Chapter 3 third chapter

I originally thought that elopement meant going to Las Vegas and secretly holding a wedding ceremony witnessed by Elvis Presley. Unexpectedly, hotels in Florida, Hawaii and Arizona also provide "elopement wedding package itinerary", which includes wedding services, hotels Accommodation, massage, and meals.Gage and Lipper paid for our elopement to a small Florida island, which they gave to Nick and me as a wedding present. Dad stood his ground against my marriage to Nick and followed through on his threat to remove me from the will entirely.No money, no communication. "He'll give in," the older brothers told me, but I made it clear that I didn't care about Dad's concessions, that I'd had enough of his control for so long.

Lipper's attempt to tell me that Kei had always loved me and still loves me led to our first argument. "Of course he loves me," I told her abruptly. "He loves the pawns at his mercy. He loves children. But an adult like me with my own likes and dislikes... No, he doesn't. He only loves people who spend their lives trying to please him." "He needs you," Lipper insisted. "future--" "No, he doesn't need to," I said. "It's enough for him to have you." I knew it was unfair to criticize her like this, but I couldn't help it. "Go and be a good wife," I said indifferently. "I've put up with him enough in my life."

Lipper didn't speak to me for a long time afterwards. Nick and I moved to Plano, just north of Dallas, where he worked as an appraiser for an architectural firm.It wasn't a job he wanted to do for long, but the pay was good, especially overtime.I got an entry-level job at the Darlington Hotel as a marketing integrator, assisting the Head of Communications with PR and marketing initiatives. The Darlington is an elegant and modern hotel, a single oval building that looks like a phallic, but with an extra screen of pink granite.Perhaps part of the reason the Darlington was voted the most romantic hotel in Dallas is due to this knee-jerk cue.

"You guys in Dallas have real architecture," I told Nick. "Every building in town looks like a penis or a cereal box." "And you just like the red Pegasus," Nick pointed out. I have to admit he was right.I couldn't resist the neon pegasus that had been atop the Magnolia Building since 1934.The dull skyline has a little more personality because of it. I'm not sure how to describe Dallas.Compared with Houston, it is clean and cosmopolitan, with closer connections between people.There are fewer cowboy hats and people are mostly polite.Moreover, Dallas's political stance has always been consistent, unlike Houston's public policy that will fluctuate violently every election.

Banya's composed Dallas seemed to want to prove something, like a woman too worried about how to dress for a second date.This may be because Dallas, unlike most large cities in the world, does not have a port.Dallas became a large commercial center in the 1870s because the two lines of the Houston Central Texas Railroad and the Texas Pacific Railroad intersected here. Nick's family lives in or near Dallas.His parents divorced when he was a child and married each other.He had brothers and sisters from a previous marriage of his step-parents, half-brothers or half-siblings, and I couldn't quite figure out who was whose child.It didn't seem to matter though, since they weren't close.

We bought a small apartment with two parking spaces and a swimming pool in the community.I decorated the apartment with cheap but brightly colored modern furniture, plus some baskets and Mexican-style crockery.In the living room hangs a large replica of an old-fashioned travel poster. The poster depicts a dark-haired girl with a fruit basket and a big headline reads: Come to Magnificent Mexico. "It's our own special style," I told Nick when he complained about the ugly furniture and hated Southwestern accessories. "I call it the Ikea style." I think it's trendsetting, and people will soon follow us.Besides, that's how we can afford decorating.

"We can afford a damned palace," said Nick darkly, "and it's all your father's damned fault." His hatred was like a lightning strike out of thin air, which shocked me a lot.I was so happy about the apartment that it made Nick unhappy.He said I was just drinking at the player's house.He'd like to see if I'll be this happy after I've lived a while in the middle class. "Of course I'd be happy," I said. "I own you, and I don't need a big house to be happy." I didn't find the change of environment difficult to adapt to, but it actually affected Nick more than I did.He said he was annoyed because of me that we had such a tiny budget.He was upset that we couldn't afford a second car.

