with the same man for fifty years?”
“Managing your expectations.” Her blue eyes sparkle as she leans forward. We’re close enough, but I lean in sync with her. “I should write a book about this because most people get this part all wrong.”
“How so?”
Verda pauses as the flight attendant delivers our drinks and snacks. I pass on the dry peanuts, instead using the quick break to add sugar to my mint tea. I take a slow sip, closing my eyes as I enjoy the warmth of it going down.
“That’s good.”
I glance over at the crackle of a plastic bag. Verda pops a cookie in her mouth and continues.
“I married at sixteen. We’ve either embraced or endured our lives. Four kids, countless dogs, a couple of turtles.” Her eyebrows wiggle. “Teenagers, deaths, dating.” She glances up, “Fights, celebrations, intimacy. You name it, we’ve probably had it a time or two. Each stage and circumstance is shaped by our expectation.” She pops another cookie in her mouth, her eyes focus on the seat in front of us. “And at the end of the day, those expectations either fuel or deplete each situation.”
I lean back in my seat as her words wash over me.
“I’ll give you an example.” I hear the slight slurp as she drinks a little of her soda. “I married my Morris, and I was nothing but a baby. Sure I knew how to cook a little. I could care for children since I was the oldest of my siblings, but I knew nothing about nothing.” Her laugh makes me smile, a real smile.
“Miss Verda, what do you mean by managing expectations?”
She crumples the bag and places it in the empty plastic cup. “To manage expectations, specifically in marriage, you have to know where you’ve created this benchmark in your mind. Because nine out of ten times, you have not told the other person and they are bound to fail.”
I freeze.
“I see you know exactly what I mean.” She thrusts a finger in my direction. “Think about it. If my Morris expects to see, me sashaying on the beach in a two-piece because we’re in Cancun. I would fail him every time.” She slaps her knee and laughs until tears trail down her aged skin. “I’m jesting, but we can create these worlds and have dialogue and project our expectations on an unsuspecting person. And it will become the foundation for disappointment, distrust, and heartbreak.”
“So what do you do Miss Verda?”
“Communicate. And we sometimes focus on the big stuff—where we want to live, how many children we want to have, where we want to retire. But we neglect the small stuff—how can I show you, love, how can I support you? The little things are like acid. It eats through and devours everything it touches.”
I chew on her words. And I don’t know this woman. But fate placed her on this flight.
“Miss Verda I’ve been married for less than a year and question whether it was a mistake.” I let out a long deep breath. I said it.
“What makes you say that?”
We’re all right, and all wrong for each other is what I want to say. But that’s not the truth. “I’m not happy.”
“Oh baby, that’s a tall order. We chase happiness like it’s the prize. Happiness is good. But I think it can be fickle and misleading at times.” A knowing smile crosses her face. “Let me ask you this.”
I nod.
“Do you love him?”
“Yes.”
“Does he respect you?”
“Yes.”
“Does he protect you? Provide for you?”
“Yes.” With each yes, I feel the weight of my pushing.
“Baby, I think you need to redefine your expectations.”
I search my mind for the words.
“Grab a piece of paper.”
I reach for my purse beneath the seat in front of us. I see an envelope and dig around for a pen.
“Ask yourself what do you expect from a husband? Answer it generally, then answer it specifically for your husband.”
I drop my purse and reach for a magazine to write on. I flip the envelope, and I see Asher’s handwriting scribbled across the bottom.
“The course of true never did run smooth.” - WS
My Lady,
I’m sorry. Somewhere along our course, I’ve failed you. I’ve failed to show you how much you mean to me. I vow not to fail you twice.
“I would not wish any companion in the world but you.” - WS
Love you, My Lady.
Asher
The plane lands and I hug Miss Verda. I spent the remainder of the flight answering her questions for myself. We talked on and off as she left me with a lot to consider.
“Thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome. I think you two will be just fine.” I hope she’s right. “Add one final question to your list. What is the source of your unhappiness?” People are starting to exit the plane, and we’re stuck in time. “I thought about your statement and pursuing happiness can steal your joy.”
I feel the confusion tighten across my face.
“I know. Hear me out.” She turns her body towards me. “I see happiness as feeling usually stimulated by outward things. Our jobs, relationships, a home-cooked meal. But joy, true joy, is down on the inside.” Her hands motion like she’s digging a well, down deep. “Tend to your well by managing your expectations. You expect him to be home every night by dinner. Tell him. You expect to have children by your fifth anniversary. Tell him.”
I nod.
“He may do nothing. He may do everything. But at least he knows. You see, this is how managing your expectations will help you with that weight you’re carrying around.”
I drop my head not trusting myself to look into her eyes.
