Breaking Perfect

Nine feet, exactly three marble tiles, from the front door she stood, ankles together, hands clasped tightly just below the hem of her blouse. A final breath escaped as the knob turned. She savored that last bite of anxiety before meeting her husband’s gaze.

“Hey, beautiful girl,” Mason greeted as he stepped through the doorway carrying a rumpled newspaper over his briefcase. Calm washed over her at the practiced functionality of this part of their day. Predictable was good. No matter what, he always made her feel cherished.

“Hi, sweetie. Did you have a good day at work?”

“Okay. How about you? Good day?” Mason dropped his papers in a pile of disarray on the small table by the door and Libby released the mental hold on herself, moving to him. Helping him off with his coat, she folded it over her arm, and righted the papers with her free hand. Smiling up at him expectantly, he placed a soft kiss on her nose. This was the dance they naturally practiced each day since moving into their home. It was routine. It was right.

“Something smells delicious. Did you have time to play?”

Libby moved to the hall closet and hung up his coat. Noticing it was showing lint again, she made a mental note to take it to the cleaners on Monday. “Very good. I was able to finish the grocery shopping in under an hour today so I managed to get in three hours of practice.”

“That’s great.” When he smiled at her it was always genuine, always kind. She appreciated his open manner and sincerity. “How long before we eat?”

“Dinner’s about done now. I just need to bring it out to the table. Is that okay?”

“You know it’s fine, Liberty,” he replied endearingly. “Why don’t you bring it out? I’m just going to run upstairs and change. This tie’s been choking me all day.”

Liberty nodded and quickly did as Mason asked. When he returned in a loose fitting pair of sweats and an old Duke sweatshirt she joined him at the table.

“This looks fantastic, Lib.”

“Thank you. I also made apple pie.”

Mason shut his eyes and gave an almost sexual groan at the mention of dessert. Liberty’s mind was immediately flooded with images of her fantasy that afternoon and the memory of coming all over her fingers and thighs. She quickly averted her eyes so he didn’t sense her guilt.

As they ate they chatted about Mason’s day. Liberty meticulously sliced her carrots into thirds. Rather than acknowledge her husband’s disordered vegetables, she focused on what he was saying. It was always a pleasure hearing about all the fascinating people her husband came in contact with in one day. As a trauma surgeon at Faith Baptist Hospital located just over the main bridge into town, he never knew what he was walking into. He had a tolerance for natural chaos Liberty admired and dreaded at the same time. She took great pride in his success. Mason knew he wouldn’t be able to save everyone, but he never lost hope or refused to try. It was inspiring. He was so brave compared to her. He was her strength, her rock.

After dinner was cleared she brought out the pie. Her lips curled into an easy smile as Mason ate two generous slices. A bit of sweet glaze clung to the side of his thumb as he took the last bite. Her mind imagined him leaning over her and smearing the golden filling across her lower lip then licking it off. When he removed the smudge from his thumb with the napkin her disappointment stung.

Recently, she acknowledged that she was becoming a contradiction. While everything in her craved normal, there was one part of her that was suddenly longing for spontaneity, and she’d not yet thought of a way to discuss this with Mason. She needed life to be predictable for reasons she didn’t like to think too hard on. Mason worked diligently to provide a dependable environment. Asking for something else made her feel like she was betraying his expectations.

Mason was an incredible husband. He provided for her well beyond what she could ever ask for. None of the luxuries they enjoyed were required to love him. She only required him to be true to her, to be the emotional anchor she needed to get through each day. Her tendency to obsess over making everything perfect drove many people away, but Mason always made her quirks seem inconsequential. Her compulsive side resented her insidious ache to change. Change was sloppy and contagious. One aspect could not be changed without somehow disturbing the general balance of things.

Her husband was a beautiful man. His thick dark hair was clipped sophisticatedly short and a strong jaw that no matter how frequently he shaved always appeared to be overdue for another trim. He was tall. Of course, Liberty was only five foot so everyone was taller, but Mason was very tall, over six feet. He dressed impeccably. His well thought out wardrobe set off his swimmers physique. Though she rarely had the opportunity to analyze his nude body in broad daylight, when they used the pool she often admired his broad shoulders and trim abdomen.