Page 72 of Marriage (Red, White &) Blues

“Then why do I feel like I’m losing you?”

A small grimace of pain flitted across my face. “I’m here. I’m right here next to you.”

“Are you?”

I tore my shirt up over my head, as a response, tossing it on the floor by our feet. Blake looked at my discarded garment and then back at me. Purposely missing my eyes this time because the peachy-pink lacey bra I wore gave excellent cleavage.

“Is there a reason you tossed a perfectly good blouse on the floor?”

“I got hot,” I replied.

“Are you still hot?”

“I am.” I unclasped the bra, letting the straps fall down my arms. I tossed it onto the blouse.

“NowI’mhot,” Blake muttered.

I laughed. “You’ve always been.”

A wry smile twisted up the corner of his mouth, dimple and all. “So have you, sweetheart.” Not waiting for a better opening than that, I moved his hand to my pants and he raised an eyebrow.

“Have you forgotten who’s in charge here?”

“What do you want me to do?” I asked.

Without a hint of hesitation he said, “Hold on. You’re about to find out.” He gave me everything he had in every position in his repertoire over every surface in the living room—no lie. Breathing? Who needed to breathe? Walking?Psh… overrated. So, I might have to become a mermaid and spend the rest of my life in a tub, soaking in Epsom salt. Who cared? Who didn’t love mermaids?

We were going to get through this. Wehadto.

Chapter Seventeen

Why couldn’t I find a job? I’d spent the last two weeks applying for jobs without one callback. Not one. I supposed it didn’t help that the kinds of jobs I applied for probably didn’t coincide with being the sister-in-law of America’s conservative candidate.

The LGBT Youth Alliance. Women First. Coexist. I yearned to use my degrees. Yes, I said degrees. I double-majored at U of M in Gender and Health, and Communications. Those two degrees meant something to me. They meanta lotto me. I could do a lot of good in the world if given the opportunity. And really, with all the money that came with being Gloria Parker, not one organization would need to beg for grants ever again.

But as my husband got up and went to work every day, I grew more and more desperate. Like, I even applied for a job at Miracle Brew, an independent coffee housenotin Woodstock. Even if I had to commute, it’d give me something to do with my day. But alas, when I handed in the application, the young manager, who might’ve been twenty at best, laughed in my face. Then she hardened hers, telling me how rude I was for wasting their time.

Everyone knew my face now. Everyone knew I belonged to the Parkers. I laughed off my uncomfortableness. “I wasn’t being rude. I was a barista in college. You’re understaffed. I thought since I was here, I’d offer my help.”

Her face softened. “That was kind of you, but it would be impossible for me to let you behind the counter. What can I get you?”

Defeated, I inwardly slumped my shoulders, even though I outwardly squared them, then gave her a big smile. “Sweet cream mocha and a blueberry scone.”

The woman rang me up. I paid. But instead of stepping to the side, I whispered to the cashier, “Pay it forward. Charge my card for a grand.”

She balked. “Really?”

“Why not? It might really help someone who needs it. You never know what people are dealing with.”

“That’s so kind,” she said, sounding surprised.

I resigned myself to people thinking that of me now. Then I stepped aside.

When my order came up, I took my cup and scone to a table and sat down. It wasn’t but a couple of seconds later that a woman with long, curly brown hair and pretty blonde highlights, sporting tortoise-shell glasses dropped down in the chair across from me. Her delicate off-white sweater and orange dress together reminded me of a Creamsicle. Somehow, she made the look work. Not just a little, but like shedominatedit. Like whip and humiliation level domination.

“Um…hello?” I asked.

“You really wanted to work here, didn’t you?”

---