The Perfection in Love - Part One

Chapter 10 - The Withdrawal Thing

Henry ran his hand through his hair for the umpteenth time and hissed in frustration. Even that simple action reminded him of Oyin—how she liked to run her hands through his hair and mess up its carefully coiffured style. When she first began doing it, he had always complained. But after a while, he grew to enjoy it, and didn't even bother to style it anymore.

He missed her. Boy, he missed her. But she didn't seem to care. His yearning was hanging off of him, begging for her to notice. But all he got were short, to-the-point conservations.

She had walked into the kitchen the day before, radiant as the sunset cast a glow on her beautiful umber skin and she looked like a haloed angel. It was all he could do to hold on tightly to the knife instead of gathering her in his arms and kissing her like he really wanted to.

Since when did he have to hold himself back from his wife?

Henry hated this feeling. It was reminiscent of the first year of their courtship, when he wasn't sure how she felt about him. There had been another guy in the picture, and Oyin had seemed indecisive. He had wanted to give her his everything then, but he didn't want to come on too strong and scare her off.

She had married him. He had won the girl. But once in a while, when she withdrew from him like she couldn't care less, it made him wonder if he was the loser. Maybe he was the loser who married someone who didn't love him as much as he loved her.

Henry unbuttoned his collar, took off his tie, and threw it on his desk, near a picture of him and a smiling Oyin. He had about ten pictures of them in his office. Did she really not see how much he loved her? He'd do anything for her. Hadn't he already proved it? Learning how to speak Yoruba—basically adopting a foreign culture. For her. All for her.

Since Saturday, all he had gotten from her were stupid conversations about Agatha and the food. He wanted her to talk to him.

What had been the bile on an already indigestible cake was getting to the room the night before, only to find her lying diagonally on their bed. It had been a slap in the face. Sure, they had their disagreements, but they always, always, slept in the same bed. But apparently, her sleeping form couldn't stand his presence.

He had had two options: wake her up and ask her to readjust or find somewhere else to sleep. But he didn't want to do Option 1, in case she had slept that way on purpose. He wouldn't have been able to handle that. So, he had gone for Option 2.

His desk phone jolted him out of his reverie. He was in no mood to talk to anyone, but only the office assistant called his desk phone directly.

"Hey Cindy."

"Hey. I was wondering if it was okay to send tulips to Mrs. Wilson. The flower shop near her office is out of white roses."

Henry cleared his throat. Flowers?

"Wait. What day is it? It's Wednesday already?"

Cindy chuckled. "Yes, Henry. So, do you want me to send tulips?"

His lonely, Oyin-starved heart cried yes. But his head knew better. There was no point. Nothing he did was ever enough.

"Um, Cindy. Not today. Maybe next week."

Cindy's silence said it all. Ordering flowers for his wife every Wednesday had been the first 'unofficial' duty he had given her.

"Henry is everything all right?" Cindy asked.

"Yes, Cindy. Thank you."

He dropped the phone receiver with a loud thud.

When did everything get so out of hand?