Fortune Greens
My buddy, Jayden Jenkins, has come over to my place again to mooch a free meal.
It is scorching hot outside, and I am sweating over the stove in the kitchen. Meanwhile, Jayden is lounging in the air-conditioned living room. After biting the tip off a strawberry, he pulls my wife, Willow Simpson, into his arms and casually pops the rest into her mouth.
"Here, Willow. Help me finish it," he says with a wicked grin. "It's rare enough that this cheap bastard Caius finally buys strawberries. Now he'll complain that I wasted one if I don't finish it."
I wipe the sweat from my forehead and glance toward the living room, just in time to see Willow swallow the half-eaten strawberry.
The thing is, she is a serious germaphobe. We've been married for years, and even kissing me is something she rarely allows.
I remember another sweltering evening. After playing basketball, I bought a Coke and offered her the half-finished cup.
"Willow, you must be thirsty. Here, take a sip. It's nice and cold. It'll cool you down."
She slapped the cup away and snapped, "Caius, do you have any idea how many kinds of bacteria are in saliva? Don't ever do something that disgusting again."
On that crowded field, people stared at our exchange, some barely hiding their amusement.
I froze, my hand still hovering near her forehead as I tried to wipe away her sweat. I knew I would never forget the humiliation I felt in that moment.
But I told myself she was simply distant and hard to please. Again and again, I reminded myself not to be so sensitive and to respect her boundaries.
Turns out, that wasn't the case.
She can set aside her fear of germs.
She just isn't willing to do it for me.