Um...hi
I'm new (as I commented on Juno_chan's story) and I thought I'd try my hand at one of these stories. I'm not sure how I feel about it, but then I never like my own writing and maybe other people will feel kinder about it.
Title: I'm no good at titles
Rating: PG (Probably actually G, but I'll be careful)
Spoilers: Takes place right after Bree tells Rex that he can't have any of the sandwiches that are for the kids' camping trip, so I guess spoilers up 'til there.
Bree van de Kamp stood in her immaculate kitchen, trying to keep from crying and trying also to keep Rex from seeing that she was trying not to cry.
“The marriage counseling might not work out,” she said when her voice was steady. “You’ll have to get used to bad cooking.” That was all he wanted from her, food. Not even sex, not really, not anymore. Not the beautifully kept house nor the clean, ironed sheets with just enough starch nor the late night conversations about anything and everything that had used to matter so much. Nope. Just the well prepared meals, and he had even complained about those before he had had to try to make anything for himself.
Rex van de Kamp sighed. He knew that it wasn’t necessary to hurt her as much as he so often did, but she had hurt him. He had loved her so much and loved her still, but living with her had become impossible. He loved Bree, always had, but at times he just-hated her for making it so damned hard to spend his time with the only woman he’d ever truly loved. He sighed heavily.
“Bree?” he called, biting the bullet. She turned, her shoulder length red hair brushing her soft green sweater.
“Yes?” she said, trying hard to keep the hope from showing in her voice.
“I’ll stay,” Rex finished. “If you really want me to. And if you make dinner.”
Bree paused to consider. She didn’t like the idea of his staying solely for food; she wanted him to stay because he loved her and wanted to be her husband again, but she’d take what she could get.
“Thank you,” she said evenly. Then, more quietly, the low pitched tones of her voice gliding over her words, “I’ll see you tonight around six?”
Rex nodded. He could hardly wait. She drove him crazy, and he still thought that spending three hours on dinner was a little much, but his wife was most assuredly a good cook. As he moved to leave the kitchen, he briefly considered kissing her good-bye, but then realized that doing so would be inappropriate. He had, after all, moved out.
At five o’clock, Bree stood in the center of her bathroom, gazing into her mirror. She was a pretty woman, and the green sweater she wore complimented her hair and her eyes, but, she realized as she smoothed an almost invisible crease, she looked just like what Andrew had accused her of being: a Stepford wife. All she lacked was a bottle of honey blonde hair dye to complete the look. How best to let her husband know that she wasn’t a robotic imitation of a woman but a real person with hopes and dreams and desires? She pulled the green sweater over her head, taking care not to smudge it with her make-up, and dropped it in the hamper. Then she walked into her bedroom and opened the second drawer of her armoire and removed a royal blue cashmere sweater with a wide V-neck, the kind of sweater that was meant to be and usually worn over a blouse, the collar and cuffs neatly tucked outside the soft wool. Foregoing the blouse, Bree pulled the blue sweater over her head, once again taking care not to let it touch her made up face and considered her reflection. Much better, she thought, then frowned. Alone, this sweater dipped too low in the front, and the tops of the cups of her pale pink bra were visible. Bree opened the top drawer of her armoire and sifted through undergarments until she found and almost ridiculously skimpy white lace set that she had worn only once under a white sundress three years earlier. Suddenly, she decided to change entirely and switched her plain khaki pants for a pair of slim fitting, perfectly pressed white slacks. She briefly considered tousling her perfect, perfectly flipped hair, but she knew that that would be too obvious.
The bell rang at precisely six, and Bree, outfitted in her apron and oven mitts, went to answer the door. There was her husband, politely ringing the doorbell because their house wasn’t where he lived any longer.
“Hello, Rex,” she said pleasantly. “Make yourself at home,” she added, and now there was a slight edge to her voice. “Dinner’s almost ready.” He could tell. It smelled wonderful.
He glanced at the dining room table and saw that Bree had not set their usual places.
“It seemed pointless to have to raise our voices to hear each other when Andrew and Danielle aren’t home,” she called from the kitchen. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“No, that’s fine,” Rex said coolly. She reappeared, carrying a large dish.
“Do you need any help?” he asked, knowing full well that Bree wouldn’t let him help her, but asking anyway.
“No, thank you,” she said, and though her voice was casual her eyes almost smiled. She carefully served them both, then disappeared, returning stripped of her apron and oven mitts and carrying a bottle of merlot.
Bree had pulled out all stops tonight. She knew that the only card she had left to play was her cooking, and though seduction-by-food was supposed to be easy, it really wasn’t. It had in fact taken her longer to sit down and think about everything that she knew that Rex liked, carefully making up a meal, than it had to actually prepare the meal. Now she barely tasted her food, though she ate steadily, for she was too busy trying to gauge his reaction.
It was fun seeing her husband’s face light up and hearing the sounds of almost erotic pleasure coming from his mouth. Certainly it was worth the hours she had spent making dinner if for once she had managed to please Rex.
