The Side Effects of Marriage

Chapter 5

"You are an abysmal failure of a husband," Layla said as she kicked off her nude pumps.

She had run to the bathroom no less than seven times over the course of her meal, and if neither of them knew better, Amara and Hayden would likely have thought she had a drug problem. As it was, every time she smelled mushrooms, which were in almost all the dishes of the night, she'd had the urge to vomit.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he said, making a beeline for the coffeemaker.

"Why did you accept her invitation, Hayden?"

"You're the one who said, why not when she asked!"

"Yes, so that you could give me a reason why!" she snapped.

He slammed a drawer shut, and she saw something shake in him, something breaking loose, the taut muscles of his back uncoiling and tightening again. Her mild-mannered, affable husband, who did the crossword every Sunday and never forgot to leave out food for Inky, held onto the drawer handle like a drowning man clinging to a lifeline. "In case you haven't noticed, Layla, I'm not a mind reader."

"My bad, you just assume things that aren't there." Something about his anger clawing free from its shell made her throw up her guard, lashing out right back at him.

"I already apologized." Hayden's fingers were white on the metal handle, his breathing sharp. "What more would you like me to say, unless you'd like to hold it over my head forever?"

She was silent. She wanted to hurt him. She wanted to know him. She wanted to know him well enough to know where he hurt the most.

Layla remembered. Every secret confessed, every lie uncovered--she remembered all of them like soft, tender spots, like bruises in his armour. If she wanted, she could destroy him, bring him to his knees.

He mistook her self-restraint for speechlessness. "You would, wouldn't you? Maybe that's why you married me. Maybe you wanted someone whose secrets you knew, whose sins you knew. So you could keep them over me like a sword on a string."

"I'm going to bed." Her bare feet slapped against the kitchen tile as she breezed through the kitchen. Screw coffee. Screw him. "If you want to talk to me civilly--"

"Because accusing me of being the worst husband ever is so civil."

"The mushrooms weren't funny. You know I can't stand them."

"And you know I don't like chocolate. What's the big deal?" He spun around throwing his hands in the air.

You know. Don't you? It wasn't a prank to you. It was something else. A test.

"If you don't know, then I can't help you."

"Were you running to the bathroom every five seconds to do drugs or get away from me?" he demanded, the somewhat softened look on his face deepening into one of exasperation, every line by his mouth crinkling.

"Maybe I was going to the bathroom to get away from the woman whom you seem to have taken such a marked interest in."

He stared at her with what she could only describe as an expression of arrogant incredulity. "Are you honestly jealous of the neighbour?"

"Are you really asking me this right now?" No. She couldn't let him get between her and coffee. She grabbed a mug and pushed past him to the coffeepot. Which was, of course, empty.

His expression changed to one of utter detachment, even as he opened a cabinet to pass her the coffee filters. She didn't take them. "Well, honey, last time I checked, that road goes both ways."