1 Fat and Nitrates

“Something sure does smell good!” I walked behind my wife Kristen and kissed her on the neck as the smell of fat and nitrates enticingly danced into my nostrils.

Kristen took a sip of coffee and smiled. She still looked the exact same as when we lived together in college, thirteen years ago. Maybe it was the oversized sweater she wore, or maybe it was because her blonde hair still shimmered like a morning sun. But, ever since my first dive into her grey-blue eyes, she’s been my world. “Thought you might like a nice breakfast this morning.”

“You thought correct,” I began to pile a plate with enough bacon to build my own Frankenstein pig.

“Toast?” Kristen asked as she ran her fingers through my thick brown forest of curls. Not even waiting for an answer, she popped two slices of rye bread into the toaster. Flipping two over-medium eggs onto my plate, I chuckled. “What?” Her face flushed like a ripening tomato.

“No--nothing,” I began to chew on a strip of bacon. “Why do I feel like I’m being courted?”

“Maybe because you...are.”

“Well, you’re doing a great job.”

Kristen sat down in front of me and smiled. This was always her thing. Whenever my lovely wife wanted to tell me something I may not like, I’d always get softened up with a meal. Judging by the amount of bacon she had fried up, it was easy to see that she was going to drop a bomb.

The wooden chair groaned when I sat down at the kitchen table. I didn’t even have a chance to pepper my egg whites before my wife slid into the seat in front of me. “So,” she started as she handed me a mug of coffee. “Two things…”

“Two? You better whip up some pancakes then! And get the good syrup, not the high fructose corn garbage,” I joked.

“I’m going to accept the offer,” Kristen squeaked out before she hid behind her coffee mug.

“Oh…”

“And...” she stammered as if she didn’t want to finish the sentence.

“And what?”

“I’m starting tomorrow.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out. It felt as though my tongue had doubled in size. Oh, I could think though. Closing my eyes tight, a young man in a slim-fitting navy suit stood before me. He was muscular, with dark eyes, chestnut brown hair, and a jawline that could sharpen a fucking razor. “Hello sir,” he stuck out a hand. Then I opened my eyes and remembered that the young man didn’t exist anymore. That young man had died long ago. That young man had promised his wife the world but only delivered a gas station convenience store snow globe.

“That’s so exciting,” I was finally able to say.

Kristen gave me a sort of half-smile. “Well, don’t get too excited--wouldn’t want to have the neighbors call the police.”

“We have no neighbors,” I grumbled as I prodded the yolk of an egg with my fork. A pool of yellow filled up the plate, soaking the rest of my breakfast.

“I know…It was a joke.”

“I know what it was!”

At first, Kristen rolled her eyes, but then they narrowed upon me. "Well don't you think you could be…" she stood. "Oh, I don't know, happy for me?"

“I am happy for you! And proud of you, Kris. I’m sorry, it’s just been frustrating for me. Good to know at least one of us is doing well, right?” I tried my hardest to sound enthused.

Laugh lines creased on Kristen’s face. “Oh my God, thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you, Hunter Benson. I will be making more than I did at my old job! Like, a lot more…” She paused. “Then next go around you’ll pass the bar, and by that time I’ll have new connections here.”

“Absolutely,” I smiled. It was then I finally realized why my wife looked the same as in college. She didn’t actually look the same. Nope, that wasn’t it. It was because she still saw me as the twenty-two-year-old boy who had the world by the balls. “You know you’re right, Kris. We’ll be the super couple of law. They’ll make a reality show about us.”

“That’s what I’m saying, babe!” She poured herself another cup of coffee. “Kind of want to celebrate. I’m going to pour some Irish cream in here.”

I know what you’re asking yourself. How did this asshole wind up with her? If you were to look up the definition of “perfect partner” in the dictionary, you’d see a picture of my wife. Anyone would do anything to be with her. And, trust me, after being together almost fifteen years, I’ve seen a whole lot of anything.

After we both graduated from law school, Kristen and I moved to the big city. My beautiful wife had a job as a junior attorney all lined up for herself in Manhattan. I, on the other hand, couldn't even pass the bar exam. Finally, I conceded to the fact that city life wasn’t for me. It was for Kristen though. She loved the city that never slept. She’s one of those girls that enjoys shopping on Christmas Eve. And, because of me, my saint of a wife left her city and followed me into the dark. We moved to Lake George, where my family owned a run-down vacation home. That’s right, ladies and gentlemen; this once rich white kid who spent his entire life in suburbia has now fled to the mountains because he couldn’t handle the idea of making his mother and father’s school debt be worth it. Oh, by the way: my parents paid for my undergrad and law degrees. Seriously, they would have been better off flushing their money down the toilet. Maybe Pennywise could have become a doctor.

“Then we can, you know, fix this place up. It’ll be a great home to raise a family.” She placed her empty mug down and ran her fingers over my chest.

“Hey, you know what?” I stood, abruptly. “While you’re gone during the day, I can start on my own renovations. It’s about time I open the old shed up again.”

Kristen led me into the living room and sprawled out onto the couch. “Oh yes, that is definitely what you should open.”