I Still Love You

"Do you still love me?"

Joanna's voice rippled through the silence of the evening. We'd been sitting in our bed, moments from turning our bedside lights off, when her query took the breath from within me. There was no conversation that led up to the question and we hadn't had a dispute in months. Not only was I floored by her need to even ask, I was confused to what brought it up in the first place. It was just a regular Tuesday evening.

I turned to my wife of ten years searching for any clues I could find. Nothing was out of place. As she did every night for the past ten years, she had been reading before bed. She was sitting up, blankets bunched around her waist, with nothing out of the ordinary. The contrast in character presented by the combination of her silk nightgown and reading glasses had always been adorable to me, and tonight was no different. No different aside from the fact that she had been crying. Her eyes were clamped shut, tears clumping her lashes together.

My heart constricted immediately. It's rather difficult to put into words all the things that ran through my mind in the three seconds it took for me to find my voice. I wondered how long she'd been crying and how I was able to sit right beside her without the slightest suspicion of her temperament. I questioned if she still loved me or if this was her way of hinting at a divorce. I thought back to every good time we'd had together and if I could even take care of myself without her being here.

"Of course!" I nearly shouted. "Joanna, darling, what's going on?"

I heard the slight hiccup in the back of her throat. That small croaking sound that let me know she had been trying to suppress her sobs for a while now and my heart continued to shatter. In that single moment I became very aware of how I'd failed my wife. I didn't know what exactly I did, but something or the lack of something had made her doubt my affections for her. I hadn't told her enough, supported her enough, or provided for her enough. Somehow, I had let her get to the point where she had to ask and that killed me inside.

I could hear the shred of control she hung on to while she continued with her inquiry. "Are you cheating on me?"

"God, no!" This time I did shout. "Baby, please believe me when I say that I have never laid a hand on another woman. You're all I could ever want, all that I need. Jo, please," I pleaded with her.

By this time, I had turned on the bed, desperate to meet her gaze, to convince her that everything I said was true. I reached for her hands but she pulled them away from me. I tried to move in closer, but she only turned her back to me. I felt like I was poisonous or something. She countered every one of my advances with a retreat. How was I going to comfort and reassure her if I couldn't touch her?

I watched with an aching heart as she flicked the lamp on her nightstand off and lay down. I heard the clink of her reading glasses being set down and felt the mattress give as she shifted into a comfortable position. Of course she was facing away from me, curled into a helpless little ball on the edge of the bed. I wanted so badly to reach out for her, but I didn't want to risk her leaving either. The last thing I could handle would be the sight of her walking out the door, so I settled down myself.

The lump that had gathered in my throat wouldn't swallow. Ten years I had shared a bed with this woman, ten happy years. We had a home. We had a bright future together. I was certain that Joanna made me a better man. She had always been my support, my rock during the hard times. She'd also been that laughter and love that I required to get through each and every day. What was going on?

After a fitful sleep, I was awoken by Joanna. She placed a cup of coffee on my nightstand like she did every morning and waltzed into the bathroom to fix her hair. I heard the mug hit the coaster and my eyes shot open. I had expected our normal routine to be anything but. Joanna, however, appeared to be unfazed by the inconclusiveness of the night before.

"Thanks, baby," I yawned. I sat up in bed and soaked in the sight of her, much like I did every morning. She would be turning thirty-two in September and somehow she managed to look more beautiful now than she had the first day I laid eyes on her. Half dressed in her work trousers and bra, she brushed and styled her hair. She had those bountiful breasts of hers supported by the baby blue demi bra I'd purchased for her earlier this year, and had the events of the night been anything else, I would've slid up behind her to run a string of kisses along her shoulder.

Last night, while lying sleepless in bed, I'd come to the conclusion that if Jo left, I'd just break. There wasn't a single aspect of my life that could continue on without her. I've heard many stories about couples marrying young and growing apart as they aged, but I was certain that we had been the exception. Jo was made to fill every void, fix every fault, and sooth every ailment I could ever have. I had always thought so. Always. The thought of losing that better half of me was eating me up inside and I knew something had to be done. I had to do something.

