If my husband, Marcus, knew I opened the package sent to our house for my teenage niece, he’d accuse me of overreaching even though she lives with us. You can’t control everything. Maybe it’s time you get used to just being her aunt. That’s what he said when I was upset she went over my head and got permission from her estranged mother to hang out with a boy I’ve never met.
I’ve cared for her since she was two!
Marcus would say, prying is wrong. Except when he does it. Then it’s investigating, part of being a police commander. And no matter what, he’s always on the job. But I’m tired of sending text messages oozing with love, asking my niece about her day, and getting the rhetorical, Fine. How was yours? I look forward to her coming home after she has spent four nights with her dad, only for her to meet my excitement with polite impatience to scurry out the door again.
Why doesn’t she miss me?
I pull my sweater off and stretch into a workout tank. As I step out of my jeans, Marcus enters the bedroom, slips an arm around my waist and mumbles into my neck, “You stripping for me?”
I lean into him. “Getting dressed for Zumba.”
“They let y’all wear jeans at the office now?” he says, pretending to be curious.
Really he’s questioning whether I went to work today, and where I’ve been. Marcus got us back on track since our falling out in October when he secretly confiscated my phone, then had my car impounded after one of his officers made me leave it on the shoulder because he thought I was intoxicated.
I wasn’t.
I’ve forgiven Marcus and fallen back in love. His passion never waned. Neither of us has forgotten what got us to that point five months ago. And despite his new, softer approach, I know when I’m being investigated.