After months living together in his cabin on the hill, the man had taken to using a casual term of endearment for her. Dear. As in “yes, dear.” She hated it.
“Don’t call me that.”
“Don’t call you what?”
“Dear. Don’t call me dear.”
He didn’t get it. It was natural for him to call the woman in his house dear. So, the next time he said it, to make her point, she responded with foul language. “Fuck you.” At first, he was taken aback. Then he seemed to file away the experience alongside her many other vulgar outbursts.
When the tumbling thump of his pocketknife in the clothes dryer disrupted her thoughts, she suggested he empty his pockets before he put his pants in the laundry.
He responded, “Yes, dear.”
“Why do you insist on insulting me like that?”
“I’m not insulting you. I love you.”
“Then don’t call me fucking dear.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“You don’t mean it. When you call me dear, you’re being sarcastic about our relationship. Like you’re trapped here.”
“I’m not trapped here. I’d make an honest woman out of you and get married.”
She screamed as though she had been stabbed.
He was dumbfounded.
His mental architecture was no secret. He watched John Wayne movies. One of his favorites was Hondo from 1953. He thought it was a story about what manhood should be. She was both amused and appalled. He had watched the film so many times, he had parts of the script memorized. It was no wonder those gender tropes were imprinted on him. One of his favorite lines from the movie was, “A woman should cook good,” which he delivered in a corny imitation of John Wayne’s lumpy voice. But he was serious about marrying her.
“I’m never getting married again,” she said.
His face fell in genuine disappointment. “Why not?”
She looked into his eyes and saw that marriage was a goal for him. Marriage was status. He was training her for marriage like a service dog. The moment was delicate. She wasn’t rejecting him. He was her adorable man. But husband and wife were designations with a hierarchy, and she wasn’t going to saddle herself with that again. She put her arms around him and gave him a solid hug, pressing her cheek into his chest.
“Oh, my darling. I’m never getting married again.” She smiled sweetly. “It’s not about you. It’s about me.”
“Don’t you want to have a wedding?”
“No.”
He was surprised. Then he smirked at her. “But I need a No-Pest Strip to wear to the gym.”
“What?”
He wiggled his empty ring finger. “A wedding ring to keep the women away.”
“Oh, my god!” She laughed and punched him.
“I’m just sayin! There are a lot of good reasons to get married.”
She kissed him. “You get away with shit like this because you’re cute.”
He was delighted.
I love your writing! And I adore your relationship!!
Thanks for the encouragement. I am so fortunate to have a partner that enjoys my stories.
If I remember correctly, Ma sued t call us ‘dearie’. Charlie Isenberg overheard her do that with me, so he immediately adopted it. Calling ME ‘dearie’. Of course I thought it was hysterically funny, and don’t hate it. Ah…endearments – often Hallmark Greeting Card sickening.
Yes, if The Onion wrote for Hallmark.