"I don't really mind," I said, and that pissed him off even more, because if he's bitter, I should be. Yet after the storm, peace is sweeter. At work, Nick called me at least twice a day to ask how I was doing.We are always chatting. “I wish we could tell each other everything,” he said one evening, as we drank half a bottle of wine. "My parents always had their own secrets. You and I should be 100 percent honest and open." In theory, I love the idea.Actually, though, it hurt my ego.One hundred percent honesty and openness is not necessarily kind. "You're beautiful," Nick said to me one night after sex.He moved one hand all over my body, reaching up to my slightly raised chest.My breasts are not big, and the cup size is only a small B at most.Even before we were married, Nick had laughed and complained that my bust wasn't big enough, and that he would have paid me for breast implants if it wasn't so ridiculous for a petite woman like me. "Big brown eyes...cute little nose...beautiful lips. It doesn't matter if you don't have a body."

"I'm in shape," I said. "I mean boobs." "I have boobs too, just not big." "Well, I love you anyway." I'm tempted to point out that Nick's body isn't perfect either, but I know that's going to spark an argument.Nick doesn't take criticism very well, even when it's mild and well-meaning.He's not used to having his mistakes pointed out to him.On the other hand, I have always been criticized growing up. My mother always told me stories of how capable her friends' daughters were, how educated they were, how they would sit in piano lessons, fold tissues out of tissue paper for their mothers, or show off at the cue. Recently learned ballet steps.

I once wished with all my heart that I could be a little girl like that.But I am rebellious by nature, like the director chose the wrong person, I really can't play Cui Aihua's second.Then she passed away, leaving me full of regrets, and I will never be able to make up for my mother's shortcomings. Every holiday after marriage, whether it was the first Thanksgiving, the first Christmas, or the first New Year, we spent it quietly by ourselves.We hadn't joined a church yet, and Nick's friends and the relatives he called family all had families to look after.I thought of cooking Christmas dinner as a lab project for chemistry class, studying recipes, making diagrams, setting timers, weighing ingredients, and carefully cutting meat and vegetables to the proper size.I know the result of this effort is just passable, but Nick said it was the best turkey, best mashed potatoes, and best pecan pie he'd ever had.