“This is delicious,” he said, glancing at her and, smiling, she returned to her own plate and began to eat with real enjoyment rather than obligatory motions.
“Thank you.” And as she leaned over to reach for the pepper, she felt his eyes scan over her bare neck to the low neckline of her sweater and smiled inwardly.
“That’s not what you were wearing this morning,” he commented.
“No, it’s not,” she agreed. “I, uh, I spilled some sauce on my sweater and I had to rinse it out.”
“You spilled?” he queried, smirking in disbelief.
“Yes, I did,” Bree replied evenly. “If you’d rather I wore the other sweater, anyway, I’d be glad to change, but it’s wet and I’ll hold you entirely accountable if I catch cold.”
Rex paused for a second, imagining his wife in a wet and clinging top. He hadn’t seen her in wet clothes in years…in fact, despite the fact that, until recently, they had shared a bedroom and a bathroom, he hadn’t even seen her hair wet in years.
“No, no…” he said, and smiled. “You look nice.” Her face broke into a smile of pure happiness, and he felt guilty as he wondered how long it had been since he’d mentioned how pretty she was. Because she was certainly a beautiful woman, though it was easy to forget just how beautiful she was during the day-to-day actions of their life. His eyes raked over the beautiful red hair that framed her pretty face, sliding down quickly to her perfect figure and then back up to her face as he watched her eat, and suddenly a concern popped into his head.
How long had it been since she’d kissed him?
Not any time since he’d moved out, certainly. There were the obligatory pecks on the cheek, no more than brushing her lips against his face for people to see.
The day of Mary Alice Young’s funeral. That was it. She had straightened his tie and he had thanked her, and then she had used the tie to pull him to her and kissed him gently.
How long had it been since he’d kissed her?
That was harder to figure out. As the past few months whizzed by in his mind, he was reminded of what Dr. Goldfine had said, that it takes two to tango. Sure, he still blamed her for the collapse of their marriage. He had tried his best to be a good husband for her, and she had tried to be a good wife for the neighbors. There were days when he just wanted to run up and down Wisteria Lane calling out for all to hear, “I don’t care!”
But he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d kissed his wife. Clearly, he hadn’t been trying hard enough.
Suddenly, Rex stood up. He tucked his chair back in behind him and walked over to Bree. She looked up at him, surprised, and he planted a firm kiss on her mouth before walking back to his place, pulling out his chair, and sitting back down.
“What was that for?” she asked.
“When was the last time I kissed you?” he returned.
“Andrew’s last birthday,” she said promptly. “When you thanked me for having given you our son.” Rex’s face showed immediate confusion.
“Well, you were rather inebriated,” Bree continued. “Dinner hadn’t exactly gone over well.”
“Oh. I hadn’t remembered.”
“Yes. Well. That was when you last kissed me.”
“Andrew’s birthday was months ago.”
“I know. I was there.” There was a slight acidity to her voice, a sharp reminder that if their marriage was over, Rex had at least played some role in its downfall.
“I always wanted to be a good husband.”
“Then come back,” she said suddenly, her voice full of warmth. “Come back and live with us and we’ll try to make things work out.”
He looked at her hesitantly, wanting so much to say yes but knowing full well what the outcome would be.
Title: I'm no good at titles
Rating: PG (Probably actually G, but I'll be careful)
Spoilers: Takes place right after Bree tells Rex that he can't have any of the sandwiches that are for the kids' camping trip, so I guess spoilers up 'til there.
Bree van de Kamp stood in her immaculate kitchen, trying to keep from crying and trying also to keep Rex from seeing that she was trying not to cry.
“The marriage counseling might not work out,” she said when her voice was steady. “You’ll have to get used to bad cooking.” That was all he wanted from her, food. Not even sex, not really, not anymore. Not the beautifully kept house nor the clean, ironed sheets with just enough starch nor the late night conversations about anything and everything that had used to matter so much. Nope. Just the well prepared meals, and he had even complained about those before he had had to try to make anything for himself.
Rex van de Kamp sighed. He knew that it wasn’t necessary to hurt her as much as he so often did, but she had hurt him. He had loved her so much and loved her still, but living with her had become impossible. He loved Bree, always had, but at times he just-hated her for making it so damned hard to spend his time with the only woman he’d ever truly loved. He sighed heavily.
“Bree?” he called, biting the bullet. She turned, her shoulder length red hair brushing her soft green sweater.
“Yes?” she said, trying hard to keep the hope from showing in her voice.
“I’ll stay,” Rex finished. “If you really want me to. And if you make dinner.”
Bree paused to consider. She didn’t like the idea of his staying solely for food; she wanted him to stay because he loved her and wanted to be her husband again, but she’d take what she could get.
“Thank you,” she said evenly. Then, more quietly, the low pitched tones of her voice gliding over her words, “I’ll see you tonight around six?”
