Winners Don't Have Bad Days (Watty 2020 Winner, Romance)

19. #StickySituation, December 2017

Mike looked at fifty bundles of green sticks, paralyzed by indecision. 

A Chinese auntie reached around him to shuffle through the grocery shelf and triumphantly emerged with her chosen one. 

Mike's envious gaze followed her drift to the cilantro patch. He wished he could emulate that ancient technique, but to him one bundle of celery was still equal to all others. The paralysis by analysis getting ridiculous, he grabbed the topmost rightmost bunch and tossed it into his shopping basket on top of the Black Forest cake. 

Just this one treat, then he is back to good eating well before Daya's back, and he'd just spent a week in the Kale-land. He earned a bite or two of something sinful. Her black band was still in his pocket, he wasn't giving up on the big picture. Just a small transgression. Every diet allowed cheat days... 

Just like every relationship allows cheating... right. He blew out the air. If only Daya's name hadn't somehow slipped his tongue one too many times, he might have survived without the cake. But it did, it did... the hours in Sutherlands' company dragged, his thoughts revolved around Daya, and he kept talking about her. He couldn't help it...

Then, on the last ominous evening together, when the fireplace was crackling and filling the cozy cottage with the smell of pine, his mother lifted her head from the game of cards. 

She frowned, then remembered she'd just had a facelift, and smoothed her plucked brow. "I hope you're telling me the truth and don't have feelings for this fine lady. With dramatic differences in your lifestyles, a relationship doesn't stand a chance. I've seen it time and again."

He caught himself before arguing, because this could have been a trick shot. His mother might have wanted to see if he would argue to catch him on a lie. Oh, you do care! she'd have exclaimed, or something along those lines. So he had kept his mouth shut for once.

But the damage was done. The words throbbed like a splinter lodged under the nail since. Even if he did the mad thing and acted on his attraction, could Daya and him work? Such a mundane term, work, almost mechanical.

What of the opposites attract? Mike mused, not for the first time, as his hands re-settled celery, apples, eggs, etc in his fridge. In his empty apartment. He bet that even his fridge missed Daya.

The cake he left on the counter and dug into its luscious depths with a spoon between unloading the other groceries.

In his imagination, his mother trilled a little laughter. Great for a liaison, my dear, the sort that people would miss unless they are looking closely. Then poof! Gone! Hadn't you learned anything from watching your father and I?

"Well, blast it!" he said to the cake before spiriting it away to the couch. "I've learned so much from my parents, that I can write a long boring book about marriage." 

By some reason, people found the drama of failed relationships exciting. He, by contrast, considered the happy ones worth the price of admission. 

The spoonful of chocolate melted on his tongue. Happiness... am I stealing happiness away from both of us by keeping my feelings to myself? 

Once settled, Mike turned on an old show he knew word-for-word and condemned the cake to death by a thousand bites.

Each of them was a celebration of the sweet and sour, black and red, soft and softer. The icing coated his tongue and teeth, providing the special chocolate backdrop for the cherry-dominant spoonfuls. The sponge soaked in cherry juice and kirsch to the point where the flavors became inseparable.

He closed his eyes after every bite to savor this perfect marriage, but the delight didn't last. He hurried into taking the next bite sooner, to push the unpleasant thoughts away, but they refused to budge.

His mother's parting shot of poison went straight into the vein, and it coursed through his body, toxic and festering. 

"I can empathize with her," Juliana said about Daya—because he just had to bring up Daya again! "A talented woman with thwarted ambitions. I sense that she is much like I am. Hmm, they say most men marry their mothers..."

His spoon found no purchase, scraping the plastic instead of caressing the cream. He picked the crumbs stuck to the carton's bottom with icing, and a few run-away chocolate shavings. 

This truly was the end of the cake. 

It won't work. Good thing you didn't try anything and get  a grip...

He reclined back, his body descending into a chocolate-induced stupor.

He was full to the point of wanting to vomit.

He was empty.

The endorphins kicked in, wiping away Juliana from his eyelids. 

The show on the TV finally attained his attention. The brave Captain on the screen threw his weight around, bragging about being ruggedly handsome, getting in trouble for it. 

The little ship mechanic unexpectedly got a pretty dress with ruffles. 

They did gloriously stupid things, they took risks, and, in the end, came out as winners... always as winners. Until the next episode began.

The whole show was about it, taking it on the chin, rolling with the punches, but trying to get ahead when the odds were stacked against you. About throwing caution to the wind when the prize was worth it.

A smile found its way back on Mike's face before he dozed off on the couch in the chocolaty shell.

Sometimes, one had to do something patently stupid to keep upright as the Earth rotated under their feet.

It had been too long since he had climbed the balconies and did glorious stupid things in the name of love. He was overdue...