The fire crackled loudly and she woke up from her reverie. She realised that she been wiping the same spoon for the last five minutes. She quickly put it down on the dining table and turned around hastily. She could see her husband getting the plates in the kitchen. The fancy ones. The fire crackled once more, grabbing her attention. It was casting a warm glow over the dining room, putting up a festive mood. There were socks hanging just above the fireplace, amidst the small christmas knickknacks her husband had bought.
He called her, "Honey, help me out here. Our families will be here soon."
She nodded nervously. Her husband chuckled, "Now, now. You yourself invited them. Like every single one of our relatives. Which isn't much considering I don't have much family and neither do you." He kept on talking. Soon he realised, she was barely listening. He put the dishes down on the table and went near her.
"Honey? You've been spacing out a lot lately. I thought you were over your smoke withdrawal. Do you need a nicotine patch?" He asked, concern etched over his face.
She shook her head and smiled. "No, thanks. I'm fine." She went around him, into the hall, careful not to touch him. She glanced around. Everything was perfect.
The house was ready.
She had denied the nicotine patch cheerily but in reality, she was indeed craving a cigarette. She never wanted to stop smoking in the first place. She knew it was bad and harmful and yada yada.
But smoking was not just her addiction. It was her passion. When her husband begged her to stop, it felt like he was taking away her hobby like reading or painting or whatever shit other people do under the name of passion.
But her husband didn't know that. Because she never told him that. Her husband loved her terribly and she knew he wanted her to stop smoking out of that love only. And if he had known she wanted to smoke, he probably would've let her. Out of that same love.
But she never told him. She was afraid of him. She was afraid of her 'perfectly normal, harmless, loving husband'.
The doorbell rang.
She gave an involuntary jerk. She knew who was at the door. She gulped but went ahead to open the door none the less. She forced a perfect smile. The smile you give a predator who can smell fear.
Unfortunately, it proved useless. The predator caught the smell. It jumped on the prey.
"Oh sweety, are you alright?" her mother crooned.
"Let us in dear, I'm holding champgane and it's numbing my fingers," the southern accent of her father came from behind her mother.
"Where's Joanna and Tim?" she asked, letting them in.
"They're gettin' out the gifts. They'll not be here for the christmas so they're leaving them now," her mother informed.
"Ah, the food smells delicious," her father sniffed the air.
Her husband came outside upon hearing voices. "Of course it does. My wife's an excellent cook after all," he said proudly, putting an arm around her shoulder. She suppressed an urge to shiver.
"Where's mom and dad?" he asked.
"They're getting out the gifts," her mom said.
"Oh they're leaving them now? So the trip to Tampa is fixed?"
They started to chat idly. She slipped inside and brought out the food to the dining table. The chill she felt when she opened the front door vanished as she soaked in the fireplace warmth. Then she noticed that the windows were closed. All of them. It was a new house and the windows were all wooden shutters and not glass.
