Read Online The Wife of Reilly by Jennifer Coburn - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jennifer Coburn
Tags: Fiction, Contemporary Women
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cheesy little honeymoon paradise in Aruba.
Club Wed was so trite it was gag-worthy. Heart-shaped pink bathtubs. Top Forty love songs blasted over the resort sound system. And all the staff members introduced themselves as “Cupid Joe” or “Cupid Mary” or “Cupid Whoever.” Even the maid knocked on the door each morning and announced in a thick Brooklyn accent, “Cupid Juanita is ready to clean. Y’decent?”
Couples weren’t required to participate in the scheduled activities, but if they chose not to, they never heard the end of it. Once Reilly and I opted out of the game of passing fruit to each other while holding it between our chin and neck, and Cupid Annie never let us live it down. “Cupid Annie was so sad not to see her favorite wove birds at Body Sports this afternoon,” she said to us as we nibbled on chocolate-dipped strawberries and drank cheap pink champagne. “You don’t want to break Cupid Annie’s wittle heart now, do you?”
“Um, no, of course not, Annie, er, Cupid Annie,” said Reilly. “We’ll be sure to make it tomorrow.”
We will? I thought.
“No you won’t, pumpkin puddins. Tomorrow afternoon I’m leading Sweethearts Tennis, where the score is always love, love,” Annie said with a hiccup of a laugh.
Splashing champagne in her face would be considered rude, right? I thought.
“Sound like fun, what’d’ya say, sweetheart?” he elbowed me. For a moment, I thought he was kidding. Sadly, he was dead serious. The fact that Reilly was not hostile toward her made me hostile to him. At least if we both hated Cupid Annie we could bond together against the common enemy. His cheery accommodation of every goofy request the staff members made was a complete turn-off. I’ve never been a sloppy sentimentalist, but even I knew it was a bad sign for a bride on her honeymoon to mutter “Grow some balls” at her new groom.
During our pre-wedding battle Reilly promised Club Wed could be great fun.
“Italy was going to be great fun!” I shouted. “Why can’t you tell your parents thanks but no thanks?”
“Prudence, be sensible,” Reilly switched his strategy. “If we put off the trip to Italy we can put a down payment on a loft in SoHo that’s right above a gallery. We can live among art for the rest of our lives, and it will make a great investment. The trip is completely free. It would be rude to turn it down. Prudence, I know it’s important to you to see Italy, but we’ll go another time. It’s not going anywhere.”
“That’s what they said about Pompeii,” I moped.
“That’s the spirit,” he said.
How exactly is that the spirit? I thought. Did you even hear what I said?!
After that I should have known that Reilly and I weren’t well suited for each other, but I never even considered canceling the wedding. The invitations had already been mailed. My bridesmaids had paid for their dresses. My mother was so proud of my choice.
I suggested we go to Italy for our fifth wedding anniversary, but Reilly said we needed to wait until we were more financially secure. We had no kids and each earned six-figure salaries. How much more secure could we get? I asked again on our tenth anniversary, but Reilly suggested that everything I would ever want to see at an Italian museum could be viewed on the Internet.
Reilly said that he travels to different countries so much for his job as an international business consultant that he prefers to vacation at resorts. We’ve been to Cancun, Barbados, Puerto Vallarta, Bermuda and Jamaica. Once we took a cruise to Alaska.
Reilly isn’t entirely to blame. I am a self-sufficient adult. I could’ve easily booked a flight for myself and taken off, but traveling to Europe alone held a certain stigma for me. Like I’m such a loser I couldn’t even get a date for this wonderful journey. Perhaps Matt and I would go together, I thought. I drifted to sleep on the sweet thought of Matt and me together in Italy. In my dream, we were
Club Wed was so trite it was gag-worthy. Heart-shaped pink bathtubs. Top Forty love songs blasted over the resort sound system. And all the staff members introduced themselves as “Cupid Joe” or “Cupid Mary” or “Cupid Whoever.” Even the maid knocked on the door each morning and announced in a thick Brooklyn accent, “Cupid Juanita is ready to clean. Y’decent?”
Couples weren’t required to participate in the scheduled activities, but if they chose not to, they never heard the end of it. Once Reilly and I opted out of the game of passing fruit to each other while holding it between our chin and neck, and Cupid Annie never let us live it down. “Cupid Annie was so sad not to see her favorite wove birds at Body Sports this afternoon,” she said to us as we nibbled on chocolate-dipped strawberries and drank cheap pink champagne. “You don’t want to break Cupid Annie’s wittle heart now, do you?”
“Um, no, of course not, Annie, er, Cupid Annie,” said Reilly. “We’ll be sure to make it tomorrow.”
We will? I thought.
“No you won’t, pumpkin puddins. Tomorrow afternoon I’m leading Sweethearts Tennis, where the score is always love, love,” Annie said with a hiccup of a laugh.
Splashing champagne in her face would be considered rude, right? I thought.
“Sound like fun, what’d’ya say, sweetheart?” he elbowed me. For a moment, I thought he was kidding. Sadly, he was dead serious. The fact that Reilly was not hostile toward her made me hostile to him. At least if we both hated Cupid Annie we could bond together against the common enemy. His cheery accommodation of every goofy request the staff members made was a complete turn-off. I’ve never been a sloppy sentimentalist, but even I knew it was a bad sign for a bride on her honeymoon to mutter “Grow some balls” at her new groom.
During our pre-wedding battle Reilly promised Club Wed could be great fun.
“Italy was going to be great fun!” I shouted. “Why can’t you tell your parents thanks but no thanks?”
“Prudence, be sensible,” Reilly switched his strategy. “If we put off the trip to Italy we can put a down payment on a loft in SoHo that’s right above a gallery. We can live among art for the rest of our lives, and it will make a great investment. The trip is completely free. It would be rude to turn it down. Prudence, I know it’s important to you to see Italy, but we’ll go another time. It’s not going anywhere.”
“That’s what they said about Pompeii,” I moped.
“That’s the spirit,” he said.
How exactly is that the spirit? I thought. Did you even hear what I said?!
After that I should have known that Reilly and I weren’t well suited for each other, but I never even considered canceling the wedding. The invitations had already been mailed. My bridesmaids had paid for their dresses. My mother was so proud of my choice.
I suggested we go to Italy for our fifth wedding anniversary, but Reilly said we needed to wait until we were more financially secure. We had no kids and each earned six-figure salaries. How much more secure could we get? I asked again on our tenth anniversary, but Reilly suggested that everything I would ever want to see at an Italian museum could be viewed on the Internet.
Reilly said that he travels to different countries so much for his job as an international business consultant that he prefers to vacation at resorts. We’ve been to Cancun, Barbados, Puerto Vallarta, Bermuda and Jamaica. Once we took a cruise to Alaska.
Reilly isn’t entirely to blame. I am a self-sufficient adult. I could’ve easily booked a flight for myself and taken off, but traveling to Europe alone held a certain stigma for me. Like I’m such a loser I couldn’t even get a date for this wonderful journey. Perhaps Matt and I would go together, I thought. I drifted to sleep on the sweet thought of Matt and me together in Italy. In my dream, we were
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