WIFEY

Being the oldest of seven, Michael Baker had to work his way out of a coal mining town and through college. A few months before graduation, Michael met his wife, Christine. They struggled for two years, but the long hours and persistence paid off when Michael bought his first company. Three years later, he bought the second one.

Each morning they would come down to breakfast at precisely 7:30 AM and sit opposite each other at the ends of the long, narrow dining table. Michael’s briefcase was always positioned beside his chair and the business section of the paper would be lying beside his plate; Theresa made sure that everything was placed according to Mr. Baker’s specifications. 

It was a typical Friday morning. Michael opened the paper, glanced at his watch and said in an irritated tone, "I wish Theresa would hurry up with breakfast. I have an important meeting this morning." Michael cleared his throat and his tone became high-spirited. "We are signing the final papers today. By this time tomorrow we will own another company."

"Great." Christine said sarcastically before sipping on her coffee. "Your father would be proud."

Scanning the paper, Michael responded, "I suppose. Except his idea of success is a bunch of brats running around underfoot."

Christine sighed, "Oh, Michael."

Michael snapped the paper as he folded it. He slapped it onto the table. His eyes glaring and his voice strong, Michael said with authority, "No kids. We’ve had this discussion before. If you have kids around, you won’t get any sleep."

Folding her arms over her chest, Christine leaned back in the chair and lashed out at Michael, "Are you insinuating that I need beauty sleep?"

"No, I’m not!" Michael retaliated loudly. "But you need to take care of yourself."

Throwing her hands up in disgust, Christine muttered, "Right. Right. Right. I forgot. I have to keep that well-kept-woman look for all your business parties."

Glaring at Christine, Michael smacked his hand on the table and roared, "Alright! Enough! No kids. End of conversation."

Christine gritted her teeth and seethed, "Fine!"

Theresa approached the table and spoke with a hoarse voice as she served breakfast.

"Breakfast, Mam. I’m sorry that it’s late. Sir, good morning, Sir. Can I get you anything else?"

"This looks good, Theresa." Christine smiled up at Theresa. "Thank you."

Grumbling, Michael started to eat. "Too bad I won’t have time to finish it."

Bowing her head in disgrace, Theresa spoke meekly, "I’m sorry sir. It won’t happen again."

Recognizing that something was wrong, Christine reached out for Theresa’s hand and spoke softly, "You don’t sound like yourself today, Theresa. Are you alright?"

"I’m afraid that I’m coming down with the flu, Mam."

Patting Theresa’s hand, Christine calmly stated, "In that case, you go ahead and take the day off. I’ll cook dinner tonight."

Michael almost choked on his food and washed down what was in his mouth with a gulp of coffee. "You cooking! Now that’s a scary thought!"

"Oh hush. It will be like old times."

Sneering, Michael replied, "Those old times are ones that I’d rather not remember.  Theresa, call the agency and have them send someone over."

"Yes, Sir." Theresa started toward the phone but was halted when Christine grabbed onto her arm.

Hurling her napkin at Michael, Christine bellowed, "No! I want to do this!"

Throwing his hands up in defeat, Michael stated, "I suppose we can survive one day on Christine’s cooking."

Waving her hand in a shooing motion, Christine stated, "And I’ll do up these dishes too.  Now run along, Theresa."

Dumbfounded, Theresa verified Mr. Baker’s decision. "Sir? Are you sure it’s alright, Sir?"

Reluctantly, Michael gave his approval. "It’s alright. Go ahead, Theresa."

"Thank you, Sir. Mam." Theresa left the room as quietly as she had entered.

Wiping his mouth and grabbing his briefcase, Michael queried, "So. Dare I ask what you will be making for dinner?"

Christine sat back, took a sip of coffee, and pondered a few seconds before answering in a confident tone, "I’ll get something exotic from the butcher. I’ve been watching those cooking shows. I’ll make you a big surprise." Raising her eyebrows, Christine smiled and added, "Maybe we’ll even have dessert first."

Leaning over to kiss Christine on the cheek, Michael snickered, "If my memory serves me right, everything that you cook turns out to be a surprise."