Jo left the house before me, making little small talk as we both got prepared for the day ahead of us. I watched her for most of the morning, trying to quiet the fears that told me she wouldn't be coming home to me this evening. I ended up dragging my feet into the front door of my office ten minutes late and with my heavy heart in tow.

I work for a realtor office. I get paid to update the online listings of each home, manage the three websites that run out of the office, and do most everything a normal IT person would. It's nothing fancy, but it's served me just fine for the past five years and I've given no thought to any change. Normally, my office is a quiet, relaxing place. It's an old, remolded home now furnished with cubicles and offices. My cubicle sits in the middle of the building so I get to watch the realtors parade their clients around, only an arm's length away should anyone need me.

Today, I tried my hardest to ignore each happy couple purchasing a home. I ignored each greeting bestowed on me by my coworkers. What would it all mean if Jo left me? The sight of each couple would only make me bitter and each greeting would be laced with so much sympathy that I wouldn't be able to stomach it.

"What the hell, Mark?" a stern shout interrupted my pity party. I looked up to see Penny, the youngest and probably the most abrasive realtor that the company had ever hired. She looked cross. "I've been trying to get your attention for twenty minutes now and you've done nothing but sit there looking sad. What the hell is wrong with you?"

Penny had always had a straightforwardness that I always appreciated. She never lied, never beat around the bush, and always made her intentions clear. I knew she meant well despite sounding a little harsh. Penny had also been like a kid sister to me since she was hired on. She was always under foot and always prying into my life.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. "It's Jo. I think she wants to leave me."

Penny sat on the edge of my desk while I retold everything that had happened the night prior. I told her how I felt about my wife and how I would be nothing without her. I told Penny everything my wife was to me and every fear that had surfaced since the small conversation took place. She just sat there listening for the longest time, letting me get it all out of my system. When I had finished, I looked up to see a smug little smile playing across her face.

"This isn't funny, Penny. This is my wife we're talking about," I snapped. It's interesting how one emotion can so easily lead to another, especially in their raw and more primitive states. My sorrow and loss felt for my wife had immediately turned into blind hatred.

"Relax, big guy," Penny punched my shoulder and gave a small chuckle. "You're just an idiot, that's all."

I huffed, literally exhaled like a raging bull towards Penny. "You're going to have to explain yourself there, missy."

She laughed a little and pulled a chair from one of the other cubicles into mine. "It sounds like you guys have gotten stuck in a rut is all. If what you say is true, then your wife just needs to be reminded of how much you love her. Have you done anything special for her lately?"

"I brought home those doughnuts that were leftover from that open house last week?" I countered, already knowing how stupid that sounded as it came out.

Penny frowned. "That's not at all special. When was the last time you made your wife feel beautiful? Made her feel like she was a goddess?"

I looked at Penny and thought back through last week, the last month, the last year. Had I ever told me wife that I thought she was a goddess? It's not difficult giving her the title, but I didn't think I had ever bestowed it upon her myself. I thought really hard about what the last thing that I did to make her feel special was, and considering I couldn't remember, I conceding to it being much too long ago. "Oh god, Penny. What do I do?"

Penny cracked a smile and gave me a reassuring pat on the back. "What would you do if the president of the company came in today?"

"Work hard," I answered without a second thought.

"But you already meet all the expectations required of you. How would you show the president that you were perfect for this job and not another name on the payroll?"

I thought about it for a bit. "I don't know. Maybe I could take a vested interest in the company, renew my passion for my work, so to speak. Perhaps I could talk to the president more and make myself known as a valuable player in the office team."

Penny looked back at me like I was an idiot again, and this time I actually felt like one. "I'm pretty sure you can apply the same tactics to your wife and your marriage. Do you need me to lay it out for you?" she chided.

"No," I moped back at her and watched as she rolled the chair back into the other cubicle and walked away.

