The Tales of a Future Hockey Wife

Chapter 18: Pride or Prejudice?

~Eleanor~

I can see lights under the front door of my apartment, and I clearly remember turning them off when I left for work this morning. My brain starts to spin rapidly. I can imagine my neurons trying to come up with the best excuse as to why I come home so late. Errands? No, I don't have any bags. Inventory? No, he knows it's on Wednesdays. Dinner with a handsome stranger? No, he'd kill me. Screw this, I'll wing it. I hate lying to Ben, but right now I don't really have a choice. Plus, he didn't even call me, he's obviously not that worried. He is sitting at the kitchen table when I walk in. He' looking at his laptop's screen. An empty plate is waiting to be put in the dishwasher on the kitchen counter. The toaster is also waiting to be back in its cabinet. What did he eat? Eggs and toast? That's so not his style. A sandwich? That's even less his style. When we were in high school together, he never brought sandwiches for lunch. I can still hear him say that eating bread in the morning and at lunch equals way too much carbs for one day. I say hello to him with a voice as normal as possible.

"Where were you? I thought you got off at five, it's eight," he says his voice even. He doesn't even raise his eyes from his screen to look at me.

"I stopped by Blair and Vivienne's for dinner," I walk up to him and press a kiss on his cheek. "I thought you wouldn't be back until later. If I would have known, I would have come back earlier." I enter the kitchen to clean up his mess before asking: "What did you eat?" It bugs me that he hasn't looked at me since I walked in. Is he mad or just really focused on whatever he's looking at? 

"Avocado toast with a poached egg." Poached egg? Where did he learn to cook poached eggs? Last week, when I asked him to prepare some rice, he had to look up videos online, the recipe on the back of the box wasn't clear enough. Now that I think about it, he doesn't even like sunny-side-up eggs. He always asks for scrambled eggs when we have breakfast at the restaurant.

"Poached eggs? Since when do you like poached eggs?" He shrugs, his eyes still on his computer. I snap my fingers in front of his face to try and get his attention. When he finally lifts his eyes, he is faced with my face two inches from his. "I asked you a question and I'd like an answer." I keep my voice as normal as possible, but even I can notice the annoyance in my tone.

"I did what I did for the rice, I looked up videos online." Yeah, right, of course he did. I just roll my eyes and finish cleaning up his mess. Why am I even doing that? I should let him clean up, but I have a feeling he won't, and I know myself well enough that if I walk into the kitchen later tonight and his plate his still in the sink, I'll wash it. I'm just saving myself from a late-night dishwashing duty. I walk into our room to pick up what I need for a shower. Over the years, I learned that when Ben acts that way, it's better to let him cool off before asking questions.

While I let the warm water relax my muscles, my brain doesn't turn off. I keep thinking about all the stuff Ben could be upset about. Was it the game that went wrong? Was that awful man there? Did he make fun of Ben for what happened last time? Did they win? Did they lose? Did I upset him without knowing? Or was it something else completely? I take my time washing my hair with the new fancy shampoo I bought last week as a prize for winning the writing contest. It's made specifically for curly hair in need of a deep hydration. When I read the description, I immediately thought that this shampoo had been made specifically for me. It smells divine, a mix of fruit and some oil I don't remember the name, but it doesn't matter. What matters is that when I used it for the first time, Ben spent the evening with his nose in my hair. I am hoping that it will have the same calming effect tonight.

When I get out of the shower, I google tonight's game results. They lost 1-2, but Ben scored the only goal of the game, so that can't be what he's upset about. I look at myself in the mirror. There is a glow in my eyes that I haven't seen for a while now, but it's darkened by the nervousness I feel because of Ben's behavior. While I rub lotion on my legs, I think about what happened tonight. I had dinner with a perfect stranger and I enjoyed it, a lot. I felt bad about lying to him until I saw him being too focused on his computer to kiss me when I walked in. I felt bad about not warning him that I would come home later than usual until I remembered all the times he went out with his friends after games or practices without telling me, leaving me home alone for the entire night with nothing to do. Now, I don't feel bad at all. He is not the only one who can have fun! I exit the bathroom with a confident expression on my face. I won't let him tell me that I should have called. I won't let him make me feel cheap for spending the night with friends even if it's just what he thinks I did.