Pushing his face away, Christine howled, "Oh just get out of here. See you at seven and don’t be late."

That evening, Christine was lighting the candles on the table when Michael returned home.  

After kissing Christine on the cheek, Michael leaned over the soup tureen and took a deep breath through his nose. "Smells good. I may have underestimated you."

"Maybe you have." Christine wrapped both arms around Michael’s neck and whispered, "If you want. We can have dessert first and completely forget dinner."

Pulling Christine’s arms from his neck, Michael stated, "I’m too tired. We’ll have to skip the dessert and just have dinner." Michael walked around Christine.

Disappointed, Christine mumbled, "Right. I guess I’m not good enough anymore."

Michael stopped and turned back to Christine. He responded in a rigid tone. "It’s not you. You know these buy-outs really work on my nerves. I’m beat. I’m afraid it would just be another disappointment for you. Now, are you going to tell me what’s in that bowl?"

Upset, Christine yanked the lid from the tureen and proudly announced, "Vealson extraordinaire!" She grabbed Michael’s plate and piled it high with stew.

Michael scanned the pile of food and scoffed, "Looks a lot like beef stew to me."

Speaking in a disgruntled tone, Christine held her head high and replied, "It is vealson.  The butcher said it was a lot like beef, but healthier. Less fat."

Apologetic, Michael tried to smooth over the situation. "Don’t get me wrong. There’s nothing wrong with beef stew. I practically grew up on the stuff. I just hope it tastes more like Mom’s than yours."

Annoyed, Christine exploded, "I guess I’m supposed to take that as some kind of compliment? Let’s just forget it and sit down and eat! Do you want water or coffee?"

Running his hand through his hair, Michael answered boldly, "Neither. Make it champagne." Michael settled into his chair.

Christine ladled stew onto her own plate. "Why champagne?"

"We have a new company to celebrate. Remember?" Michael started to eat.

"Right. Champagne it is then." Christine went to the wine cabinet and returned with two glasses and a bottle of their best champagne.

After pouring the glasses half full, Michael raised his goblet to Christine and made a toast to the new company and added wealth. "To our third company and doubled bank account."

"Right." Christine sipped on the champagne as she walked to her chair. She sat down and nibbled at the stew on her plate.

Michael started to cough. "What’s in this stew? My throat is swelling."

Confused, Christine queried, "Swelling?"

Coughing in an attempt to breathe, Michael’s voice came out in a muffled scream, "Yes! Swelling!"

Waving her fork as she spoke, Christine said nonchalantly, "I told you. Vealson and vegetables. That’s all."

Grabbing his throat, Michael attempted to yell, "Vealson! What the hell is vealson?"

Standing up quickly, Christine hurriedly went to the garbage and pulled out the meat wrapper. Flattening it out some with her hand, Christine laid it on the table beside Michael. "See. Vealson."

Eyes bulging, Michael took long gasps of air as he tried to shout, "That doesn’t say vealson! It says venison! I’m allergic to venison! Call the doctor!"

Wadding up the paper and tossing it into the trash can beside the phone table, Christine turned back toward Michael and saw him clutching his throat with both hands. Irritated she said, "Oh come on now. It can’t be that bad. Quit kidding around."

Gasping for air, Michael fell to the floor, onto his knees. Massaging his throat, Michael’s strained voice sounded like loud whispers, "I’m not kidding! His number’s in the book. Call now!" 

Slowly paging through the phone book, Christine snidely responded, "I know where the number is."

Muffled gasps came from Michael’s throat. "Call now! Hurry!"

Dialing the number, Christine turned back to check on Michael. His body slumped onto the floor. Excited, she shrieked at the nurse, "This is Christine Baker! I have an emergency with my husband! I need to talk to Dr. Richards! Now!" Christine took a long, deep breath.

"Shawn?" Smiling over at Michael, Christine’s tone became seductive, "Hello there. You were right. It worked." Christine’s smile widened as she listened then hurriedly added, "Right. I will. I’ll meet you at the summer house in six weeks."