No Silver Year

Word-Count: 1783

No Silver Year

Margret Roma sat alone at her center table in the quiet bistro. Her husband had excused himself to take a phone call, one that apparently insisted on more of his time than was left in what was promised to be a special evening. Twice their waiter had made his rounds to refill her glass with some nameless house reserve, and dinner hadn’t even been ordered yet. Margret could have ordered for herself, should have ordered, but it was just the same as always. Every birthday, every reunion, it was she who was being ordered, without a word.
Margret glanced down at her new bracelet – perhaps pretending it to be a watch. It was his gift to her for, as of tomorrow, twenty-five years of her saintly patience. Their “silver anniversary” as it was called. She felt it so unbecoming to pair such utter dissatisfaction with something so pure. Something that reminded her of the way she used to be. In her youth, Margret had always been told that love could never tarnish, that her future husband would be as true as the gospel. She later thought, as she spoke the words that bound her to him, wouldn’t that put love above any metal? It was silver that was given to those whom come second in life. It was silver that shown less brilliantly than another. Silver – that payed for the blood of her Lord.
“Another glass, Miss?” The waiter had come again. His voice was spiked with a hint of impatience, and something else. Margret was startled form her trance, but regained composer.
“Oh, yes please. You can just leave the bottle. Thank you.” The clean-cut man refilled her glass and placed the bottle on a rounded square coaster.
“I don’t mean to be rude, Miss, but we will be closing in another hour. Will you be ordering soon?”
“Yes, yes.” Margret said in puffs, “I’m sure he won’t be much longer.” The waiter nodded as he had before, and walked off.
Margret felt the corner of her eye begin to twitch, a nervous tick of hers that was agitated from embarrassment or anger. For her, it felt like an even mix. She glared at her husband; he was smiling and traipsing around outside like he had nowhere to be. If that man was going to spend the entire evening robbing the cradle of some poor family, he could have at least done so at home. He never once looked back inside to see her spending their anniversary alone. Margret’s frustration mounted. Was her role in his life at an end? Now that their two boys had grown and left, was he looking to start again? Was his gift just a treat to keep her from barking and whining? With that thought, Margret unfixed the silver bracelet from her wrist and forcefully tucked it into her small black purse. Her glass shook in her hand as she took another deep sip of her wine. Margret refused the notion of being his runner-up. If that gold-digging bitch on the phone was expecting a cozy life, she was going to be disappointed. The money that built his business came from her father, all he had was a silver-tongue: One that flicked and folded, spinning the most convenient three-worded lie a man could ever occasionally fill an ear with.
Margret got up, something primal had stirred her to stand. The clicking of her heels sounded like falling bricks against the marble floor as she strode with menace. On every other occasion, the thought of confronting him froze her in her tracks. All the time they had spent, all the memories they shared, despite his blatant second life, she felt compelled to restore her trust and faith in him. If not for her sake, then for her two sons. It was her duty as a wife; that’s what was instilled in her. To break a matrimonial bond was evil. But she was beside herself, and her boys were now men.
“A necessary evil.” She spoke aloud.
Margret flung the front door open. The cool evening breeze blew in his direction, and a wave of goosebumps rose from Margret’s arms. His back was to her as he stood with one arm crossing his chest and the other holding the phone to his ear.
“Oh yeah, that I need to see.” were the words Margret caught before she saw her hand take charge and swipe the phone from his loose, self-assured grip. Before he could react, the phone was against her ear, and she heard a woman’s voice.
“…not much point, if you’re taking if off anyway.”
For the last eight years, Margret had suspected this. She had no way of knowing for how long or with how many others he’d done this, but in one fell swoop he’d been discovered. He turned in shock and grasped for his phone when he saw Margret. He began to speak, but was met with a single index finger raised to his face – Margret was on the phone.
“And once I see the mess underneath, I can cover you back up, right?” Margret fired at the mystery woman on the other end.
