Sweet Obsession

I was so distracted with the visits from both his parents that I didn’t think anything of it when he changed our flight schedule, but now with nothing else to do but worry while he works on a last-minute work issue as we fly through the afternoon sky, my mind is playing mental gymnastics.

Why did his dad ask me all those questions about my past? Didn’t he already know the answers? And why was he almost close to tears when he apologized to me for not being there sooner? I’m not accustomed to anyone besides my husband being that way.

My husband, I finally feel confident enough to call him that even to myself as something more than a joke. I think it was his standing up to his mom that finally made it all seem real. Of course, now I have the same issues as all new brides to face, like whether or not we’d work out or if I’d be all he needs, the usual.

But with his mom dealt with, it’s like eighty percent of my struggle is over, well, maybe more. She was the one I feared most, even more than Rene. I always thought that I had to bow to her dictates in the past, but now that I look back, there really haven’t been many instances where Garrick put her wants or needs before mine. Why did I never notice it before?

Maybe because I always saw him not spending time at his childhood home as my fault and another one of the burdens I’d placed on his shoulders. But as I watch him now, the way he looks up from the computer every so often just to check that I’m okay, the way he reaches out intermittently just to hold my hand and bring my fingers to his lips, I realize that he’s always put me first, and never once complained.

Had I realized how much he cared for me before, I could’ve avoided a lot of heartache. I wouldn’t have fallen for Rene’s lies for one, and a lot of my teenage angst could’ve been avoided. The man had got me a license plate with his name on it, for cripes sake, I mean, if that’s not letting the whole world know, I don’t know what is. And what other reason could he have for doing that if not to show everyone that I’m his?

MS.G. AMERY, that’s what my license plate says, and everyone in our town and the surrounding area knows who G. Amery is. He bitched about not being able to put the R in Mrs. But there’s an eight-digit limit, plus they mean the same, just that mine can be used for married or unmarried women. Garrick was not amused.

I’m not sure if most people didn’t know that we were connected before or if the ring makes that much of a difference, but I do know a lot of people treat me differently now. There was only one instance where Garrick tried to glare someone out of existence for something they said, which I don’t even recall at the moment.

I looked out the window at the clouds hoping to let go of whatever was going on back home and enjoy this trip, but it was hard because it seemed to me that something was brewing.

Paris was just as beautiful as I remembered, and with Garrick’s full attention, I was indeed able to put everything else aside. When he said he planned to devote all of his attention to me, he really meant it, I suppose, because from the time we landed, everything was about me.

Just like those people back home only realized our connection after they realized I was his wife, I, too, was realizing that the only big change between the way he treats me now and the way he’s already treated me is the sex. He’d always bought me things, especially clothing and things I needed for school.

The difference now is he didn’t just hand me a credit card or top up the debit card he’d given me when I went away to college, something he never forgot to do, I might add, but instead, he shops for me, buying what he likes as opposed to what I thought would look good on me.

He’d also opened a bank account for me with a vulgar amount of money, and let’s not get started on stocks and bonds and all the things you’d think someone studying financial management would be chomping at the bit to own, but somehow seem less important than the rest of the changes.

I love that he shops for me; it somehow tells me how he sees me as opposed to how I see myself. My jeans are now low riders, whereas before, I’d always get the looser boot cut or something less clinging. He liked short sweaters that tease around my waist, barely showing a hint of skin when I move. I can only wear those under my coat or around the house, though, as I’d been warned what would happen if I even thought of letting another man see my stomach.