He turned toward Annabelle and turned the switch again and heard her saying, animatedly, “... and even your clothes look so much better on you, darling. And the double chin is melting fast.”
Michael squared his shoulders and tentatively patted his stomach. It did feel a lot flatter. “You know,” he said deviously, “that was a very sneaky trick.”
“But you’re glad, aren’t you?”
He laughed cheerfully. “Yes, and as a penalty, you can trot right out to the kitchen and whip up a batch of waffles.”
He watched carefully, and saw her smile fade. “Do... do you really want me to do that?”
“Haven’t I earned it?” he asked, and he thought that perhaps his tone was a shade too hearty.
Annabelle stood up with grave and quiet dignity. She went to the bookshelf, took out a slim black volume, tossed it at him. He caught it instinctively. She went out into the kitchen and began a hideous clashing and banging of pans.
Michael sat down and opened the black volume. Snapshots taken during the honeymoon and the first year of marriage. A lot of them. He slowly turned the pages and looked at the lithe stranger. Annabelle had changed, actually, very little. He remembered that the lean young escort had weighed around one seventy-five. Tough as a saddle. The arguments did deadly battle in his mind. George’s wife is a butter ball. Doesn’t care any more. Man digs his grave with his teeth. Strain on the heart. Weight gives a man a little dignity.
The image slowly, sadly faded. The plate of waffles went the way of the Cheshire cat, the butter disappearing last.
Michael went to the door of the kitchen, leaned against the frame, holding his dwindling stomach in. Annabelle’s shoulders had that ominous rigidity.
“On second thought, dear,” he said in his most casual tone, “I think I’ll... uh... stay on it for a while. Just... well... curiosity, you might say.”
Annabelle turned, and he saw the warm gladness in her eyes. For just a moment he considered the months ahead which would be filled with oceans of blue milk, mountains of gluten bread, and dreams that would be festooned with potatoes. But then, across the oceans and the mountains, he had Annabelle in focus, and she was still the slim utterly desirable girl of the snapshots. He grinned a little foolishly and took a step toward her. But Annabelle, arms open, came all the way.