Penny was completely right. I needed to be more passionate about the relationship I had with my wife. I needed to make her a top priority again. She needed it from me desperately. I sat back in my seat trying to forge a plan. Jo was to have my undivided attention from now on.

I dismissed the go-to ideas that most couples start with, feeling that Jo and I were too used to each other for the date nights and weekend getaways to do anything but provide another few pages in our scrapbook. I wanted our mending process to be intimate. I wanted to prove to her that I still worshiped the ground she walked on, that I still loved her more than life. I sat at my desk and made a list of all the things that occurred to me last night, all the things I wanted to fix. My wife would never have to ask for reassurance of my devotion again.

As part of step one, I ran two errands on the way home from work. The first was to a beauty supply store. I enlisted the help of one of the attendants to find a good lotion for my wife. We ended up agreeing on an almond scented balm that smelt good enough to eat and would be extra moisturizing for that creamy skin of hers. The second errand was the grocery store. I picked up a carton of spumoni, her favorite ice cream.

I had been nervous most of the day about whether or not Jo would be waiting for me when I got home. I promised myself before I turned the corner of our neighborhood, that if her car was in the driveway, I was going to treat it like a second chance and do everything in my power to woo her again. My heart leapt as I pulled into the driveway beside her car. I was even more excited when I walked through the door and smelt whatever it was she was cooking for dinner.

"You're home late," she said, peering up over her cutting board. She held out a cube of cheese for me in her hand and I willingly took it from her, popping in my mouth with a smile.

"I stopped by the store after work. I had a craving."

I took my place next to her and placed an arm around her hip. Just as I expected, she tensed. That was the first thing on my list that I wanted to fix. I could not have my wife uncomfortable with me touching her. There was a time when she was my pet, eager to cuddle with me and putty beneath my fingertips. I wanted that back. Tonight I was going to fix that. I gave her hip another pat before removing my arm and running upstairs to get more comfortable.

When I came back down, freshly showered and in my sweats, she was pulling the dish of baked macaroni out of the oven. I made a show of rubbing my stomach and growling. "Macaroni," I sighed. "My favorite dish made by my favorite wife."

She smiled back, obviously happy with the fact that I acknowledged how well she took care of me, but looking a little unsure about something. I helped her ready the dishes and gather all the stuff for a side salad. We plopped ourselves down at the table and I put a huge serving of macaroni on my plate.

Jo looked at me suspiciously. "Mark? You're really that hungry?" She normally made a little extra dinner each night so that I could pack some for my lunch the next day, but with the amount that was on my plate, there would be little more than a morsel to save.

I nodded and shoveled the first fork full of macaroni into my mouth, being a little on the ridiculous side again and acting like a fool over the deliciousness of her cooking. I moaned while I chewed, closing my eyes to make a show of savoring the flavor. The act in itself was something I always used to do when we were dating. Being able to please a husband with her efforts in the kitchen was important to Jo, and those early years when she was trying out recipes on me were super fun. I used to get a kick out of making her blush from the compliments I would bestow on her cooking regardless of it being a hit or a catastrophe. For some reason, I had forgotten to do that lately.

Tonight, however, I dove into my old habits with gusto. I forced forkful after forkful of macaroni into my mouth. I concentrated all my efforts on making a show of enjoying the food. At first it hadn't been difficult at all. Jo was a chef in the kitchen. After a while though, the carb overload was getting to me. I hadn't attempted to eat that much since Thanksgiving and I could feel the elastic in my sweats stretching with each swallow.

Suddenly, Jo started laughing. That sweet music melted my bones and I smiled warmly as I watched her brilliant smile brighten the room. "Mark, sweetie. Stop before you hurt yourself, please."

"But it's so good?" I pouted with a mouth still full of food. This made her laugh even harder and I could see her eyes start to water.

She stood up and forced my plate and fork from my hands. "Give me that before you kill yourself," she giggled. I watched her walk back into the kitchen, feeling for the first time in a long time those heartstrings of mine being plucked in a pleasant manner. I knew I loved my wife, but I was now realizing that I hadn't really been actively enjoying that emotion lately.