“Margret!” Her husband shouted. Beads of sweat were already forming on his brow. Margret listened past his interruption but only heard a dial-tone. He made another panicked swipe for his phone as Margret pulled it back. For a man with such an impressive physic for his age, his movements seemed quite slow to her. She closed the contact list and pressed on to see his texts, turning her back to shield the phone from him. “Margret, what the hell?!”
“Just thought I’d check something while your phone was unlocked, dear.”
Margret felt his weight at her back as he clawed for his phone. The two were tangled in the knot of arms like a pair of children fighting for toy, seemingly unware of the scene they were causing. Finally, Margret’s husband wrested the phone from her. His face was reddened with anger and embarrassment, but was completely overshadowed by her look of complete distain.
“So, her name’s Lisa.” Attempting to collect himself, Margret’s husband straightened his posture and placed his phone into his coat pocket. “So is she the first? Third? Thirtieth?”
“That was a business call.” Margret’s jaw wanted to drop open in disgust, but it clenched instead.
“A business call?” He nodded. “Oh, and I suppose that was a client of yours? Were you two working out some kind of discount? She takes off her pants, you take off thirty percent on her next order?” She’d rehearsed her quips in her head for years, but it all felt so organic now. “Answer me, Vincent.”
“Did you have the waiter leave the bottle again?” Vincent’s voice rose to an intimidating tone. “You’re drunk, Margret. Are you hearing yourself? I take you out to this little place you wanted to go to for our twenty-fifth, and this is how you…”
“Buying me off, Vince! That’s all you do anymore!” Her eyes began to swell as she pulled the bracelet from her purse and held it to his face. “This isn’t a gift, Vince. A gift is something you give someone you love. This is a bribe! A bribe to keep everything to myself and to just be happy you haven’t left. Well, maybe I want you gone!” Vincent’s stance became unfixed. “I’m through sitting at an empty table while you have it both ways. I’m choosing for you!”
“You wanna leave me? Is that it?” He lifted his left hand, were his wedding band wrapped his finger. “You know what this is?” He grabbed her arm before she could react. “Need a better look?” It was much faster than his swipes for the phone. The back of his hand forced her head to snap to the side violently. So this was the real Vincent. She was facing away from the bistro window, but caught the sound of a small commotion inside. A warm trickle budded from where the diamond stud caught her face. “That’s your contract, sweetie. If I say I’m not seeing anyone, then that’s that. Now why don’t you go back inside, and we’ll forget…”
Vincent was cut off by the sound of snapping cartilage as Margret drove her silver bracelet into Vincent’s nose like brass knuckles. Eight years of neatly contained ire expelled in an instant. There were audible gasps, one like a cheer, from inside the restaurant as the bloodied band disconnected from Vincent’s face and he doubled over on the ground. Hands clenching his broken nose, Vincent let out a series of gargled curses and pained wheezes as red gushes escaped his cupped fingers.
Coming back from a moment of complete disbelief, Margret reaffirmed herself. “If you want her, fine. I won’t stop you.” She began to tremble, but found the strength to continue. “But I will not be coming along for the ride, Vinny. Not anymore. Like I said before, it’s not up to you anymore. I’m choosing for you, since you can’t seem to do it yourself – do anything yourself.” She gripped her weapon tighter as she finished. “It’s time you felt what dinner alone feels like.”
She turned to go back inside, feeling that she needed to sit down. The waiter was at the door. He had intended to come to Margret’s aid, but after seeing her attacker brought down so decisively, he decided to let her finish her finish her business. He held the door while she went back to her seat without a word. Not form her or from anyone who’d seen. Margret felt sick. Whether it was from Vincent or having not eaten, she could not tell. She reached her chair before the dizziness got to her. Was all that really just the wine? No, she thought. She had been thinking those things for a long time. Surely it would not go over well with her family, or his family, or their pastor, or the children. There was no going back now. No way she would patch things up, or let him patch things up. But for the first time, that thought brought comfort to Margret rather than guilt.
“Are…you alright, Miss?” Once again, Margret hadn’t noticed the waiter approach. She smiled.
“Yes, actually.” She placed the red and silver bracelet on her napkin.
“We’ve called nine-one-one for you, and we’ll keep him from coming back inside. Is there anything you need?”
“Can I still order?” Margret noticed his nametag. “Jim?” Jim was taken aback.
“Oh, uh, w-why yes. Yes, of course.” He scrambled for his pen and order tickets. “What can I get for you?”