Bet on the Wrinkle

We do everything together. This could be grocery shopping to doing the dishes. The one thing that I wouldn’t let him help me with is making our bed. I was a stickler for wrinkles in the sheet, quilts, and even our pillows. I don’t know why, only that it bothers me to the point I’m distracted at work.

One morning he begged to help me. ‘Please Jo, let me help you make our bed. We both sleep in it.’ I just rolled my eyes and smiled. ‘Just this once, let me help.’ ‘Ok, but you know how I am. I’ll be anxious about it all day if there is anything out of place or a single wrinkle.’ He kissed me on the forehead, ‘You need to learn to let go of some of these habits,’ he said picking up his side of the blanket. We both straightened out the fitted sheet then the flat sheet and moved to the quilt. We just finished placing the pillows when he flounced himself of his side of the bed. I gasped and my heart started racing, ‘Get up, get up, get up!!’ I said with every word getting louder and faster. ‘Why would you do that?’ I said shocked.

Grinning he said straightening out the bedding, ‘I’ll bet you five new books that you can’t let this wrinkle in my pillow stay until tomorrow morning.’ I was taken aback. He knows that I LOVE going to the bookstore and this is where I show no restraint. He has to supervise me so I’m not spending our grocery budget on books. I desperately wanted to prove. ‘Is there a spending limit on my five books? He chuckled at me, ‘No, no limit.’ I squinted my eyes and asked, ‘What happens if I can’t? What do you get?’ He thought for a minute, dramatically rubbing his chin and looking towards the ceiling. ‘You have to invite my brother to Thanksgiving this year.’ I groaned. His brother was a man’s man and made manly noises, and thought women were meant to be barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen. I didn’t keep him from his brother but I didn’t go out of my way to have him at our apartment. ‘Oh, you’re on!’ We shook hands over the wrinkle and went to work.

All day that wrinkle in the pillow nagged at me. My phone buzzed, ‘My brother loves chives and butter in his mashed potatoes.’ I grinned, ‘The Viking cookbook I want is no longer on sale. $120 is the price,’ I smiled hitting send. ‘Ok babe, luv u and see u tonight.’ I put my phone away and smiled. I was in a surprisingly good mood. I think it was a combination of going shopping for my books and proving him wrong.

I arrived home first which was odd because he was usually home starting dinner. I can’t cook to save my life so I understand why he doesn’t want me getting my hands on that book. An hour past and he wasn’t answering his phone or texting back. I called the office and no one answered. Maybe he was shopping for dinner. I walked into our room and took a picture of the wrinkle on the pillow and sent it to him with a caption, ‘It’s still here’. Nothing. It was getting late and started a pizza when I was startled by a knock. I opened the door and there stood two officers, ‘Mrs. Tucker?’ I could feel the tears welling up in my eye, ‘M…me,’ is all I could get out. I didn’t let them in because that meant that anything they told me was real. ‘Your husband was in an accident. A car veered into his lane…’ The rest was garbled words and noises until he reached a book out to me, ‘This was in the floorboard.’ In shock, I turned the book over in my hands to find it was my cookbook.

His brother invited me over for Thanksgiving that year. He knows I can’t cook either. We still do everything together I carry my husband’s photo with me everywhere I go. I haven’t gotten my other four books. I can’t go unsupervised but I have cooked every recipe in the book he bought me. The inscription in the book, ‘You win baby, you cook dinner tonight. Hope this helps. Love Wayne.’ And his wrinkle is still on his pillow.

This is a response to the Daily Post Prompt: Wrinkle. I wanted to try something new. I even surprised myself and started to tear up. I would enjoy your opions and thoughts.

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