The Convenient Wife

We’re polar opposites.

And yet we fit together like two puzzle pieces.

We both love Alfred Hitchcock movies, we both love cheap Chinese food, we both love dogs, and have even been to the same concert before we met. I actually sat three rows in front of her.

Our paths have crossed through the years, but it took this to bring us together.

The big city buildings start to thin as we cruise down the highway. Her steering wheel shakes violently and she has to hold it with two hands.

“Is something wrong? Your engine isn’t going to blow up on us is it?”

“What?” she asks confused, until she sees my eyes on the wheel. “Oh, no, it’s fine. I need an alignment, that’s all.”

“Are you sure that’s all?”

“Alright, there might be some mud in my rims too.”

“What? How did you get mud in your rims?”

“I got stuck in a ditch the other night on my way to your place after a deer ran out in front of me.”

“Oh my God, why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t know, nothing happened, I was fine. But my front wheels sank into the mud and it took a little bit to get out. I’m sure they’re caked up right now.”

“You should have called me, I would have come and helped you.”

Starla tips her head and smiles with thin lips. “I know you would have, but I’m not helpless, Bolt. The girls you’re used to might be afraid to get dirty for fear of breaking a nail, I’m not. I do things on my own and only ask for help if I need to. That’s how I was raised.”

Her ability to handle shit, to not crumble under pressure, that shit is fucking hot. I love that I don’t need to hold her hand, that she’s able to take charge and figure it out on her own.

Nothing is sexier than an independent woman.

Pulling off the highway, she drives us into a suburb of the city. The homes are small, a lot smaller than what I’m used to. They have faded paint, crooked shutters, and shingles missing from the roofs.

There are giant cracks in the sidewalks, some are even missing entire sections as they crumbled and dissolved back into dirt. The grass on the lawns are patchy and brown, and I can tell we’re not in my neighborhood anymore.

“Where are we?”

Smiling, she doesn’t give me answer, instead she takes a few more turns and pulls into a driveway of a boxy ranch home. The vinyl siding is covered in green moss, there’s a crack in the front window, and the screen door is missing its screen.

Shutting off the car, she grabs her purse and starts to climb out.

“Wait, you haven’t answered me yet. Where are we?”

“I thought you did your research on me, Bolt Sheckler, obviously I was wrong.” Nodding her head, she starts up the broken pathway. “Come on.”

Opening my door, I place one foot on the pavement and climb out slowly. Following behind her, she keeps looking back at me and smiling. I can’t tell if she’s nervous or excited, but it seems like she could be both.

She’s biting on her cheeks as she smirks, and her brows are arched high. There’s a stiffness to her steps and an exaggeration to her expression that makes me think she’s a tiny bit nervous.

Starla pulls the screen door open and I stop behind her, expecting her to knock. She doesn’t, she just opens the front door and walks right in. “Hello? Where is everyone?” she calls out into the empty room.

Stepping inside, I’m immediately struck by the scent of apples and maple syrup. The house feels warm, like the oven’s been on all day baking pies.

Looking around, the walls are covered in wood paneling, making it a lot darker inside than it should be. The rug is a shaggy blend of orange and brown, with a pop of green sprouting here and there.

There are pictures sitting on top of a mantel that grab my attention. Taking a long step to the side, the pictures are all of Starla, ranging from childhood into her high school years.

“Awe, look at you. Weren’t you a cute little thing.” Pointing at one where she couldn’t have been more than five or six years old, I chuckle. She looks adorable.

Starla is sitting super tall, her back pin straight as she smiles from ear to ear like she just won a year’s worth of cookies. She has thick bangs that go all the way back to the center of her scalp, and big gawky fake pearls wrapped around her neck.

“Go on, laugh now. But I bet yours are no better.”

“You’ll never see mine.”

“I showed you mine, I think that means you have to show me yours.” Flashing her teeth, her tongue runs across her upper lip as she grins.