Monday, 23 May 2016

A Late Sunday Tea: Short Story Sunday!


I apologize that there was no Sunday Tea yesterday.  I forgot I was working the Victoria Day long weekend so that pushed me back a bit.  I did get through two books, though :)  SO instead of a person essay for Sunday Tea here is another installment of Ritter!

RITTER
Written by Kris Kaila

 Last night they went to bed together, for the first time in months. She had finished her reports early and her day plan had already been written. He had just won another case and had several hours to himself as his victory prize.  They had spent hours in bed just talking and laughing like they had done not so very long ago.  In the morning they were again their professional selves. While one of them brushed their teeth, the other showered.  Both used the small mirror while he shaved, and she applied her makeup. In the bedroom, they were at either side of the bed slipping on their suits.   For breakfast, the coffee was set on a timer from the night before.  Breakfast included some overpriced name brand granola bars to go.  With a quick kiss, that barely made contact, they headed off for the morning traffic jam.
    

         He strutted into his office with his recent win still fresh in the air.  After handing over the final papers, he went to his office where his new client was waiting.  Roger had his secretary cancel lunch with his wife, because of his workload even though he had time to go to the gym before heading home.  They usually ate by 7:30 pm, but he was already an hour late.  He knew that his wife would be upset over the missed lunch and now the late dinner.  To tone down her nagging he stopped to pick up some flowers and dessert.  Tomorrow he might pick up a small tennis bracelet if she was really pissed. He really didn’t want to give his wife a bracelet.  He felt that he worked for the both of them.  Without his paycheck they would not be able to live in such a nice house, have two cars paid off, and able to take a vacation twice a year.  He was doing all this for them, so he did not understand why she would get so angry over a few missed meals and late nights.  He was faithful to her.  Roger never even had time to flirt with a girl, so what more could he do?  What more did she expect from him?
 

            By the time he was ten minutes away from his house, he himself was pissed off. How dare she make him feel guilty over something he was doing for her?  He had half a mind to throw the flowers and candy out the car window.  It was not as if she would be that grateful for them.  She would sniff at flowers, claiming that they made her eyes water.  The chocolate would not be expensive enough for her tastes. She would eat one to satisfy him, and then chuck the rest. And, yet it was him who was being wasteful.
    

          After eleven years of marriage, he could not at this moment remember anything good about her.  When they had married at 24 years of age, they had vowed they would not have kids until they were secured enough, and when they really wanted them.  Seven years went by when they were final ready.  By then they were old enough to have problems that come with age and trying to conceive.  His sperm count was not as great as it once was, and her uterus was not a great environment for the few that managed to make it over there. Roger had spent nights holding her in his arms and soothing her.  He would whisper that children were not as important to him, as she was.  There was always the possibility they could adopt a child or try in vitro.  He had been disappointed when they could not have kids. He felt that he let her down by not being a real man.   So he loyally jacked off into a cup every time she asked.  He gave her the injections, and was ready to lend his services when she was ovulating.  He did it all.  And, he did it all for her.  He did it despite knowing that in vitro was never going to work on her.  He was even willing to adopt.  He could love another man’s child.  She was the one that could not love another woman’s child. She could not because he or she did not grow inside her.  If it did not grow inside her then how could she feel anything for it?  It. The baby. Their baby.
    

         As he stopped at the stop sign, he rolled down the window and flung the flowers out.  The roses hit the pavement still in the gold colour wrapping. He could not help himself thinking of doing the same to Reena.  Flinging her out of a window, pushing her off a cliff, or using the good old predictable gun.  Opening the chocolates he ate them one by one.  Why shouldn’t he enjoy himself? Driving into the garage he noticed her car was not where she usually parked.
    

            “Bitch,” he muttered.

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