“Yeah, Sylvie. You’ve been a bit high-strung and you’ve been sick lately. So, I’ll ask again. Is there anything you want me to do around the house?”
“No. I’m not going to make you work today.” Sweet that he offered, though.
“Then, we’re going on a day-long date. You up for it?”
“I’m always up for anything with you.”
A slow grin rises on his face. We need today. I don’t know what he has planned, but I bet it’ll be perfect and just what we need.
Today is all about relaxation. Sylvia has been wrung tighter than I’ve ever seen her. I don’t fucking like it, but I don’t know what else to do. Actually, I made her an appointment with her doctor. I just have to wait for the right moment to tell her. Sylvia doesn’t particularly like going to the doctor. Not since she learned of her fate when it comes to getting pregnant. She has to be forced to go. Hence me making the appointment for her. I just wish they could’ve gotten her in sooner.
“What are you thinking about?” she asks as I drive us to our first and most important destination. “You look worried.” She squeezes my hand; our hands are resting on the center console.
“You.” I glide my hand down the steering wheel to flick on the turn signal to switch lanes.
“Scott,” she whispers.
“No, don’t start. You asked, so I answered. We don’t need to have a discussion. Not today.” I bring our hands up and kiss her knuckles.
“I feel like I’m messing things up with us.” Her eyes well with tears, just like that.
“Sylvie, things are perfect with us and—”
“Then I’m going crazy!”
Thank fuck we’re here. I pull into the first parking space I see and put the car in park before turning to her. I cup her face and pull her halfway across the console. “Stop it. Not today, okay? Look at me. Really look at me. Do I look unhappy?” I wait for her to shake her head. “Then not today. I don’t want you worrying.”
“You are.”
“I’m stopping. It’s our anniversary, Sylvie. Let’s focus on that.”
Two tears slip onto her cheeks and I swipe them away with my thumbs. “Okay,” she finally says.
This woman? She’s not my wife. At least, not a version I’ve ever seen. Hell, I’ve never known Sylvia to cry so much without there being a hardcore reason. She simply isn’t a cryer in general. This anxiety she’s feeling? I don’t know where it’s coming from. What causes anxiety to crop up out of the blue?
But I told her I was going to stop worrying, so as we get out of the car and I lead her into the building, I turn my thoughts off. I wanted today to be about relaxation, and that’s what we’re going to do.
“A massage?” Sylvia glances up at me with a question in her eyes.
“We gotta relax, so yes.”
After a few minutes of filling out forms and waiting, we’re called to the back. Soon, a pair of men are massaging us. Sylvia lets out a moan and then an embarrassed laugh. Best thing I’ve heard in days. That’s what ultimately helps the tension ease from my muscles. It’s weird if I t
hink too much about it because I’m not the one making her release little moans and turn her body into goo. But hey, she’s relaxing, I’m relaxing, and all is becoming good in the world.
By the time our two hours are up, Sylvia refuses to sit up from the table and her cheeks are flushed. She apologized to the guy at least three times for not being able to contain herself. He thought it was hilarious and shrugged it off.
“Scott.”
“Yeah?” I ask as I get dressed.
“I don’t think I can move.”
I chuckle. “That’s good, Sylvie.”
“Why can’t you give me massages like that?”
“Because I’m not a professional, which means I’m not as good and I’m allowed to get distracted by your body. You can come back as often as you want.”