French Toast (The French Twist Series Book 2)

by Glynis Astie

  I cleared my throat nervously. “How was your day, Bluey?”

  He stared up at me with a degree of misery I had never seen in his eyes. I wanted to jump across the table and hug him, but forced myself to stay where I was since I had learned he didn’t like to be “coddled” when he was this upset.

  We sat in silence for a few moments while I thought over my options. A) I could ask him what was wrong. Though this method didn’t usually yield positive results because he didn’t want to admit he ever had problems. B) I could try to distract him. An impromptu strip tease might bring him out of his funk. Except I had gotten dressed in a hurry this morning and wasn’t sure what quality of undergarments I had put on. Certain articles might put him in a worse mood if he were to see them. C) I could act like nothing was wrong.

  As I dithered back and forth, Louis made the decision for me.

  “My interview fell through today.”

  Shit. This was the one opportunity he had been excited about in the last four months. He had found a small startup in South San Francisco searching for programmers to develop a new line of video games. Louis enjoyed playing a wide variety of video games, as evidenced by the four game systems we owned, but he especially loved the ones rated “M for mature” the best. He had been around guns all his life and had even spent time as a sniper for the French Military. Since he no longer had access to active firearms, playing adult-themed target practice games filled the void of his former activities. This job would have married two of his favorite things – programming and creating gun-laden video games.

  I walked over and slid my arms around his neck. “I’m so sorry, my love. Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?” Double shit. Do not make him think you feel sorry for him! That is the kiss of death! I stammered, “I mean…maybe I could cook you a nice dinner and we can just relax?”

  Nice save, dumbass. I’m sure you really fooled him. I was pretty close to reaching around him to pour a coffin for myself. I needed something to calm my ever-fraying nerves. It’s a bad thing if you feel the need to drink in order to get through conversations with your spouse, right?

  Louis closed his eyes. “You have worked all day. I do not want you to have to cook now.”

  I kissed the top of his head. “Don’t worry. I’ll be happy to cook dinner.”

  I went into the bedroom to change my clothes. Putting on my sweats was one of my favorite things to do. Especially since things had gotten so tense at home. At least I felt like my clothes were giving me a warm hug. My husband hadn’t been so interested in touching me lately. I’m sure the scarcity of sex wasn’t helping either one of our moods.

  When I returned to the living room, Louis had poured himself another drink. Seeing this made me start to panic. I had no idea how many drinks he had consumed before I got home, but I did know he was on his third drink (composed of three shots) in ten minutes. I had never seen him like this before. I felt completely out of my element. Louis had always been the one to knock some sense in to me. I hadn’t the slightest idea what to do for him.

  He grinned. “Why don’t we go out to dinner, mon coeur?”

  I sighed. The last thing I wanted to do was change my clothes again and go out. Besides, we couldn’t afford it. I would have to try to distract him. Bringing up the subject of money when he was already in such a delicate state could have disastrous consequences.

  I smiled at him. “Bluey, I was going to make you a western omelet.” Louis had fallen in love with this omelet when I dragged him to IHOP last month. We both needed a break and it was a cheap place to eat. Besides, I love eating breakfast any time of day. When is bacon not a welcome addition to a meal?

  A ghost of a smile appeared on his lips. “You have convinced me. Don’t be shy with the cheese, Syd.”

  Phew. One crisis averted. Hopefully we’ll be able to avoid all other hot-button topics for the night. The only difficult part was I didn’t always know what those were. Louis’ moods were becoming startlingly similar to Kate’s during her pregnancy. Was it possible for men to spontaneously generate estrogen? Dear God, I hope not. The shoes of the crazy woman of the house have already been filled, quite successfully thank you very much, by me.

  While I gathered all the necessary ingredients for tonight’s meal, I was relieved to see Louis pour himself a glass of orange juice (with no secret ingredients.) I wasn’t prepared for the “I think you’ve had too much to drink” discussion. Having confrontational discussions with Louis was something I knew nothing about and was desperately hoping the reality of such a discussion would never come to light.

  Reminding him to put the toilet seat down was something I could handle. Rolling my eyes as I told him he had left his trimmed beard hair all over the bathroom floor was something I was very familiar with. Telling him I was concerned he was drinking too much was much too far out of my comfort zone. And since he wasn’t showing any signs that the alcohol was affecting him, I decided to let it slide for now.

  Unfortunately, I still had a rather large problem facing me which I couldn’t ignore. My husband was missing. My sweet, funny and incredibly romantic husband had officially left the island. I closed my eyes and attempted to keep the tears from falling down my cheeks. I had to find a way to bring my Bluey back, even if it killed me. I simply had no idea how to go about it. This problem felt like the pinnacle of the avalanche which was threatening to fall and crush the life out of me at any moment.

  Louis cleared his throat. “I went down to Micro Center today and applied for a job.” He laughed bitterly. “They said they would call me.”

  Oh my God. The avalanche was rumbling. Louis had completely swallowed his pride and applied for a job in a computer store. I knew him too well not to understand this had been a completely humiliating experience for him. I had no doubt they’d taken one look at his resume and known he was only searching for something to do during his job search. They probably didn’t want to waste the time getting him up to speed (which would have taken about five seconds) and have him leave as soon as he found a real job.

