Point of Origin Pt. 2

It seemed like every question she offered was loaded, even the ones regarding the most mundane subjects. She would ask then lean back against the wall or shift her weight on her feet and wait for my answer. She never broke eye contact and most of the time, never lost that little crooked grin.

Three months passed. I had planned to be there six weeks. She brought out these ridiculous little finger sandwiches, tuna or cucumber, crust removed from the bread. Tiny and refined. She asked about everything. She asked about Allison and Suzie. Eventually she brought out these little question cards from a board game called Scruples. Questions of ethics, "what would you do if you had these 2 choices", type of things. We talked for hours on the deck over looking the creek. We drove up and saw the place my dad had been raised on. We talked about houses. We talked about her family, (when they weren't around), we talked about politics. I found myself in their kitchen and she would laugh at me and tease when I spilled coffee on the floor. "What does your kitchen floor look like?!". I could not take my eyes off her and apparently that inhibited my ability to not run into things.

Each night I would try to bring home the feeling, the excitement, to Allison. Each night I tried to engage her in the same way. Each night would end in frustration. There was a problem there that I did not understand, and did not know how to fix. I had no skills, then, no experience to rely on. And the more I pressed, panicked by my growing feelings for that Irish girl, the more Allison shut down.

(My wife has always been a private person, jealously guarding her anonymity on the net. For the purposes of this blog I think it prudent that I identify her as "Tati", the name of her avatars from online gaming).

It was summer now, and Evans Creek turned brown with the tannen from the leaves of the trees. We were standing in the stable, now with fresh roofing and pick Douglas Fir framing and bright gray concrete unstained from use. We were in the stall area where the newly packed degraded granite provided solid footing for the horse and soon there would be stall dividers. We had been swimming in the creek and her hair was wet. She had a stick in her hand, a fallen tree limb. "I have to tell you something, I'm afraid to say it out loud." Tati used the stick and in the sandy degraded granite, she drew a heart. We stared at it for a while. And then I kissed her. I wanted her badly, I had for several weeks. But there were some things I had to address first, before this inevitable thing could happen. I could not stomach an affair.