"It must be because you saw me wearing oven mitts," I said. Nick imitated the skunk in the cartoon, and squeaked kisses along my arm. "You are the goddess of the kitchen." The Darlington Hotel is busy over the holidays and I have to work overtime, while Nick's work doesn't start until after the new year.Our schedules didn't fit together and driving back and forth all the time made him feel discouraged and a waste of time.Things never get done... the apartment is always a mess, the fridge is rarely replenished, and there are always piles of dirty laundry. "We can't afford to send all the shirts to laundering," Nick said the day after Christmas. "You have to learn how to iron clothes." "Me?" I've never ironed a shirt in my life.Ironing a shirt is as much a cosmic mystery as black holes and dark matter are. "Why don't you burn yourself?" "I need your help. Would it be too much for you to fix my shirt?" "No, of course not. I'm sorry. I just don't know how to do it, and I'm afraid I can't do it well." "I'll show you, you can learn." Nick smiled and patted me on the back. "You just have to wake up the Martha Stewart inside of you." I told him I always kept Martha in my heart.Stewart is locked in the basement, but for him, I am willing to untie her. Nick patiently walked me through the process step by step, showing me how he likes his shirts to be starched and ironed.He was extraordinarily demanding of details.It's fun at first, just like patching gaps in walls is fun at first...until you're faced with an entire bathroom of tiles, or a basket full of shirts.No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't seem to iron the shirt to Nick's satisfaction. My ironing skills became the focus of his daily inspections.Nick would go to the closet and look through the rows of ironed laundry, picking out what I had done wrong. "You need to iron the edges slowly to cover all the small creases." Or "The seam under the armpit needs to be ironed again." "Don't put on so many paddles." "The back is not flat enough." Annoyed and frustrated, I finally started using my own money—we each had an equal amount to spend each week—to have Nick's shirts professionally cleaned and pressed.I thought it was a good solution, but Nick was upset when he found out that the shirts in the closet were wrapped in plastic sleeves. "I thought we agreed," he said curtly, "that you will learn to iron." "I use my own money." I smiled reassuringly at him. "I'm an ironing idiot, maybe I need to take more multivitamins." He refused to smile back. "You're not trying hard enough." I find it unbelievable to argue over something as trivial as a shirt.It shouldn't have anything to do with the shirt, maybe he thinks I don't give enough to the relationship.Maybe I need to give more love, give more support.He is facing pressure, the pressure of festivals, the pressure of work, the pressure of newly married and family. "I'll try harder," I said. "But, honey... Is there something in your mind? Is there anything else you want to discuss besides ironing? You know I'll do anything for you." Nick gave me a cold look. "I just need you to do one fucking thing well, and it's impossible." I was angry for about ten minutes, and then I was filled with fear.I screwed up my marriage, which was my number one priority. So, I called Todd, and he was very understanding, saying that everyone has a stupid argument with their partner.We both thought it was just a part of normal relationships.I dare not tell anyone in my family, because I would rather die than let my father suspect that my marriage is not going well. I apologize miserably to Nick. "No, it's my fault," he wrapped his arms around me, hugging me warmly and firmly.I was relieved by his forgiveness, and I felt tears welling up in my eyes. "I was asking too much," he continued. "That's how you grow up and never try to do someone a favor. But in the real world, it's the little gestures, the little things that a man knows you love about him. If you're willing to go the extra mile, I'll be happy Thank you." After dinner, he massaged my feet and told me to stop apologizing. Holy crap, I saw a new can of sizing spray in the laundry closet.The ironing board was set up waiting for me so I could practice while Nick made dinner. We went out one night with two other couples, both of whom were colleagues at the architecture firm where Nick worked.I'm so excited to be able to socialize a little bit.Although Nick grew up in Dallas, I was surprised that he had few old friends to introduce me to.He told me they'd all moved away, or it wasn't worth the trouble.I can't wait to make friends in Dallas and impress these two couples. I used my lunch break to go to the hotel salon and ask the stylist to trim a few inches off my long hair.When she finished, there were heavy black wavy curls all over the place, and mine was trimmed to medium length, sleek and sleek. "Your hair shouldn't be longer than this," the stylist told me. "With your petite stature, the previous length was too thick, which will make your facial features not prominent enough." I didn't mention the haircut to Nick.He likes my hair long and I know he'll talk me out of cutting it.Besides, I think he'll change his mind once he sees how nice the new hairstyle is, not to mention how much easier it is to maintain. Nick frowned as soon as he came to pick me up. "It seems that you are very busy today." He gripped the steering wheel tightly. "Do you like it? It feels great." I flicked my hair left and right like a hair model. "It's also time to get a trim and keep your hair looking