  I was well and truly stuck. What could I say which wouldn’t sound patronizing? I hoped for a miracle and took a leap of faith. Here goes nothing!

  I scoffed. “You can’t waste your talents in a place like that! Before you know it, you’ll find something worth your time.” Survey says?

  Louis regarded me skeptically. “Are you trying to cheer me up?”

  “Is it working?” I asked playfully.

  He shook his head. “Not as well as it used to, but I appreciate the effort.”

  With a lack of something better to say, I gestured to the frying pan and said, “Let’s eat!”

  As I plated Louis’ omelet, I noticed the answering machine light was flashing. Hmm. Louis usually checks the machine hourly to ensure he hasn’t missed a call from a recruiter. Unless he was screening calls from his mom again…

  I put our plates on the table and grabbed a selection of condiments from the fridge. Louis waited for me to sit down and then dug into his coveted western omelet. After a few bites, I decided the subject had to be broached.

  “So, I was surprised to see we have messages on the machine. Do you want me to go check them?”

  Louis didn’t even look up from his omelet. “Don’t worry, it’s just my mom again.”

  I knew it! He was screening her calls. This wouldn’t end well for either one of us. His mother called him once a day when she was able to get him on the phone. When she wasn’t, she called him three or four times a day. The more she called, the angrier he got, which made him even more determined to ignore her calls. It was a vicious cycle which was threatening to drive both of us completely insane – though for different reasons.

  I still had immense guilt over the fact Louis had married a woman whom his mother had never met. Louis had been fully accepted into my country, my family and my lifestyle. His assimilation had been fairly easy, minus the interminable job search and resulting loss of pride. Not only had I never
met his parents or any other member of his family, but also I didn’t speak their language or have much knowledge of their culture. I felt like, for all intents and purposes, I had stolen him.

  I thought he could do his part in making her feel better by talking over a few harmless wedding details. Never mind how he hated planning parties. (And weddings were like the mother of all parties. My apologies, when I’m in one of my crazy rants I tend to make really bad puns.) Never mind how he had a difficult time talking to his mother for long periods of time because the level of detail she brought into each conversation about the most trivial matters made Louis want to rip the hair out of his head. Never mind how she was still trying to control his life from thousands of miles away. Oh, Sydney. You’re asking too much of your poor husband.

  Despite this conclusion, I decided to push forward. The only excuse I can give you is I was not in my right mind. The amount of pressure I felt at this moment in time was astronomical. Some of it had to be relieved.

  “When is the last time you spoke with her?”

  He speared the last bite of his omelet. “I don’t know. Sometime last week?”

  I stopped myself from rolling my eyes at him. This would only serve to incense him. Why were men so dumb when it came to women and weddings? A week was a long time to go without a conversation. I had to proceed delicately.

  I picked at my plate. “Maybe she has something important to ask you.”

  He laughed. “What could she possibly need to ask me? What color napkins to use? What kind of dessert wine to serve? I really couldn’t care less.”

  Ouch. I knew we were already married, but this was going to be the wedding his whole family and all his friends would see. He didn’t care what it was like?

  I took a deep breath. Stop being so sensitive, Sydney. He’s going through a rough time. And he’s probably more than a bit tipsy.

  I put down my fork. “Maybe you could call her tomorrow?”

  He glared at me. “Maybe you could.”

  What? Oh…he was giving me shit for not learning French. He really didn’t want to go down that road right now.

  “And how would I communicate with her, Louis?” I asked quietly.

  The look on his face was thunderous. “Perhaps if you spent a little less time, and a lot less money, planning this ridiculous wedding and a little more time learning French, you would be able to communicate with my family.” He threw his hands up in the air. “We are already married! We don’t need all this bullshit.”

  I closed my eyes. For the past few weeks, Louis and I had gone through a lot of ups and downs. The pain of the constant uncertainty was seeping through my body and I wasn’t sure if I could take it anymore. I had spent the last three months telling myself I hadn’t made a mistake in marrying Louis. I had convinced myself I hadn’t made a mistake in throwing caution to the wind and believing in love (almost) at first sight. I kept telling myself I hadn’t made a mistake by throwing my meticulously careful personality to the side and charging ahead with reckless abandon.

  And where had it gotten me? At the current moment, I was buried under an avalanche of a preposterous scale. I knew the first year of marriage was supposed to be the hardest, but I doubted all couples had to endure this level of stress. The average woman would have known her husband better before she married him. The average woman would not only have met, but also would have been able to communicate with her in-laws rather easily - or at least would have spoken the same language. The average woman would not have had to support her husband for the first however many months of marriage. The average woman would not have been planning the wedding of her dreams during her first year of marriage while worrying what level of humiliation she would be exposed to during her THIRD wedding in a foreign country. The average woman also would not have been trying to help her sister through her first year of motherhood AND be the best aunt ever to the sweetest little girl in the world. No, the average woman certainly would not have been going through all this at the same time.

