Cupcake

I jolt slightly as my foot slips on the brake, bringing the car to an abrupt stop. My wedding band bounces across my vision, demanding my attention like a child on a swing. I snatch it from the string. I shouldn’t be angry; I hung it from the mirror for exactly this reason. The last thing I wanted was to forget to put it back on when I got home. Bloody hell, what was I thinking? I flick the car to neutral and pull the handbrake up, hearing the telltale clicks of letting my thumb off the button too soon. Engine off. I slip the ring onto my finger, where it settles in the bespoke cavity that comes from wearing it for eight and a half years.

The memory of the first time I put it on fills my mind like a light fog. I’m not going to scorn myself for how hazy the memory is; I haven’t the energy left for any more of that tonight. I remember my clammy hands. I remember her dress hoovering up the flower petals more effectively than any broom could. What else? Ah yes, her teasing smile when I parroted our vows like a robot. She couldn’t even resist shifting her hands like C3PO while I desperately tried to repeat the vicar’s words.

“I hate you.” I whispered after finishing.

“I hate you too.” She grinned ear to ear.

“Ahem.” said the old decrepit vicar. It was several minutes before either of us dared to whisper again.

“You look beautiful.”

“Oh shucks, you’re just saying that because I made an effort today.” She retorted.

“You never need to make an effort.” The words darken the memory. That’s what I told her. It is quite the juxtaposition to what I shouted at Cupcake less than an hour ago.

“Why do I have to do all the work? Why shouldn’t she put some bloody effort in?”

Cupcake’s wrinkled face didn’t even flinch; she kept my gaze and sighed. “So that’s why you’re here. You want a scratch my back, I scratch yours type of relationship.”

“No. I just want what I deserve.”

“And what is it that you think you deserve? Some pussy? A big pair of titties? Or just somebody who will do anything you ask?”

I crack a smile. That lady was not in the least bit shy. I’ve never met anybody who can cut through the crap quite as efficiently as Cupcake did tonight. It didn’t matter how angry I got, how much I shouted myself into knots, or how much I tried to intimidate her. My stomach churns at the thought; I guess I do still have the energy to scorn myself a little more tonight. What is wrong with me? I nearly jump out of my skin; certain I hear Cupcake’s voice again. My heart slowly returns to its normal rhythm as I realise the words are nothing more than a memory.

“I don’t think there is anything wrong with you, dear. You are not the first person to give me a call, and you won’t be the last either. That’s not even considering the countless people who don’t mistakenly dial a six instead of a three.”

“Why not change your number? I don’t think I could stand getting constant phone calls from men wanting…” I paused.

“You can say sex in front of me. I’m old and frail, not frigid and naïve.” Her wrinkles lifted in a laugh. “You are no more guilty than the hungry child who sneaks downstairs in the night and eats all the biscuits.”

“I think it’s a little more than that.” My eyes must have widened at her comparison of adultery to children stealing cookies. Cupcake didn’t waste the opportunity to use my own words against me.

“I thought you said it’s nothing more than chemicals in the brain. It’s not a choice, it’s a reaction.”

I step out the car and feel a cool night breeze against my temple. Vapour flows from my mouth with every breath. “Look I’m a dragon.” I whisper to myself, remembering our first date. A midwinter walk through the woods with a picnic and a woman far beyond my league. I had clammy hands then too. The image of her dancing atop frozen leaves and flapping her arms like they were wings is the very definition of bittersweet. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen her dance.

I walk round to the boot of the car and find the collection of shopping bags that I have slowly filled up over the last week. All so that I could pretend that tonight’s outing was buying groceries rather than buying… well something else.

“Sounds like you put a lot of effort into this evening.” Cupcake remarked while flicking through the bag for life at the end of the hotel bed. “And money.”

I immediately snatched the bag up and folded the top over. Not that it made any difference, her beady wise eyes had already seen the condoms and lube inside.

“I wonder if you have considered putting this much time and energy into your marriage?”

Thus began another angry tirade at the poor old lady. Shouting that she didn’t know anything about me and how dare she make judgements. She hadn’t batted an eyelid that time either, just looked me in the eyes until I ran out of steam.

“Perhaps you’re right.” She said. “I am just a doddery old lady, but can you honestly say you would be here if everything was hunky dory between you and your wife?”