healthy." "That's not a trim, your hair is almost cut off." Every word reveals strong disapproval and disappointment. "I don't want to wear my college hairstyle anymore, I think it's more fashionable now." "You look special with long hair, now you look ordinary." I felt like someone had injected an anxiety shot into my veins. "I'm sorry you don't like it, but it's too much trouble to have long hair. And it's my hair." "But I have to watch you every day." My skin seemed to shrink, shrinking my body into a flat envelope. "The stylist said the hair was too long to accentuate my features." "Glad you and she both think the world needs to see more of your goddamn face," he muttered. I endured about fifteen minutes of suffocating silence while Nick struggled through the six o'clock traffic.We're going straight to the restaurant to meet his friend. "By the way," Nick said abruptly, "I'll let you know first. I'll tell them your name is Mary." I stared at his side in bewilderment.Mary is my middle name, which is hardly ever called unless I get into serious trouble.Hearing the full name always makes me feel like something is terribly wrong. "Why didn't you tell them my first name?" I managed to ask. Nick didn't look at me. "Because that name sounds like a redneck." "I like my usual name. I don't want to be Marie, I want—" "God, can't I have an ordinary wife with a normal name?" His face turned red, his breathing was heavy, and hostility condensed in the air. (Annotation: Haven is translated as Safe Harbor, which is a little more hippie.) The whole situation felt so unreal.The man I'm married to doesn't like my name!He hadn't said a word before.This isn't Nick, I tell myself.The real Nick is the man I married.I sneaked a glance at him and he looked like a normal angry husband.He asked to be normal, and I had absolutely no idea what that meant. I struggled to catch my breath.We're almost at the restaurant, so you can't look like you just had a fight when you enter the restaurant.I feel like my face is covered with a layer of glass. "Okay," I said. "Then we are Nick and Mary tonight." "Okay." He seemed to relax a little. There was such a harmony that night that after that Nick hardly ever called me Hafen, even when we were alone.He said I should have gotten used to the name Mary earlier so I wouldn't get confused when we were out.I told myself a different name might not be so bad.I can get rid of my old baggage and become who I want to be, a better person.Besides, I was anxious to please Nick. I'm Mary, I told myself.Mary was married, lived in Dallas, worked at the Darlington Hotel, and knew how to iron shirts.Mary has a husband who loves her. Our marriage became a machine that I finally learned how to operate but never understood the inner workings of.I knew what to do to keep the machine running smoothly, all the demands, big and small, to keep Nick in the mood, and the reward was love.But if something pissed Nick off, he would become surly and cranky, and it might take a few days to coax him back into a good mood.His fickle moods are the thermostat that controls our home. As I approached my wedding anniversary, I realized that the days when Nick was in a bad mood, the days when I was supposed to be considerate and make amends for every little thing that got him wrong, far outnumbered the days when he was in a good mood.I don't know how to salvage this phenomenon, but I secretly think that I am wrong.I know other people's marriages are different. They don't have to constantly worry about how to meet the needs of their husbands. They don't have to always feel like walking on eggshells.My parents' marriage certainly wasn't like that.To be honest, the Choi family revolved around my mother's needs and hopes, and my father was only an occasional person to please her. Nick's anger at my family continued unabated, and he blamed my father for not giving us the money to buy the house.He urged me to contact my father and brother to ask for things, and my refusal made him very angry. "It won't work," I told him, though that wasn't true.Regardless of my father, as long as I ask, my brothers are willing to give me anything.Especially Gage.The few times we talked on the phone, he would ask if there was anything he could do to help Nick and me, and I said no, absolutely nothing, everything was fine.I'm terrified of letting Gage know any truth.As long as he catches the slightest clue, the whole thing may be exposed. "When we have kids, your dad has to start helping us," Nick told me. "Letting your grandson live in a dilapidated house is tantamount to publicly humiliating him, and he has to spit out the money, that stingy bastard." Nick's use of the unborn child as a tool to pry into the Choi family's vault worried me deeply.I've always planned to have a baby as soon as I'm ready, but I'm in a position where I can't afford a baby that must be very demanding.I've tried my best to keep my demanding husband roughly happy. I never had trouble sleeping before, but now I gradually wake up at night and feel tired the next day.Because my tossing and turning kept Nick from sleeping, I often ended up lying on the couch in the middle of the night, shivering under the blanket.I dreamed of losing my teeth and falling from a tall building. "That's weird," I said to Nick one morning over coffee. "I had a weird dream last night. I was walking alone in a park somewhere and my right leg fell off. There was no bleeding or anything, like a barbie doll. I was sad thinking I was missing a leg What to do, and then my hand broke from below the elbow, and