  I had no idea what to say to Louis. I believed he was lashing out at me because he felt so helpless, but I didn’t have any understanding left in my poor, stress ransacked psyche. I wanted to scream at him how I didn’t have time to learn French because I was working like a dog to support us. I wanted to scream at him how tired I was of trying to take care of everyone in my life and I was a terrible wife because I had nothing left for him. I simply didn’t have it in me to open such a dangerous can of worms. I knew if these words escaped my lips, irreparable damage would have been done to our relationship.

  As the barrage of possible scenarios swirled around in my mind, I noticed I was starting to have difficulty breathing. I had to get out of the apartment before I chose to lock myself in a padded cell for a very, very long time. I got up from the table, went into the bedroom and threw my toothbrush, toiletry bag and pajamas in a bag. I swung the bag over my shoulder, walked out of the bedroom and picked up my purse.

  I turned to Louis. “I need some air. I’m going to Kate’s.”

  He didn’t look up from the table. He only shook his head and said, “Do what you do best, Sydney. Run.”

  I quickly grabbed my keys and fled. What was I expecting? For him to stop me? As the tears spilled down my cheeks, I realized the old Louis would have stopped me. The old Louis would have apologized, held me in his arms and told me we were going to be fine. The old Louis and I would have sat down on the couch, snuggled into each other and worked out a plan to clean up the big mess we had in front of us. The new Louis had no interest in moving forward. The new Louis simply wanted to mire in melancholy. I really, really missed the man I married.

  Due to the late hour, by the time I arrived at Kate’s house, Sam was already in bed. I was disappointed not to see her, but knew since I would be sacked out on the couch tonight, I would be able to see her promptly at five in the morning. I winced a little at the idea of such an early start to the day, but knew her little face would do wonders to heal my soul from its current state of wretchedness.

  Kate tucked me in to my comfy bed on the couch and made me promise to tell her everything in the morning. She could see I was in no mood to talk about whatever was bothering me and eagerly made her way to her bed for some much-needed sleep. I lay awake for hours thinking about my disastrous marriage. This was the first night I had consciously chosen to spend apart from my husband. How did things get so bad? When would they get easier? Would we be able to fix the massive amount of damage we had inflicted on each other? Suddenly, Sam’s cries interrupted my seemingly endless spiral of painful questions. I cried right along with her since I had absolutely no idea what I was going to do.

  Chapter Eight

  Regrettably, nothing appeared any better to me the next morning. I was greatly cheered by the exuberant gurgles from the cutest baby on the planet, but even holding her to my chest while she slept did nothing to cure my anxious state. I was no closer to figuring out how to reach Louis. And the scariest part was, I wasn’t sure I had any desire to try. I had utterly no idea what was going to happen next. For someone who carefully plans every aspect of her life, this was about the most terrifying thing possible.

  Luckily for me, I had not one, not two, but three sources of advice from the east coast in the form of Charlie, Zoe and my father, waiting for me at the breakfast table. They had made good on their promise to visit the newest member of the Bennett-Wilson family and as a side benefit, they were able to provide counseling to me in person for the first time in a very long time. My saint of a brother, Charlie, had gone to check on Louis last night, since I was worried about the amount of alcohol he had consumed while I was with him and feared he had gone on a major drinking binge once I had left.

  Charlie returned later in the evening and confirmed that Louis was fine. He had stayed with Louis for a couple of hours, cut off his access to alcohol and put him to bed. Thankfully, the only car we owned was currently in my possession. I sincerely doubted he would have decided to go for a lat
e night joyride on his bicycle…

  After I had called in sick to work (there was no way I was going to be of any use today), I decided it was time to face the music. As I sat down at the dining room table, I was greeted by Sam’s adorable face and five very different facial expressions from my family. Kate was doing her best to pretend everything was fine (probably hoping she and I would be able to discuss what happened in private.) Charlie was grinning like an idiot, a sure sign he was really uncomfortable. Zoe looked like she was cautiously waiting for me to bring up the painfully obvious topic. Nick was busying himself with feeding Sam, but I could tell he was nervous. And finally, my father was staring me dead in the eyes with an expression I believed to mean, “Start talking.”

  I sighed. “Good morning, everyone.”

  My father scrutinized me. “Is it, Duck?”

  My eyes fell to my lap. “Dad, I don’t really know if anything is good right now.”

  He put his arm around me. “Tell us what’s going on. Something must have happened for you to stay here last night.”

  I looked around the dining room table. I felt…confused. Part of me was ashamed of the state of my marriage. I felt like I had definitively broken my relationship curse when I met Louis and here I was, nearly a year later, back in a very painful place. Another part of me was so tired of everything being so difficult. I wanted all the problems to just go away. And at this point, I was so hurt and angry, I wasn’t sure if I wanted Louis to be part of the disappearing act or not. Suffice it to say, I was more than a little conflicted. I guess it couldn’t hurt to seek advice from the awaiting panel of judges…

  I took a deep breath. “I don’t know where to begin.”

  Zoe put her hand on mine. “Why don’t you start by telling us what happened last night?”

  I tried to smile. “OK.” I cleared my throat. “I came home from work to find Louis drinking.”