Straight through the crap and to the problem at hand. I’d accused her of being judgemental, but the truth is I’ve never felt less judged by somebody in my life. It’s not that she approved of what I was doing, she just focused on why I felt I had to. I told her everything. The accident, the resulting disability and depression; even the unborn child that we lost. I’m not sure when it happened but at some point Cupcake had placed her hand on mine and begun to squeeze it.

“That is awful.” She said.

“That’s not the worst of it.” I admitted. It has been a long time since I last cried, since words got stuck in my throat.

Cupcake’s hand squeezed tighter then. After all the shouting and the abuse I had thrown at her, it was my tears that brought her pain. At that moment I knew she could feel it all, my frustration, my anger and resentment, my exhaustion and my self-loathing.

“I help her get dressed, I go to work, I cook, I clean, I take care of the bills and the hospital appointments, I wipe away her tears and lift her out of the pit when the depression hits.”

“It sounds like you do everything.” 

“No I do the easy stuff. She’s the one who has to get up every day, she’s the one who carries the guilt and the shame. She’s the one who gets the strange looks and false sympathy whenever we go outside. She’s the one who asked me to throw out all our mirrors because she can’t bare to look at herself.” I lifted my head at this point, I had to look into cupcake’s eyes. I had to know if I could trust her. Trust her with the secret I couldn’t bear to face.

“A few months ago she went to stay with her parents for a few days. I was miserable the whole time she was gone but not because I missed her. I felt free.” A problem shared is not a problem halved, the lump of shame that I had shoved as deep as I could was out. Put on show like an art exhibit for masochists. I swear my heart aged fifty years trying to shift the weight that rested on my chest.

Thankfully I didn’t have to explain it to Cupcake, I could tell by the feel of her hands around mine that she understood.

“So that was when you decided to give me a call?”

“Well obviously I wasn’t trying to call you.” I tried for a joke, but it felt dry on my tongue. “Yes. I thought if I just did something for myself, something that might release all this… stuff inside of me. I might find a way to stop resenting her.” It was all out in the open by that point, no reason to hold anything else back. The only thing left to do was hang the heavy noose of shame around my neck. I must have flinched at the feeling of Cupcake’s wrinkled and dry hand on my chin, she gently lifted my head till my eyes met hers.

“The effort you have put into making sure she doesn’t find out. The time you’ve devoted to caring for her. The refusal to simply walk away. These are not the actions of a man who resents his wife.” 

I didn’t think it was possible for words to cut so deep and yet wield so much peace. Cupcake didn’t care about my mistakes or my shame, she just cared. She gave up her night to care for a total stranger who only contacted her because he wanted an entirely different kind of care. Turns out I got exactly what I needed, only it isn’t over yet. Lost in the memories of the evening I barely realise that I’m already at my front door.

“Sweetie you’re home!” My wife’s voice echoes from the living room where I left her. “You took your time.”

“I’m just going to put the shopping away, I’ll be right in.” My voice responds without permission.

I wander into the kitchen and begin emptying the bags of week-old shopping. I’m nearly finished before my heart freezes at the sight of the bag containing unused condoms. My eyes dart around the kitchen for somewhere to put it before realising it feels heavier than before. I open the bag and smile again. The last gift I’ll receive from Cupcake is a literal cupcake planted in the bag without me even noticing.

I walk into the living room holding the cupcake in front of me like an offering. She smiles that childish, dimple defining smile that makes my heart skip.

“Is that for me?” The look of surprise on her face is nothing compared to mine when I opened the hotel door. I was expecting a lady of the night and instead found a little old lady insisting that she was the “Cupcake” that I had ordered on the phone.

I sit down next to my clueless wife as she devours the cupcake; her sweet tooth has always been insatiable. After only a few minutes the only thing that remains is a long streak of pink icing across her top lip. I reach forward and wipe it away with my clammy hands. Her smile falls to sadness immediately.

“What’s wrong?” She asks.

I take a deep breath.

“I need help.” 

The words are little more than a whisper by the time they leave my lips, but I know she heard me. The heart break in her eyes tells me she heard me. But she isn’t angry, nor is she disappointed or betrayed. I dare to look into those transcendent blue eyes, and I realise she only feels what she has always felt. In that moment, despite the many mistakes I’ve made and how long the road ahead may be, I know that everything is going to be okay.