I quickly picked it up and tried to put it back together, thinking "I need this hand, I have to find someone to put it back on. "So then—" "Did you take your medicine this morning?" Nick interrupted. I've been on the pill regularly since the two of us started going to bed. "No, I don't take my medicine until after breakfast. What's wrong? Do you think it's hormones that give me nightmares?" "No, I think it's you who's having the nightmare. I'm asking because it's time for you to be off the pill. It's time for us to have a baby while we're young." I stared at him, with a strong reluctance in my heart, every cell in my body was resisting, but I was also full of powerlessness.But I can't say no.That would put Nick in a bad mood for days.I had to find a way to get Nick to change his mind. "You really think we're ready?" I asked. "It might be better to save some money first." "No. Your dad will be more reasonable once he finds out that Gage and Lipper aren't the only ones who can have babies." I found that Nick was far less interested in the baby itself than in being able to blackmail Choi Qiaoqi.After the baby is born, will he change?Would he melt in the joy of fatherhood at the sight of the little man he had helped to bring into this world? Try as I might, I can't imagine Nick having the patience to deal with a screaming baby, a messy toddler, or the needs of a child.It scares me to think how dependent and strapped to him I will become with the baby. I go to the bathroom to get ready for work, put on mascara and lip gloss.Nick followed, searching the assortment of make-up and hair-styling supplies on the sink.He found the plastic container of birth control pills and opened it to look at the pills inside. "You don't have to take this anymore." He tossed the pill in the trash. "I've got to finish a cycle," I protested. "And usually before trying to conceive, one has to go for a test—" "You're fine, you're fine." I bent down to pick up the pills, but he put his hand on my shoulder and forced me to stand up. "Leave that alone." I let out a series of unbelievable laughter.I had adjusted for months to put up with Nick's ups and downs for the sake of marital harmony, but it was too much.I don't want to be forced to have a baby neither of us is ready to have. "Nick, I'd rather wait." I took the comb and brushed vigorously through my tangled hair. "This is not a good time to talk about parenting, we both have to work and—" "It's up to me to decide when and what to talk about!" His furious voice scared me so much that I almost dropped the comb in my hand. "I didn't know I had to fucking make an appointment with you to talk about our private lives!" My face was pale with alarm, and my heart was beating wildly out of rhythm. "Nick—" "Have you ever imagined for others?" Anger gathered in his throat, and the small muscles of his face stiffened because of it. "You're always talking about the life you want...you selfish bitch, what about the life I want?" As he approached in a rage, I flinched toward the mirror. "Nick, I just..." My mouth was so dry I could barely speak. "I'm not rejecting you. I just want to...can... talk about it later." Those words made him look at me with soul-rending contempt. "I don't know. Maybe it's nothing to talk about, maybe this whole marriage is worth nothing. Do you think marrying me is doing me a great favor? I pity you. Who do you think would Put up with your bullshit?" "Nick—" I watched him walk back to the bedroom in panic and confusion.I followed a few steps and then stopped, fearing that it would provoke him to be even more angry.Men in my family are usually slow to anger, and when tempers flare up, they subside quickly.Nick's temper is different. He is a self-igniting flame, which will grow stronger than the cause of the fire.I'm not sure what's the best way to go about it... If I followed him in apologizing, I'd only add fuel to the fire.But if I stay in the bathroom, he may feel ignored and have a new reason to get mad. I hovered in the doorway, watching from room to room, watching what Nick wanted.He went to the closet and roughly pushed aside the clothes to find the shirt.I decided to retreat and go back to the bathroom. My cheeks looked stiff and bloodless.I lightly swipe on a pink blush, but the color seems to sit on top of the skin and not blend in.My hands were sweating a little because of tension, and I didn't hold the brush properly, and I drew two blushes.I reached for a towel to wipe it off, and that's when the whole world exploded. Nick came back and cornered me, grabbing something with one hand.scream.I've never heard anyone scream like that to my face, let alone a man screaming, it's like some kind of death.I degenerate into an animal under attack, unable to escape in a daze of terror, frozen in place soundlessly and confused. He had a striped shirt in his hand...I somehow broke it...mistake...but Nick said it was destruction.He said I broke it on purpose.He was wearing this to an important meeting this morning and I said no sorry I didn't mean to but every word made his look even more murderous and his arms were thrown back and the world burned stand up. My head fell to the side, my cheeks were hot, sweat and tears flew together.A searing stillness.The blood vessels in my face swelled and throbbed. I slowly learned that Nick hit me.I stood staggeringly, my head blank, fumbling for the face that had turned from hot to numb. My eyes were blurred and I couldn't see clearly, except for Nick's disgusted voice. "You forced me to do it." He goes back to the bedroom. out on a