“I see it and feel it. You’re going to be all right. You’re strong. I see it. But you have to voice your needs and give others the opportunity to respond. And then you make your decision.”
“Miss Verda, I think you’re an angel.”
Her smile shines through to my soul. “I need you to tell my Morris that.” She smacks her leg and chuckles at her own joke. And I do too.
“Dear?”
I glance up, and there’s her Morris. The plane is nearly empty.
“Here’s my card.” He passes his business card in my direction. “She does this on every flight. That’s why I have to find another seat.” And his chuckle mirrors hers.
“Oh hush.” Verda laughs p
ushing herself up from the seat.
We de-board the plane making small talk. I hug them both as we part ways. Hope is stirring in my belly, and I’m thankful for Miss Verda.
Armed with my questions, I’m ready for a frozen margarita and the beach, and not in that order. I stop by the airport bookstore to buy a new journal. I’m ready to redefine my expectations. But first I need to get to the resort and check in. Then I can tackle my messy life.
I make my way to the baggage claim, and as I roll my bags to the doors, I see him. Head back against the wall, eyes closed. He’s dressed in a t-shirt and jeans with running shoes. I would know him from anywhere. He needs a shave and a haircut. But my racing heart screams mine.
I quickly roll closer careful not to disturb him. What should I say first? I’m sorry. I went too far. I need him to…
“My Lady.” His eyes open and I melt. His stormy eyes run the length of my body and stop back at my eyes. I’ve always acted first and thought about the consequences later. Beholden only to my whims.
I send up a pray. Help me fix this. Please.
“Asher…” I slump into the chair beside him, leaning into his embrace. I can’t stop the tears from flowing from my eyes. Somewhere deep inside I thought that was it. That I lost him.
I sit up madly brushing away the tears. “I just felt stuck. And I shouldn’t have—”
“Come here.” His strong arms wrap around me, I settle into his familiar embrace. I inhale his scent, and it calms me. “We have a lot to discuss,” he whispers rubbing down the length of my back.
“I know. And I want to—”
“Jazz,” he gently pushes me upright, “I need you to hear me. You need something. Ask. But I can’t live with ultimatums and dishonesty. I’ve had more than enough of that in my life. I will not condone it in our marriage.” I glance up and see the unrest in his beautiful eyes. He has Momma’s eyes. “And if after this week you still want to move back to New York…”
I place a finger over his full lips. “Let’s just fix it. Together. Okay?”
He cradles my hand in his, brushing a light kiss on my fingers. “Okay, My Lady.”
6
“Why do you have a separate room?” We’re in the hallway at the resort all checked in. Asher steps to the side to let a couple pass.
“Jazz, you came here because you need to figure things out.” He grabs my key and inserts it into the door, pushing it open, rolling a bag inside. But he doesn’t cross the threshold.
“And you came to change my mind.” Duh!
“No, I came to save our marriage. And we obviously have different agendas.” The hard set in his jaw is Asher’s equivalent of displaying emotion. That is one of our greatest differences. I want to yell and scream and get it out. He internalizes, strategizes, and persists. “I’m across the hall.”
I roll the rest of my luggage inside the beautiful suite. He upgraded my reservation at the front desk, and I thought it was to accommodate us both. But apparently, it was to have me across the hall.
Turning around I stare at the closed door. I want to walk across the hall, beat on his door, and demand we talk it out. That won’t repair this situation Jazz. I have to stop responding emotionally. Because whether he’s in this room or across the hall the fact remains, he is here. We are here. And it means we have a shot. Right?
I circle the room, this is much nicer than my original reservation. I like the digs, Mr. Smith.
The suite is decorated in cream and tan with gold accents. There is a living room with a separate bedroom. I cross the room drawn to the double panel glass doors leading to a patio. The white drapes contrast to the magnificent view. I push the doors open, and the Caribbean Sea is as far as the horizon. I glance over the balcony at the white sand but it's the turquoise water that’s calling my name.
“Food first then the beach.” With my itinerary set, I make my round of calls, unpack, and shower. I emerge refreshed in a canary yellow maxi dress and starving. Touring the resort sounds nice too. I drop my card key, phone, and wallet in my purse. In my haste to leave, I failed to pack real clothes. I have a sexy black dress, lingerie, some random stuff, and this summer dress. I even threw a sweater in there. I shake my head, adding shopping to my list.
Stepping into the hall, I pull the door behind me and toy with inviting Asher. I stand outside, ready to knock. And I hear Miss Verda’s warm tone, learn to manage your expectations. Asher was correct in saying I left for a reason.
