Getting sexy. Kayla Perrin
a sip. She looks from me to Annelise. “Ooh, Annie. That’s a really nice dress. You’re showing a lot of cleavage. That’s not like you.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve got to do something.”
“I don’t follow you,” Lishelle says.
“I’ve been having problems with Charles. In the bedroom. He won’t…well, he won’t touch me with a ten-foot pole, if you want to know the truth.”
“At all?” Lishelle asks.
“At all.”
“I’m so sorry to hear you’re having trouble again.”
“Again?” Annelise laughs without mirth. “It’s been a constant for nearly fifteen months.”
“Fifteen months?”
“Apparently,” I chime, and Lishelle looks at me in surprise. “She only told me a few days ago,” I point out.
“I know you were having trouble before,” Lishelle says, “but I thought you got past that. You haven’t said anything for what, a year?”
“I’ve been too embarrassed.” Annelise then fills Lishelle in on all she told me earlier in the week.
“And Charles,” Lishelle begins, “is he…reacting?”
“I spent five hundred dollars on new clothes, new bras, sexy shoes—and nothing.”
“Wow.” Lishelle reaches across the table and covers Annelise’s hand. “I don’t know what to say.”
“What can you say? I’m starting to wonder if my marriage is in serious trouble.”
“No,” I assure her. “Charles loves you.”
“Every time he rejects me, it chips away at my self-esteem. A little more here, a little more there.”
“How can we help?” Lishelle asks.
“Just be there for me, I guess. Listen to me whine.” She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.
“Have you talked to Charles about this?” I ask.
“If I even try to talk about why we’re not having sex, he gets upset. Defensive. Sometimes I’ll ask if he’s upset with me or what, and he tells me he’s busy. Stressed. That my impatience is only making him more stressed.”
“I’m sorry,” Lishelle says. “But if he isn’t having sex with you, don’t you think he’s fucking someone else? Let’s face it—what guy doesn’t want to have sex with his wife? You ask me, that’s a neon sign that he’s dipping his cock in another pussy.”
Annelise reels backward, looking absolutely crushed. I shoot Lishelle a glare. She gives me an “I’m sorry” look.
I’ll be honest—the same thought occurred to me regarding Charles screwing around—but I know Annelise isn’t ready to hear that.
I try a more tactful approach. “What if Charles is having some sort of medical problem?” I offer. “That could explain why he’s acting the way he is. Defensive. Standoffish. Unwilling even to hear any talk about lovemaking. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t want to start something he can’t finish with you.”
“Oh my God.” Annelise’s eyes light up. “Do you think that could be it?”
“It’s a possibility.”
“It would explain a lot,” Lishelle adds. “Let’s face it, you and Charles were the type who couldn’t keep your hands off each other.”
“Which is what makes all of this even harder to deal with.” Annelise sighs sadly.
“Maybe you should ask him about it,” I suggest. “In a point-blank way. Tell him that you love him more than anything, that you’re there for him, and that if he’s having some sort of problem you’ll still be by his side. You know how guys are—they don’t want to admit that they’re having sexual problems. But if you ask if he’s having some sort of problem, and make sure to tell him you’ll support him no matter what…”
“God, I think you’re right,” Annelise says. “It didn’t even occur to me. I figured it was me who did something wrong, and he’d lost interest. My sister suggested I buy sex toys and sexy clothes—none of which has worked. How can it work if he’s got some sort of medical problem?”
“You won’t know for sure until you talk to him,” I point out.
“I’m going to do that. I have to know. If he’s got some sort of medical issue, I’ll feel so relieved. You don’t know how awful I’ve felt, being rejected by the man I love more than anything.” Her eyes began to tear up.
“I can only imagine,” Lishelle says. I catch the look that I hope Annelise missed—one that says Lishelle isn’t convinced Charles’s problems are medical.
“Enough about me and my problems in the bedroom.” She’s more composed now. “Tell us the latest with the wedding plans, Claudia. Four weeks away!”
I groan. “I’m so stressed.”
“Honey, why? You’ve got that great wedding planner.”
“But there are still a million things to be done. And Adam is seeming less and less interested.”
“When I got married, David was the same way. Could care less about the plans. And the closer we got to the big day, the more he seemed disinterested. I think guys can only handle so much talk about cakes and dresses and food courses. They want to go on the honeymoon already.”
“Charles was actually very helpful, and very interested in all the details—and even he freaked out once and told me he didn’t want to hear another word about colors or food or anything more to do with wedding plans. You remember—that was the weekend he took off and went to Macon to go fishing with his brother.”
I crack a smile. I do remember. And I remember how unhappy Annelise was at the time, how she seemed on the verge of having a breakdown.
Is that the kind of bride I’ve become? Uncool, uncalm and uncollected?
“In other words,” I begin, “you both think I’m freaking out over nothing.”
Annelise and Lishelle nod in unison.
“It’s just the way guys are,” Lishelle points out.
“Okay. I’ll try not to lose my head over this stuff. I have to go to New York on Tuesday for another fitting, and after that, my gown should be ready.” Nerves tickle my stomach. “Wow. I can’t believe May twenty-seventh is coming so soon!”
“And your thirtieth birthday.”
“I’ve all but forgotten about that.”
“We were thinking to take you out that night,” Annelise says. “Do a stagette-slash-birthday-party thing.”
“Before you know it, you’ll be a married woman, on a beach somewhere fucking your brains out.”
I can’t help but crack a smile at Lishelle’s comment, however crude. “That’s a nice thought.”
“I might just have to tag along with you,” Annelise jokes.
Little does she know, the way Adam’s behaving now, he might just be down with that.
Lishelle sighs dreamily, and I can no longer wait for her to blurt out the secret she’s hiding. Because I know she’s hiding something. It’s just like her to get all giddy and silent when there’s something she’s not telling.
“All right, Lishelle,” I say. “What is it? Ever since you walked through that door, you’ve been trying to hide this huge grin.”
“I do have something to share, but I’m not sure this is