WOSO Imagines

"Babe, I'm home," Beth calls.

"In the kitchen," I reply. I hear the door shut and then a pair of arms wrap around my waist, a gentle kiss pressed to the back of my head. "Hello, my love, you alright?"

She hums in response, her face buried in my neck.

"Meeting go well?" I ask, continuing to chop vegetables for dinner.

Another hum. 

"That's all I get?" I laugh. "I don't even know what it was about."

"Holiday break just started, and I would rather enjoy our evening than talk work."

The way she says it worries me. Was this meeting about something serious? She didn't tell me ahead of time and wouldn't tell me now what it was about, my mind is automatically coming up with the worst-case scenario.

I sigh, setting my knife down and turning around to face her, my hands on either side of her face. "Okay," I agree, not wanting to start an argument.

She leans in to kiss me, and I duck under her arms. "Hey," she whines.

I go back to my carrots and onions. "I'm in the middle of making dinner, babe. Kisses can wait until after we eat."

Her arms find themselves back around my waist. "Just one? I haven't seen you all day."

"It's never just one," I tease, smacking her hand away as it tries to go under my shirt. "You saw me this morning before your meeting."

"Oh, you mean when you threw a pillow at me for waking you up to say goodbye and then you rolled over and went back to sleep?"

"Yep."

"Fine. I'm gonna take a shower." She kisses my cheek before disappearing upstairs, Buddy trotting after her.

Part of me is tempted to follow her, but I am almost done with my chopping and need to start making the stew. I turn my music up, dancing around our kitchen to Young T & Bugsey. Thirty minutes later, the aroma coming from the simmering pot on the stove is making my mouth water as I busy myself with cleaning up. "Babe!" I shout, hoping she's out of her shower.

Unbeknownst to me, Beth is leaning against our dining table. "I'm right here," she says, making me jump. "No need to yell."

I throw a dish towel at her. "Don't sneak up on me like that!"

"Sorry, you just looked so in the zone that I didn't want to interrupt," she grins.

"You just knew I would ask you to help," I accuse.

She just winks at me.

"Set the table, Bethany."

"Yes, ma'am."

At dinner, she beats me to asking, "how was your day?" and I can't help but think it's because she doesn't want to tell me about her meeting. The longer we go without talking about it, the more anxious I feel. It has to be bad news.

"Beth," I begin, setting down my fork and knife.

She sits up a little straighter, knowing the use of her name–not babe, my love, or even Bethany–means business.

"We can't keep not talking about it. I respected your decision to keep the true reasons behind your meetings to yourself because I thought 'when it's important enough, and if it impacts our life, she'll tell me eventually.' But I can't help but let my mind think the worst. We don't keep secrets from each other." Despite my best efforts, my eyes brim with tears.

She reaches down to pet Buddy, refusing to look at me. "I want out, Evan, of Chelsea. I'm not happy. I wish it hadn't gotten this bad, but after my injury, it's like they refuse to play me. Even with the Euros win, I'm being undervalued."