I turn retracing my steps to the elevator. He’s here. We have a full seven days to talk. But I need to spend some time with myself. Swinging an about-face, I go back and grab my new blank journal and a pen. The elevator is waiting for me when I return. I ride to the ground level with my nose in the journal trying to recall all the questions Miss Verda asked on the plane.
Bling. I step out jotting a quick sentence and collide with a hard chest.
“I’m sorry—”
“Don’t worry, I got you.” Strong hands steady me.
“I apologize for not watching where I was going.” The security guard lowers down to pick up my journal, dropped in the collision.
“You can run into me any day.” His accent is thick with a dimpled smile, obviously flirting as he returns my journal.
“Thank you. For the book, and the save.” I nod at his boldness and head towards the front desk.
“De nada, un rayito de sol.” He winks and continues down the hall.
The brochures for the resort captured it well. The open lobby area decorated in vibrant colors paired with the festive music playing softly relieves the tension in my body. That and knowing Asher is on the premises. I stroll to the desk, and the clerk greets me with a welcoming smile.
“Hola señora.”
“Hello Emilia.” I rest my arms on the counter. “I must have zoned out earlier during your overview of the resort.” She chuckles and pulls out the ground’s map. She points down the hall to the restaurant, gift shop, and the spa. Then walks me through the map of the area attractions. “What about shopping? Clothes, maybe some authentic art and jewelry.”
“There are several markets near. We have tour options, day trips, and a group heading out tomorrow to swim with dolphins.”
“I’ll remember that.” I fold the map and place it in my bag. I plan to stick around the resort except for a little shopping. “Is it safe for me to cab in and back?”
“Yes, but woman to woman, I’d suggest not going alone. If you do, keep your eyes open. Don’t wear obvious valuables.” She glances down at my wedding ring, then spins her own around so that only the gold band shows.
“Thank you. Are you from here?”
“No, but my family is. I’m here spending the summer with my grandparents.”
“This is a beautiful place to spend the summer.”
“Yep,” she leans forward, sounding like a typical college student. “I get to make some money and enjoy all the amenities free.”
“Smart young lady.”
She smiles and waves me off as I go in search of dinner. I select a table outside to enjoy the sea and fresh air. I order and pull out my journal, propping my feet up in the chair across from me. I write the first question, What do I expect from Asher? Tapping my pen on the book, I sit back and lose myself in the waves of the sea.
I start with the obvious. Love me. I write that down. The others come like rapid fire—respect me, honor our vows, provide for our family. I sit back again. I never thought I’d get married. The thought of tying myself to one man felt more like a trap than dreamy. So, to sit here pondering my expectations honestly seems odd.
I said yes, because of Asher. It was about the man, not the institution. Especially after watching my parents’ marriage fall apart.
It is my parents’ running joke that they were a fling gone wrong. They married and separated in less than a year. Then after a night of drinking, they slept together. A few months later, they discovered my mother was pregnant with me.
They we
athered seven horrible years—if you let them tell it. Until they finally decided to go their separate ways. Then I watched them drag each other in and out of court battling for custody of me, always trying to one-up each other. Eventually, they remarried, had more children, and now we all can gather as a family without bloodshed. But who wants to live ten horrific years to find their true soul mate. I didn’t. As a result, I just made it up in my mind to never marry until Asher.
My Asher.
I could lie and say it’s our chemistry. But it’s more, much more. His smile. The way he touches me. His love letters. The way his fingers whisper their presence across my skin. I knew within half a second of meeting him that he would change my life, and he has…
“Pardon me. Mind if I join you?”
I glance up not recognizing the voice, the setting sun is shining in my eyes, all I can make out are broad shoulders.
“Emilio Hernandez.” He extends a hand in my direction.
“Jasmine Smith.” I’m still trying to recall his face.
“The elevator this morning.”
“Oh, you look different without the uniform.” I glance around, and the restaurant is nearly full. “Sure.” I point to the vacant chair across from me, removing my feet. I push my stuff aside on the table top to give him a little room. I check my watch, and it’s been several hours. I lost track of time.
“Welcome to Cancun.” Emilio has tanned skin and thick black wavy hair, he points to my empty glass before signaling a waiter. “Would you like another?”
“Thank you. That would be nice.” I close my journal, a little closer to answers I need. I look across the table at Emilio ready for basic conversation. “You’re all done for the day?”
“Here, yes. But I work the night shift later.”
“How long have you worked as a security guard?” The waiter delivers our drinks, and I take a long sip of the fruity cocktail.
“Many years, but only for the perks. I work full time as a police officer.”
“Wow.” I sit up straighter. “You’re a cop?”
“Cop?”
Asher's Sonnet (Smith Pact Duo Book 2) Page 4
