26-02-2023, 12:29 PM
"You keep saying it meant nothing, like it's okay. What if I fuck a guy and say it meant nothing?"
I was so frustrated with the fights by then that I blurted out,
"Fine! Do it! Call it a free pass. If that is what it takes, do it."
She glared at me and laughed sarcastically.
"Yeah, right, as if your male ego could handle me even kissing a guy."
"I am serious, Ritu. I messed up with the kiss. I have said all I can say. I have apologized. Multiple times. If you sleeping with someone will get you over this, go for it!"
Ritu had the exact same look as she did during poker nights with friends when she went all in on a bluff and someone called.
"Yeah, well, it's the least you can do!" she sulked. The argument continued on other fronts.
----
After that, occasionally, Ritu would bring up the free pass in a jocular way. Like if a good looking guy walked by at the mall, she would be like, umm, free pass material. As time went by, it became more of a joke. I started using it too. This was one such time. And she seemed to be in a good mood. So I continued.
"Hey, if that's the only thing stopping you, I will give you two free passes. Use this on Shafi."
"No thank you. Anyway, Che had some new from his tennis coach that he wanted to share. So I will take the laptop to his room."
"Okay". And I started catching up on my son's exploits.
A couple of months went by. Ritu's outbursts grew less frequent, but I could see she was still having a hard time coping with being unemployed. To make matters worse, she was even "let go" from the shelter where she had been volunteering after a fight with the woman in charge. I could sense her slipping when I was home. She was trying her best to be upbeat, but this languid housewife was not the woman I had married.
I also started wondering about how much she was drinking when alone. Much of it had to be during the daytime, because when we did our nightly video calls, she was mostly sober, and never more than a little buzzed, which I too was at the end of a workday. But clearly the bottles were going somewhere. And then levels of whiskey, vodka, gin bottles started dropping way faster than unusual. I considered the possibility that maybe my 12 year old son was sneaking some stuff. But when newer bottles started replacing them without my buying, it was clearly Ritu. That worried me.
So I started calling more and more often during the workday. I even told my boss, who knew Ritu well, that we were having troubles with the long distance adjustment, so I needed to take breaks in between, even if it meant staying back at the office longer. These calls helped somewhat with her mood, but not with my worries about her drinking. She had gone from just sipping a small glass of wine to downing tall drinks of scotch during our half hour calls.
I still did not bring it up. Although we were like business partners in a merger in many ways, I still knew my wife well enough to know that she was not an alcoholic. Once she got a job, this would end. It was just a phase. Let her enjoy her drink for now, I thought.
It was during one such drunken daytime video chat that the next chapter of this saga occurred. I was a little tipsy too, because I had returned from lunch with clients visiting from Texas and those people love their lunch cocktails.
"You are so hot! And looking particularly hot right now!" I said. Because, she actually did not, and that's what a husband tries to do when he is making his wife feel better. She was in a t-shirt she had been wearing for 3 days straight. And wrinkled pyjamas. She looked like a mess.
"Thank you honey, I miss you!" she took a sip of scotch at 2:30 pm and said. "We should go back to Seychelles when you get time."
After our honeymoon, the only couples vacation we had managed to take was a week at the island resort a couple of years ago. It was also meant to be a reboot vacation from Denise-gate.
"You still have The Kaftan?" I smiled wryly.
"Of course! Although I can tell it's going to fall apart soon."
Which brings us to another flashback. During that trip, Ritu had bought a kaftan from a beach shack to wear over her swimsuit. And I just totally fell in love with how hot she looked in it. It was short, a little above mid-thigh. It was just semi transparent enough to give a hint of the curves underneath, and even let you guess the color of the swimsuit. But did not give away the farm. And it hugged her ample curves beautifully. So I insisted that she wear that cheap flimsy thing as much as possible in Seychelles, indoors and outdoors. And we had more quality sex in that week than we did in the previous year.
I was so frustrated with the fights by then that I blurted out,
"Fine! Do it! Call it a free pass. If that is what it takes, do it."
She glared at me and laughed sarcastically.
"Yeah, right, as if your male ego could handle me even kissing a guy."
"I am serious, Ritu. I messed up with the kiss. I have said all I can say. I have apologized. Multiple times. If you sleeping with someone will get you over this, go for it!"
Ritu had the exact same look as she did during poker nights with friends when she went all in on a bluff and someone called.
"Yeah, well, it's the least you can do!" she sulked. The argument continued on other fronts.
----
After that, occasionally, Ritu would bring up the free pass in a jocular way. Like if a good looking guy walked by at the mall, she would be like, umm, free pass material. As time went by, it became more of a joke. I started using it too. This was one such time. And she seemed to be in a good mood. So I continued.
"Hey, if that's the only thing stopping you, I will give you two free passes. Use this on Shafi."
"No thank you. Anyway, Che had some new from his tennis coach that he wanted to share. So I will take the laptop to his room."
"Okay". And I started catching up on my son's exploits.
A couple of months went by. Ritu's outbursts grew less frequent, but I could see she was still having a hard time coping with being unemployed. To make matters worse, she was even "let go" from the shelter where she had been volunteering after a fight with the woman in charge. I could sense her slipping when I was home. She was trying her best to be upbeat, but this languid housewife was not the woman I had married.
I also started wondering about how much she was drinking when alone. Much of it had to be during the daytime, because when we did our nightly video calls, she was mostly sober, and never more than a little buzzed, which I too was at the end of a workday. But clearly the bottles were going somewhere. And then levels of whiskey, vodka, gin bottles started dropping way faster than unusual. I considered the possibility that maybe my 12 year old son was sneaking some stuff. But when newer bottles started replacing them without my buying, it was clearly Ritu. That worried me.
So I started calling more and more often during the workday. I even told my boss, who knew Ritu well, that we were having troubles with the long distance adjustment, so I needed to take breaks in between, even if it meant staying back at the office longer. These calls helped somewhat with her mood, but not with my worries about her drinking. She had gone from just sipping a small glass of wine to downing tall drinks of scotch during our half hour calls.
I still did not bring it up. Although we were like business partners in a merger in many ways, I still knew my wife well enough to know that she was not an alcoholic. Once she got a job, this would end. It was just a phase. Let her enjoy her drink for now, I thought.
It was during one such drunken daytime video chat that the next chapter of this saga occurred. I was a little tipsy too, because I had returned from lunch with clients visiting from Texas and those people love their lunch cocktails.
"You are so hot! And looking particularly hot right now!" I said. Because, she actually did not, and that's what a husband tries to do when he is making his wife feel better. She was in a t-shirt she had been wearing for 3 days straight. And wrinkled pyjamas. She looked like a mess.
"Thank you honey, I miss you!" she took a sip of scotch at 2:30 pm and said. "We should go back to Seychelles when you get time."
After our honeymoon, the only couples vacation we had managed to take was a week at the island resort a couple of years ago. It was also meant to be a reboot vacation from Denise-gate.
"You still have The Kaftan?" I smiled wryly.
"Of course! Although I can tell it's going to fall apart soon."
Which brings us to another flashback. During that trip, Ritu had bought a kaftan from a beach shack to wear over her swimsuit. And I just totally fell in love with how hot she looked in it. It was short, a little above mid-thigh. It was just semi transparent enough to give a hint of the curves underneath, and even let you guess the color of the swimsuit. But did not give away the farm. And it hugged her ample curves beautifully. So I insisted that she wear that cheap flimsy thing as much as possible in Seychelles, indoors and outdoors. And we had more quality sex in that week than we did in the previous year.
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