limb.I can't escape the apartment.We only have one car.And I don't know where to go.I grabbed a towel, soaked it in cold water, sat on the covered toilet, and smacked my face with the dripping towel. I have no one to complain about.Neither Todd nor any of my friends could comfort me about this, it's not what a normal marriage should be like.Shame permeated my whole body, oozing from the marrow of my bones... I felt that I must deserve it, otherwise I would not have been beaten.I know it's not right. But there was a part of me, a long-standing habit, that kept me from spreading shame.That feeling had been dormant inside me for a long time, waiting to surface.Wait for Nick or someone like him.I smudged sentiment like invisible ink... in the right light the smudges come out. I waited without moving while Nick got ready to leave for work.I heard him call the Darlington Hotel, and I didn't even dare to move, listening to him tell the hotel that I had a day off today.My wife was sick, he said ruefully, maybe it was a cold or something, and he didn't know.His tone was sympathetic and concerned.The person on the other end of the phone said something, and he smiled slightly. "Okay," he said, "I'll take care of her." I waited until I heard the click of the key and the front door closed. I moved slowly like an old woman, reached into the garbage can to find the medicine bottle, threw one into my mouth, scooped up the water with my hand, stretched it to my mouth, and swallowed the medicine painfully. I found the striped shirt on the bedroom floor and put it on the mattress.I couldn't see anything wrong with the shirt, couldn't find a flaw that would drive Nick crazy. "What did I do?" I asked myself aloud, tracing the stripes with my fingers like grasping the bars of a cage.What did i do wrong? I was morbidly trying to please Nick.I know, but do it anyway.I rewashed, starched and ironed the striped shirts.Every thread of the cotton fabric couldn't be pressed more smoothly, and every button is clean and shiny.I hung it in the closet, checked every other shirt, lined up his shoes, hung every tie so that the bottoms were on the same level. When Nick comes home, the apartment is clean, the table is set, and the oven is warming up with chicken gratin, his favorite dish for dinner.I dare not look at him. But Nick came in with a penitent smile, holding a mixed bouquet.He gave me this fragrant gift of summation, petals rustling in layers of tissue paper and cellophane. "Here you go, sweetheart." He leaned in and kissed the cheek he'd slapped that morning.That side of my face was swollen pink.I stood still and let his mouth touch my skin.I really want to pull away and leave, I really want to fight back.What I want more than anything else is to cry. But I just took the flowers and put them in the sink, mechanically unwrapping them. "I shouldn't have done it in the morning," Nick said after me. "I think about you all day." "I was thinking of you too." I inserted the bouquet into the bottle, filled it with water, and couldn't cut and arrange the flowers. "Seeing you make my shirt like that was the last straw." I slowly wiped the counter, drawing tight circles with a paper towel. "I don't know what's wrong." "You're ten times more starched. I can cut bread with my sleeve." After a long pause, he sighed. "I'm overreacting, I know. But like I said, that was the final straw. There were so many other things that were driving me crazy, and seeing you messing with my shirt was overwhelming." I turned to face him, my fingers gripping the cuffs of the long sleeves like cat's claws. "What else?" "Everything, our way of life. The place has always been a mess, we've never had good home-cooked food. There's trash everywhere," he said, waving his hands defensively, looking at me. "Oh, I know, it's looking good now. I've also seen dinner warming up in the oven. I appreciate that. But that should be the norm every day, and if we're both at work, it's just not possible. " I knew immediately what Nick wanted.But I don't understand why. "I can't quit my job," I said numbly. "We need that salary." "I'm about to get a raise and we won't have a problem." "But... what am I going to do all day?" "Be my wife. Take care of the house, me, and yourself." He moved closer. "I will also take care of you. Anyway, you will get pregnant soon, and you still have to quit your job at that time, why don't you quit now." "Nick, I don't think—" "We're both stressed out, sweetheart. It helps to get out of the stress, and you get to do things you didn't have time to do before." Nick took my hand lightly and held it up to his cheek. "I'm so sorry this morning," he whispers, nuzzling my palm. "I swore I would never do that again. Absolutely not." "You scare me, Nick," I whispered. "You look like a different person this morning." "You're right. You know I'm not that kind of person." He took me into his arms very lovingly. "Nobody loves you like I do. You're my everything. We'll take care of each other, right?" "I don't know." My voice was hoarse and tense.My heart has never been so tugged, I want to stay, but I want to leave; I love him, but I also fear him. "You can always get another job if you want," Nick said reasonably. "But let's try this first. I want you to take some time off and make a change." I heard myself whisper, "Nick, please stop doing it." "Never," he said immediately, kissing my head, ears and neck.He stroked my swollen cheek very gently. "Poor baby," he murmured. "It's a good thing I opened my fingers at the time, otherwise you would have had severe bruising."