Out of Bounds [h.s. au]

Chapter 11

"Good afternoon, sleepyhead," said James as I patted into the kitchen. He was sitting at the table drinking a soda and reading the newspaper. His attire told me that he must have just gotten back from playing golf.

"Hi," I yawned. I grabbed a mug from the cabinet and made a cup of coffee with my Keurig.

"What time did you end up getting home last night?"

"Almost four, I think?" After pouring creamer into my cup, I joined James at the table.

"Did you have fun?"

I nodded and took a sip of coffee, hoping the mug obscured my face enough that James couldn't read it.

"You didn't drink too much, did you?" he asked.

"No."

For years that question would have comforted me, knowing that he cared. Now it sounded different. Like an accusation or a warning. It suddenly annoyed me, and before I let on that I was perturbed, I stood up and put a slice of bread in the toaster.

"Tisa, I have to go to New York for a few days," I heard James say behind me.

"What?" I spun around.

"Possibly a week."

"Oh. When."

"Tomorrow. My flight leaves first thing. I know it's such short notice, but Nelson called me last night."

His boss, Nelson Whitcomb, would sometimes call James to be his right hand man on business trips. The company's headquarters was in New York, and James and Nelson had made a handful of trips there over the last few years. But usually it was just for a couple days, maybe three. Never as much as a week.

"Oh," I said again. "Okay."

"If all goes well, I might get a promotion out of it. Nelson was talking six digits."

"Wow," I exclaimed, just as the toast popped up. I grabbed it and began spreading peanut butter on it.

"That could mean a lot of good things for us, Tisa."

"Right," I nodded as I returned the peanut butter to the pantry. Then I sat back down at the table with my toast.

"Don't sound so enthusiastic," James muttered.

"What do you want me to say?" I asked with a mouth full of peanut butter.

"I don't know. I thought you'd be at least a little excited. We could get a bigger house."

"Why?" I asked. "I like this house."

When James and I had first married, he'd insisted on getting a house, even though I was completely content with our apartment. Now he was talking about an even bigger house? I was never interested in material things, which was one of our differences. Sometimes I would think that James worked a lot because he was bored at home, and perhaps a little bit with me. But I think the true reason was because he liked being part of the status quo. It made him feel important.

"Don't you want nice things?"

"I have nice things, James," I argued.

He ran his hand over his face, exasperated. Knowing there was nothing more to say, he stood up from the table.

"I gotta take a shower," he said before he left the kitchen.

I sat at the table for a few more minutes while I finished my coffee. Perhaps I wasn't being fair to James. I probably should have acted more enthusiastic or at least told him I was proud of him. But for some reason that drinking too much comment really got to me. And I knew why.