Page 19 of Bartholomew
“What I mean to say is that what happened back there, at the church? That’s not how it is supposed to be,” he finally finished with a heavy sigh.
“What happens between a husband and a wife is godly in nature,” I recited the words that my mother had explained to me.
“No. I mean, yes. I mean, sure. But it isn’t supposed to be like that,” he tried again, but still his meaning evaded me.
“I don’t understand,” I sighed, the fatigue of the day settling in much quicker than I had anticipated.
“I mean,” he started again, taking my hands in his own, “that it shouldn’t be the way it was. It should be something glorious. Let me show you.”
I didn’t understand the words he was speaking.
“Whatever it is you want tonight, let me do that for you,” he almost begged.
“Anything?” I asked tentatively.
“Anything your heart could possibly desire that is within my capabilities of giving.” What was he even saying? I could ask for anything and he would just give it? Was this a trick? Was it some bit of guilt he harbored for how things had happened in that room?
Whatever his motives were, I did not want to look a gift horse in the mouth. Tomorrow would be another day, but tonight, perhaps, I could have some small measure of happiness.
“If I may ask for anything. If you are completely sure. I would only ask for one thing tonight,” I stated tentatively.
“Anything,” he urged, squeezing my hands within his own.
“Space,” I whispered, wincing at what his reaction might be.
“Space. What do you mean?” he asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.
“Yes, space. I just would like a little time to… adjust. Just for tonight. If that’s okay,” I muttered out, stumbling over my words and suddenly worried that he would change his mind. What if his nice and kind attitude changed because I had made him upset?
“Space. That’s all you want? Delilah, hear me loud and clear. You can have space any day, any time. Just promise you’ll talk to me. Okay?” he spoke with such fervent conviction; I had no choice but to believe him. “What kind of space are you wanting? Just space from me? Alone time? What about self-care?”
I could see a renewed sense of purpose in him, like I had somehow just given him the key to the city by asking him for something as simple as space.
“Self-care?” I asked, raising an eyebrow in confusion.
“Yeah, self-care. Things you do just for yourself that make you happy,” he explained.
What?
“You know, like reading a book? A bubble bath? A nap?” He ticked off the items one by one on his fingers as he suggested them.
“Uh…” I stammered, unsure of what to say.
“You can have anything you want, Delilah,” he reiterated.
“Maybe a bath?” I voiced quietly, the words finally pushing past my lips through my shock.
“Absolutely. Follow me.” He led me, with my bag in tow, down the long hallway and around a nicely furnished living area. On we went, down another hallway, until we came to what looked to be the main bedroom. It wasn’t heavily furnished, but was clean and orderly. “Right through these doors is the bathroom. I think you’ll like it.”
There was that boyish charm of his again, confusing me further. First, he was serious and focused. Then, kind and caring. Now he was more closely aligned to a golden retriever puppy showing off his favorite chew toy.
But as I looked on into the bathroom attached to the bedroom, I could see why he was so excited.
“This? This is your bathroom?” I asked in shock, gesturing to the oversized room.
“No. This is our bathroom,” he corrected with a smirk. “Take all the time you need. You’ll find everything you could want in the cabinet by the tub. When you are finished, I leave the decision of the night in your hands.”
“The decision of the night?” I repeated dumbly.
