I’m elated today. I feel like the clouds dotting the sky like cotton balls in the sky. Ready to fly away with joy. Trevor is coming home. Just to celebrate our special day.
Trevor’s like that. Thoughtful. Who else would sneak away from a business conference, just to celebrate his anniversary? Especially when his manager has been breathing down his neck for like forever?!!
He can stay for a couple of hours only as he is sneaking away during a break. No one can know he was here. But he is coming. That’s what matters.
When we got together, everyone tried their best to warn me against him.
He doesn’t love you.
He is just after your money.
The marriage won’t even last for six weeks.
I put my foot down and told everyone he was the ONE. Nothing anyone said would change my mind.
That made them shut up. Of course, once the marriage was solemnised, the same people spouting all the nonsense about him earlier, were eating out of his hands. Trevor can charm the tail off the Devil.
To be frank, I too was surprised at his attention. It felt like I had fallen in a dream. The magic has lasted these two years. Two years! Take that, you interfering, insensitive people who were convinced my marriage wouldn’t last for six weeks.
Surprised, you ask? I’m aware of my simple looks. No one ever let go of the opportunity to remind me. They would call me Plain Jane, fake regret lacing their words. Then they would tell me with a gleeful malice that what I lacked in looks would be compensated for by my father’s riches.
Would you weave dreams of a future if you knew all your achievements would be stained with ugly whispers that labelled them as compromised?
When I scored the highest in my Senior year, classmates whispered that it was because Dad was on the education board. When I got into the University, it was the donation that supposedly paved my way. Even my first kiss was a stepping stone for someone who harboured ambitions of helming my father’s empire one day. Life didn’t give me lemons to make lemonade. It gave me champagne, but with the spark all fizzled. Trevor brought back that spark.
Trevor loves me for myself. For him beauty comes from within. Even though he is as handsome as Brad Pitt, he isn’t a slave to vanity. He knows that marriage requires two people compatible in their thoughts, not their looks.
Love, care, understanding, respect and of course good sex are what makes a marriage strong. And he delivers. Who wouldn’t melt by compliments whispered in their ears while their lover’s fingers do some deliciously unmentionable things on their naked skin?
He doesn’t give two cents for my father’s money. He could have joined the family business but he values his independence far too much. But the only downside are his long absences. I miss him so much. I might just be a little bit lonely.
There is something that bothers me just a little bit. In spite of his good looks and hardworking nature, he loses jobs frequently. I’m sure his managers all feel threatened by his accomplishments. He has changed five jobs at least in the last twenty four months.
Sometimes, when he is between jobs, the money situation gets tense. I can get the money but he has forbidden me to ask for anything from my parents. In fact, I hardly talk to them. Trevor never says so, but I can infer he doesn’t like me being in touch with them. Who would, when you are constantly being judged and expected to fail. I miss Mom and Dad sometimes. I really wanted to call them up when I fell down the stairs.
It was nothing. I don’t know how I slipped. Usually I’m not clumsy. I was in the hospital for a few days. A fracture in the ribs and a two in the ankle. I was back on my feet in a few weeks. Poor Trevor, he didn’t leave my side at all during that time. Of course, he had to resign from his job to take care of me. I felt so bad for him.
He lost his first job too because of me. Poor dear was so miserable. Devastated, thinking it was all his fault. He made a sandwich for me with peanut butter. He didn’t know, all right. I thought I had told him about my allergies. Maybe I forgot. Might have slipped my mind. And then we couldn’t find my EpiPen. I must confess I was a little scared there.
We found the pen eventually and I did not need to go to the hospital. Trevor insisted, but he was near to palpitations himself. We ordered takeaway and had a quiet night. Talking of EpiPens, mine needs to be replaced. I was going to order, but Trevor has assured me he would bring me one.
We hardly ever go out to celebrate. I never know when an insect would land on me, sending me into convulsions.
The doorbell rings. I fly to the door and there he stands. He has a bouquet of white flowers in his hand. I step back, a little wary.
“Happy Cotton Anniversary.” He thrusts the bouquet in my hands. Relief floods through me. I am holding a bouquet of artificial cotton flowers, white, fluffy with brown undersides. Didn’t I tell you, he is thoughtful. Little things like these make life beautiful, don’t they?
I raise them instinctively for a sniff. That’s when the angry buzzing reaches my ears. The irate bee, vexed at its confinement within the cotton wool heads straight at me.
Did you know a bee dies once it stings? Today its little sting spells not one death but two.