Julia 23
“Julia!” Matthew bellows from his office.
I guess this is what they mean by ‘the honeymoon’s over.’ It’s hard to believe I was enjoying naked room service this time last week. My trip down the hall is about as far away from chocolate covered strawberries and blue showers as you can get.
“Did you need something, my love?” I ask sweetly, from the doorway. But his exasperated expression tells me sweet’s not going to cut it right now.
“Julia, David got into my filing cabinet. Again. Everything has been pulled up and out and shifted around, it’s a mess!”
This is only the thirty-eighth time we’ve had this conversation, and I’m not particularly interested in having it a thirty-ninth time.
“Matthew, you know he likes to pretend he’s working in there, like you. You thought it was cute a month ago,” I point out, appealing to his ‘daddy ego.’ But he doesn’t bite.
“Yeah, well, a month ago, there wasn’t grape jelly on my bank papers,” he snaps, waving the offending sticky documents at me.
“Why didn’t you lock the cabinet?”
“Why should I have to? It’s my office!”
I shrug. “Well, then, I guess you’d better lock the door to your office where your unsecured documents are stored, because our son can turn doorknobs now, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
He throws his hands up, turns around, and walks away shaking his head. I try, unsuccessfully, to stifle a giggle, and am punished with an Evil Eye over his shoulder.
It’s been an adjustment, having this tiny person running around the house. Since he’s been mobile, I’ve played more games of hide-and-seek with my cellphone than I can count. In fact, I’m still waiting to find it from the last time David got his sticky little fingers on it. I sigh and try my best to be more sympathetic.
“Matthew, you’re right, he’s been getting into a lot of things lately. But he’s at that curious stage when he wants to investigate everything. We just need to be more careful about what we leave lying around.”
No sooner are the words out of my mouth than he reaches into his top desk drawer and pulls out … Oh. No. He cannot be serious right now. The blade on the knife he’s holding must be six inches long. The thing looks like a prop out of a Vietnam War movie.
“What. Is. That?” I manage to ask in a horrified whisper.
My husband looks up smugly.
“This is what David might find next time he’s in my office, if we don’t teach him some boundaries. He’s old enough …”
“No,” I interrupt him flatly. “No.”
“No, what? No, we can’t teach him not to …”
I shake my head. “No, you can’t keep that thing in this house.”
His normally sexy lips turn up into an incredulous, condescending smirk.
“I’m sorry … I can’t keep it? What’s wrong with you? It’s just a little hunting knife.”
“You don’t hunt. And there’s nothing little about it.”
“Well, no,” concedes, “but still, don’t you think you’re overreacting just a little?”
Okay, Julia keep your cool. Take a breath. Count to five and Do. Not. Strangle. Your. Husband.
“Matthew, honey,” I grit out, “I get the sentimental value of the knife. And maybe, someday … a long, long time from now … you can share it with David. But I’m sorry, I’m just not comfortable having a weapon like that in the same house where our child plays.”
“It’s not a gun, Julia,” he scoffs, dismissing my concerns. “David isn’t going to accidentally stab himself to death …”
Okay, well, so much for keeping my cool. Clearly I’m not getting my point across, because Matthew still seems to be under the impression that he has a choice in this matter. Time for the big guns. The ‘Guilt’ guns.
“Oh? Are you sure about that, honey? Because, you know it happens all the time. I mean it’s not hard to imagine a scenario where something tragic happens! He runs with it and falls on top of it, it impales him,” I smack the back of one hand into the palm of the other as I paint the image for him. “Or, he runs with it and slips down the stairs, it impales him. Maybe he’s out by the pool with it …”
Matthew jumps to his feet, holding up his hands in surrender. “For God’s sake, please stop saying it’s going to impale him! That’s so not fair!”
All is fair in love and guilt and the sooner my dear husband realizes that, the better for both of us. But especially for him, because this is a battle I do not intend to lose.
“Julia, please, how about this … I’ll buy a lockbox for it. You know, the secure kind that people use to secure their handguns? Then I’ll keep it up high, in the very back of the closet.”
“Kids get into closets, Matthew …” I point out. “You don’t think an incredibly active, incredibly bright little boy will eventually find his way to something like that? To him, it looks like a big, shiny toy.”
“Toddlers don’t get things that are seven feet off the ground. I swear to you, I will buy a lockbox for it before we come back here next weekend. When he’s a little older, I’ll find someplace else for it. And you have my word, if David even catches sight of it, I’ll get rid of it.”
I sigh heavily. “Fine. But I’m going to hold you to that, Matthew Ayers. There’d better be a lockbox here by next weekend or I’ll turn right around and take David back to the city until you get one.”
He nods mutely, realizing at last that this is a game he will never win.