"Should I make you breakfast instead? What would make you happy? We can do whatever you want today." I punctuate my offer with a kiss to his cheek.
He finally sighs, and the tension drains from his limbs. "Breakfast sounds good," he mutters.
I prop myself up on my elbow so I can shine a smile down at him. He's not annoyed anymore, but he still doesn't look happy, so I lean down to kiss him on the lips this time.
"Happy birthday," I whisper against his mouth. When he doesn't say anything, I try to deepen the kiss. "I love you," I try again.
He finally returns the kiss as he buries a hand in my hair and opens his mouth so I can slide my tongue in.
It isn't until I'm trying to slide my leg across his waist to straddle him again that Steve pulls away. He grips my hip as if holding me in place, then looks at me and asks, "Breakfast?"
I swallow my disappointment, reminding myself that today is about him, not about my base sexual needs. But we've only had sex twice in the past three weeks, and I'm getting a little hard up.
Normally, I would think a lack of sex signals that something is wrong in a relationship, but Steve's never been a horndog in the first place. I just have to deal with the fact that I need it more than he does.
Steve and I are in a comfortable place now with our relationship. We haven't had any more arguments since my birthday, and he's still sweet to me, taking me out to dinner and bringing home flowers every so often, so I don't have much to complain about. The overwhelming happiness that we shared the night of my birthday dinner didn't last past that evening, but I'm chalking that up to that level of joy being hard to maintain. Things aren’tbad, just different. I need to stop expecting perfection.
I'm in the kitchen making Steve's favorite omelet when he wanders in, wearing his usual suit and tie. I took the morning off work so I could wake up with him on his birthday, but I knew he would still want to go to work. He's nothing if not a dedicated employee.
Even if his only goal is to make enough money to retire.
"So what do you want to do tonight?" I ask with a smile as I shake the pan over the stove. I want to ask if he wants to go to a bar to celebrate, but I'm not sure what kind of reaction that will be met with, so I stay silent.
"I don't care, we can just do dinner or something," he says nonchalantly as he pours himself coffee. "The big celebration will be this weekend anyway."
I freeze. A frown mars my face as I turn to him in confusion. "What do you mean? What's this weekend?"
He leans back against the counter and gives me a blank stare. "I'm going down to Atlantic City with the boys."
My frown deepens. "You're what? Why didn't you tell me that?"
He just shrugs, taking a sip of his black coffee. "We were originally going to invite girlfriends, but we decided to make it guys only. You wouldn't want to hang out with a bunch of drunk idiots anyway."
My head continues to alternate between shock, hurt, and fury. "What happened to not doing the cliché drunk party bus birthday thing?" I manage to grit through clenched teeth.
Again, he just shrugs. "I want to see what all the fuss is about."
Anger starts to overpower every other feeling raging inside me. "So you get to drink and gamble and be a total glutton on your birthday, but I can't have a drink with my sisteron my 21st birthday?"
He turns his stare back to me, and for the first time it occurs to me that he may have been planning this as my punishment since the night of my birthday. He's never been one to let a transgression go, and I should've realized he let me off too easily that night.
He continues to stare at me, and for a moment, I think he's not going to answer. But then he says, "I just want to have a nice night out with my friends, you don't have to make such a big deal out of it. You can come if you really want to."
I actually take a step back in shock. And in this moment, in my kitchen at 8am on a Wednesday, understanding dawns.
I suddenly realize how badly I've been manipulated. I think back to the night of my birthday, to our angry conversation, and realize with a start thatIwas the one to apologize. I didn't do anything wrong, yet I was the one to come crawling back to Steve.On my birthday.
But even that wasn't enough for him. He has to punish me with something else, too. He wants me to suffer for that night, wants me to wait at home while he has the birthday celebration that he knows I wanted. That I tried to steal a piece of when I met Remy without his permission.
It feels like I'm a completely third-party observer watching not just this interaction, but every questionable moment we’ve ever had as a couple. The reality of the last year flashes in front of me, and suddenly, I'm experiencing every cutting insult, every forced apology, every bit of silent treatment all over again.
I stare at Steve with a newfound perception.
Unfortunately, perception is not the same as action.
Despite realizing the web that Steve has tangled me in, I'm still smothered by the pressure of the tension between us. I still feel the weight of his disapproving stare. I still feel the overwhelming need to make him happy.
I still can't bring myself to call him out on it.