I didn't have to fake the labored effort it took for me to stand up and start moving again. I felt like a ton of bricks as I wobbled into the kitchen. I laid a kiss on Jo's forehead, leaping for joy on the inside when she leaned into me to accept it. She was still laughing as I shooed her upstairs to enjoy her evening shower, promising a clean kitchen when she got back.

A fog of tea tree oil and honeysuckle followed her down the stairs. Seeing her in a better mood, seeing her smile when she looked at me stirred up a mixture of guilt and excitement. I hated that I had ever let that smile fade but adored that fact that she was still willing to renew it for me. Her bare feet padded on the kitchen tile as she went straight to the freezer.

"What do you think you're doing?" I teased, knowing full well that she had seen me deposit the carton of ice cream there earlier.

She peaked out from behind the fridge door, giving me another one of those smiles I missed so much. "You bought me spumoni," she purred, the delight on her face making me feel uniquely manly. How could I ever forget what it felt like to spoil my wife?

I took a bowl from the cupboard and pried the carton from her hands. "Go put on a movie, Jo. I'll make you a bowl and be right in."

She agreed to this completely, yelling back at me as she retired to the living room, "Don't be skimpy with that ice cream now."

I couldn't help but be happy. This morning I had been dying, thinking that I was to be greeted with divorce papers and not a kiss. I had been killing myself all day trying to remember if I even knew how to use a washing machine anymore. I had nearly suffocated with the thought of sleeping in a bed alone for the first time in over ten years. Now, there was hope everywhere I looked. A couple hours of positive attention and Jo was beginning to look like the women I fell in love with again.

I walked into the living room and was greeted by her outstretched hand. Laughing, I surrendered the bowl of ice cream and sat down on the opposite side of the couch from her. Her eyes were glued to the newest episode of her favorite crime drama while my eyes were glued to her. After her shower, she had donned a pair of aged running shorts and one of my t-shirts. Her legs were curled beneath her on the couch and the thought of her being my pet made my heart ache. I wanted that again.

I waited patiently until right before the crux of the episode. I got out bag with the lotion I had purchased in it and pulled at her leg. She amazed me once again by surrendering them both to me and adjusting accordingly on the sofa. She placed her empty bowl on the floor and leaned against the arm of the sofa so her outstretched legs lay in my lap. I turned to face her, the soles of her feet resting on my thighs.

"What's that?" she stole a few glances my way, slightly distracted by the rustling of the bag.

"Nothing," I replied casually while squirting some of the lotion in my hands. I warmed it in my palms before I took her left foot. She gasped as she felt my greased hands glide over her heel foot and press into the arch of her foot.

Jo momentarily forgot about the tv and stared at me. I aimlessly massaged her foot all the while ignoring her prying eyes. The last thing I wanted was for her to suspect I was making a last ditch effort. The situation I was in was bad enough, but I needed her to know that the effort I was making was one for good and out of love, not just because I didn't want her to leave me. I wanted to seduce her again, to revisit our courting days. A foot rub would not be an appropriate effort to mend a dying marriage, but it was a spectacular way to let my wife know that I still desired her.

It felt like forever before she returned her attention to the television. The muscles she had tightened were now loose and she had silently accepted my ministrations. Now I could really do some work. I kept my glances downwards short, using mostly the feel of her muscles and the moans escaping her lips as indicators for what she liked. Before I knew it, I was done with her feet and moving up her ankles and calves. Applying more lotion, I used one hand for each of her legs and mirrored my massaged techniques. Jo was breathing deep, slow breaths obviously loving what I was doing.

The credits for her show ended just as I was passing her knees. She turned to watch me as I slid my hands down her legs once more and replaced the cap on the bottle of lotion. She was a little worked up. The look in her eye was one I hadn't seen in a while and it took every bit of self-control I had not to act on it. I could've had her right then and there, but that wasn't my intention. As I stated earlier, I was trying to court my wife again not jump in her pants and fool around.