First Taste

It started when she’d overheard Gregory telling his sister on the phone that she wouldn’t hear them because she was taking a nap. He hadn’t even bothered to close their bedroom door in case she might be listening, able to overhear his affectionate mocking of her reluctance. He judged affection in a spouse sufficient to justify all kinds of belittling. He wouldn’t even have considered it belittling. But his words and tone had stung. He’d said she never had and never would. As if she isn’t brave enough. Or cool enough. As if she isn’t even the least bit daring. Overhearing him talk like that as he puttered around their kitchen putting away the dishes, she’d felt very small.

Like a child pitching a tantrum, she’d thrashed around in the bed, turning this way and that, rustling the covers as noisily as she could while squeezing her eyes shut tight, pretending all this movement was occurring in her sleep. She didn’t want him to catch her listening, she just wanted him to feel afraid she might have heard. He hadn’t noticed her at all. And by the time he’d finished in the kitchen and hung up with his sister, she had actually fallen into a troubled, twitchy sleep.

If they’d been able to have kids, the kids would have been grown by now and she’d have been an empty-nester, glad for this chance to take a decadent afternoon nap, or do a variety of other daring “couple” things. But they hadn’t had kids, and she’d maintained her practice of taking what she liked to call an early snooze every afternoon except for Sundays, when she would have spent the morning hours at their local farmers’ market, then lazed her way through the equally delicious afternoon hours, putting everything away. She always put things away. Right away. Ruthie loved routine. 

Ruthie had fallen in easy love with Gregory as quickly as she had, largely because of his routines. A good man from the day they’d met, he’d brought her a single rose every Friday afternoon. Despite the fact that she’d always considered her own cooking rather uninspired, he’d never failed to exclaim warmly about how good each supper had been, standing to pull out her chair before he would start clearing the table. He’d insisted that he be allowed to clear and wash the dishes. He washed, dried, and laid out on the counter every single pot and pan she’d used. He’d been dutiful and sweet for all these years, dependable and if not doting, at least attentive enough that she’d felt mostly loved. 

Of course she’d been good too. They’d both been faithful to each other, never straying into another’s arms or even flirting with the possibility. They had rated the looks of strangers in their early days. 

“Which one do you think is prettier? No, let me guess.” 

And Ruthie always guessed his right. They’d laugh, quietly of course, when Gregory would guess her preferences all wrong. She preferred the taller, slender men, the darker their skin the better, and Gregory would always guess the ones who looked more like he did, husky, strong, and white. As far as she could tell, he never took it personally. And she’d only lied a time or two, when the man she preferred had noticed her looking and she’d feared Gregory might have caught his glance. After a while they’d stopped playing that game, and honestly, she at least, had stopped noticing other men, or women for that matter, ever.

Yesterday Gregory’s sister had brought over two pans of brownies, ostensibly to celebrate the new year. She had placed foil over both pans with an index card taped to the foil. On one card she’d drawn a happy face; on the other she had drawn a leaf. As if Ruthie couldn’t guess the meaning of that leaf. The happy face pan had remained on their kitchen counter while the one with the leaf had disappeared. She didn’t question where it had gone. She couldn’t have cared less. 

But on the phone, when she hadn’t really been napping yet, she’d overheard Gregory say, “Okay, okay, Suzanne I will. But mark my words, I’m telling you she’ll never do it.”

When she woke up from her nap Gregory was nowhere to be found. She checked the driveway, and their car wasn’t there. She didn’t know where he’d gone, but she knew for sure he’d be back before sundown. New Year’s Eve was something they had always celebrated together, and he wouldn’t want to be out on the roads when people started early drinking. Gregory would never drink and drive. He’d smoked pot just one time in college, and she hadn’t wanted to try it then. She wasn’t scared. She just didn’t want to come unglued by trying something even a little bit illegal. And he had reassured her that the experience hadn’t been anything to write home about, that she really hadn’t missed very much at all. They’d laughed about his escapade, and she had never given it another thought.

Then this year, when marijuana had been legalized in their state, they’d had a good chuckle, remembering Gregory’s solitary indulgence. “Been there, done that,” he’d said, as he’d given her a wink and a conspiratorial squeeze. But apparently, more recently it seemed, he and his sister had come up with other ideas. 

Now, sure enough, both pans of brownies had been returned and sat untouched, side by side, on the kitchen counter. He’d done what he had told Suzanne he’d do. 

With a wry grin, remembering what a wimp Greg thought she was, Ruthie lifted the foil from the happy face pan and realized she could easily replace the foil if she stole a brownie, and she really did love brownies. Carefully, listening for the sound of their car returning to the driveway, Ruthie retrieved a paring knife from the knife block on the counter and sliced the tiniest sliver from the happy face brownie in the corner of the pan. Delicious! And then, possibly empowered by the ease with which she’d accomplished this small act of thievery, and feeling herself overcome with a kind of giddy daring, she sliced a slightly wider sliver from the other pan and placed it in her mouth. 

Just then, she heard the car’s door slam (how had she missed the sound of his arrival?). In a few seconds she knew she’d be hearing Greg’s key unlocking the front door, and here she’d be, standing guiltily at the kitchen counter, brownies in her teeth. Quickly she pried the remainder of the leaf brownie from the pan and popped it into her mouth, then took the slightly smaller corner piece from the happy face pan and placed it in the leaf pan’s corner vacancy, pressing it a little so it would look untouched. 

Whew! No sound of a key just yet. Maybe Gregory had bought champagne and treats for them to share at midnight—he’d have had to get the grocery bags from the trunk to bring them in. She might have a few seconds of grace. Carefully replacing the foil corners on both pans, she tossed the knife into the sink and ran to crawl back under the covers. With any luck he’d never know she’d been awake at all.

Lying there, she listened as Gregory brought in what sounded like paper bags, and placed them on the counter. 

“Gregory?” she called out faintly. 

“Yeah, it’s me. I just went to get our champagne for tonight.”

Ruthie slid out from under the covers and tried to affect a little stumble heading toward the door as if she’d just awakened, in case he might be watching, but he wasn’t. He had his back to her, and was standing at the counter, fiddling with the left-most pan of brownies, the one that had the leaf. He lifted the corner and pulled out the corner piece, then turned to face Ruthie as she stood in the doorway of their bedroom. 

Holding out a dark brown square of brownie, he raised one eyebrow at her, winking.  “Suzanne made these things. They’re legal now, you know. You want to try a piece?”

Ruthie gazed at him steadily for a few seconds, then, widening her own eyes with combined innocence and daring, she surprised him with deliberate wink of her own and what she hoped would seem a wicked smile.

“I thought you’d never ask.”