All That and Then Some

ALICE - Tell It To My Heart

VIC ARRIVES HOME FROM work in a prickly mood. I remind myself that, while I've had time to get used to our dramatically hued new dining room and decide that it's not terrible, he is just now taking it in. And he doesn't seem to like it. Now, that's fair enough, because I didn't like it at first either, having always considered myself more of an ecru sort of person. But, as I've sat with the change (and a bottle of wine), I have come to realize that, in fact, this simple change has made me feel both glamorous and stylish... like a trendsetting influencer. Which, I suppose, I have become slash am becoming.

Proof of my new influencer status (outside of having glamorous navy walls): almost every day this week, a corporate courier has shown up at the cafe with a cellophane-wrapped basket of product. Free! There is, so far: a basket of bronzer and face highlighter (neither something I would ever use, my usual makeup routine consisting, essentially, of eyebrow pencil and chapstick); an invitation to three sessions at a downtown medi-spa where they will inject my lips and forehead with a metric tonne of facial filler (I am both offended and mildly intrigued); a ThighMaster-y torture device that promises Kardashian-level booty (if you like #big butts... then you'll love the etcetera etcetera blah blah).

In each case, I've been asked to accept the product, use it, and post a review online, preferably while dancing. Some are cheeky enough to suggest what I might say in my review, so, in effect, making it not a review at all but rather a paid-for advertisement.

On the one hand, I don't like being told what to say. On the other, I like the idea of getting free things. Either way, I can't quite see myself making review videos, so I wonder if I can just ignore the requests without companies demanding their not-really-gift-gifts back? Maybe I'll use the gifts a little so they can't be taken back.

All this to say, I'm a highly sought-after influencer now, so upgrading to a navy dining room was really an inevitability and just the start. I am already wondering what else I can have Jeffry paint.

Vic, on the other hand, is not an influencer... which accounts for his surly attitude. After taking his coat off and, presumably, picking his way through the lego minefield in the living room, he's entered the dining room, taken in the new walls with a squinty glare and has yet to utter a word. A cloud of bad mood hangs around him like a nimbus.

"Blue is very on-trend," I inform him, trying to be conciliatory.

"It's not the paint," he sighs, bending over to pick up a half-eaten cookie that's been ground into the ecru carpet. "Not just the paint," he corrects himself.

"Then what? Are you annoyed with me about something?"

"No, Alice. I'm not annoyed with you."

I don't point out that he said that in a very annoyed tone.

"Is it the two geriatric women dressed as airline stewardesses in our kitchen?"

"No... wait, what? Who?"

"My mother and her friend Rita. Maeve is helping them make a TikTok challenge to impress Mum's new internet soulmate who appears to be Magnum PI."

On cue, Love Shack starts up again.

"Is it the lego mess? Because I'm going to clean that up. I mean, as soon as Angel is done playing with it. I think Vivian's gone to lie down, so she has no one to throw it at. Oh! Buddy and James had a great time in Montreal, by the way. Very romance-restoring, Buddy says. Maybe we should go!"

"Do you think our romance needs restoring?" he asks darkly.

I don't like Vic's tone at all. I can't quite figure it out. It's something between pouty and dining-room blue.

"I don't mean that exactly. Only that I recognize it would be nice for us to get out of this house together. Have a fancy meal somewhere. Climb into a big hotel bed..."

He shrugs. After a moment of silence, he sighs and says, "I'm going for a run."

I narrow my eyes. Two runs in one day? I feel like he's inviting me to start a fight by saying he exercises too much. But in this mood... I'm not taking the bait. I shrug back at him, perfectly mirroring his response to my suggestion of a romantic weekend. He leaves the dining room, and I hear him tread heavily up the stairs toward our bedroom.

Something's definitely the matter with that man. I've never been good at letting things lie, so I (perhaps unwisely) follow him to the bedroom, glass of wine in hand.

I sit on the bed and observe him craftily as he pulls his smelly running gear out of the laundry hamper. He doesn't acknowledge my presence, except with a quick flick of his eyes, but seems to hesitate before taking his work shirt off like he would prefer I wasn't here.

"I guess it's not a good time since you're going for a run, but I want to talk to you about a meeting I had today with Joss Carvil," I say blithely.

Vic's mouth is set into a thin line as he pulls on his running shirt with lightning speed.

"He's feeling guilty about his environmental footprint or something and wants to make an investment in our brand. Buddy thinks we should take the money."

I pause again for some kind of response, but he's sitting with his back to me now, pulling on socks.

"But you know how I feel about corporations. Taking that money could ruin everything. We'd start having to report earnings. Justify expenditures. Before we know it, we'd be running a for-profit-greed machine. No matter what Joss Carvil says."

Vic shrugs at this, standing now and heading toward the door.

"Do you have an opinion?" I ask as he opens it.

He looks back at me with a sort of blank look. "Are you really asking?" He responds tiredly, and when I don't reply immediately, he turns and disappears down the hallway.

I watch the space where my husband recently stood and feel the cool aftershock of his rebuff.