Rex nodded. He could hardly wait. She drove him crazy, and he still thought that spending three hours on dinner was a little much, but his wife was most assuredly a good cook. As he moved to leave the kitchen, he briefly considered kissing her good-bye, but then realized that doing so would be inappropriate. He had, after all, moved out.
At five o’clock, Bree stood in the center of her bathroom, gazing into her mirror. She was a pretty woman, and the green sweater she wore complimented her hair and her eyes, but, she realized as she smoothed an almost invisible crease, she looked just like what Andrew had accused her of being: a Stepford wife. All she lacked was a bottle of honey blonde hair dye to complete the look. How best to let her husband know that she wasn’t a robotic imitation of a woman but a real person with hopes and dreams and desires? She pulled the green sweater over her head, taking care not to smudge it with her make-up, and dropped it in the hamper. Then she walked into her bedroom and opened the second drawer of her armoire and removed a royal blue cashmere sweater with a wide V-neck, the kind of sweater that was meant to be and usually worn over a blouse, the collar and cuffs neatly tucked outside the soft wool. Foregoing the blouse, Bree pulled the blue sweater over her head, once again taking care not to let it touch her made up face and considered her reflection. Much better, she thought, then frowned. Alone, this sweater dipped too low in the front, and the tops of the cups of her pale pink bra were visible. Bree opened the top drawer of her armoire and sifted through undergarments until she found and almost ridiculously skimpy white lace set that she had worn only once under a white sundress three years earlier. Suddenly, she decided to change entirely and switched her plain khaki pants for a pair of slim fitting, perfectly pressed white slacks. She briefly considered tousling her perfect, perfectly flipped hair, but she knew that that would be too obvious.
The bell rang at precisely six, and Bree, outfitted in her apron and oven mitts, went to answer the door. There was her husband, politely ringing the doorbell because their house wasn’t where he lived any longer.
“Hello, Rex,” she said pleasantly. “Make yourself at home,” she added, and now there was a slight edge to her voice. “Dinner’s almost ready.” He could tell. It smelled wonderful.
He glanced at the dining room table and saw that Bree had not set their usual places.
“It seemed pointless to have to raise our voices to hear each other when Andrew and Danielle aren’t home,” she called from the kitchen. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“No, that’s fine,” Rex said coolly. She reappeared, carrying a large dish.
“Do you need any help?” he asked, knowing full well that Bree wouldn’t let him help her, but asking anyway.
“No, thank you,” she said, and though her voice was casual her eyes almost smiled. She carefully served them both, then disappeared, returning stripped of her apron and oven mitts and carrying a bottle of merlot.
Bree had pulled out all stops tonight. She knew that the only card she had left to play was her cooking, and though seduction-by-food was supposed to be easy, it really wasn’t. It had in fact taken her longer to sit down and think about everything that she knew that Rex liked, carefully making up a meal, than it had to actually prepare the meal. Now she barely tasted her food, though she ate steadily, for she was too busy trying to gauge his reaction.
It was fun seeing her husband’s face light up and hearing the sounds of almost erotic pleasure coming from his mouth. Certainly it was worth the hours she had spent making dinner if for once she had managed to please Rex.
“This is delicious,” he said, glancing at her and, smiling, she returned to her own plate and began to eat with real enjoyment rather than obligatory motions.
“Thank you.” And as she leaned over to reach for the pepper, she felt his eyes scan over her bare neck to the low neckline of her sweater and smiled inwardly.
“That’s not what you were wearing this morning,” he commented.
“No, it’s not,” she agreed. “I, uh, I spilled some sauce on my sweater and I had to rinse it out.”
“You spilled?” he queried, smirking in disbelief.
“Yes, I did,” Bree replied evenly. “If you’d rather I wore the other sweater, anyway, I’d be glad to change, but it’s wet and I’ll hold you entirely accountable if I catch cold.”
Rex paused for a second, imagining his wife in a wet and clinging top. He hadn’t seen her in wet clothes in years…in fact, despite the fact that, until recently, they had shared a bedroom and a bathroom, he hadn’t even seen her hair wet in years.
“No, no…” he said, and smiled. “You look nice.” Her face broke into a smile of pure happiness, and he felt guilty as he wondered how long it had been since he’d mentioned how pretty she was. Because she was certainly a beautiful woman, though it was easy to forget just how beautiful she was during the day-to-day actions of their life. His eyes raked over the beautiful red hair that framed her pretty face, sliding down quickly to her perfect figure and then back up to her face as he watched her eat, and suddenly a concern popped into his head.
How long had it been since she’d kissed him?
Not any time since he’d moved out, certainly. There were the obligatory pecks on the cheek, no more than brushing her lips against his face for people to see.
The day of Mary Alice Young’s funeral. That was it. She had straightened his tie and he had thanked her, and then she had used the tie to pull him to her and kissed him gently.
How long had it been since he’d kissed her?
That was harder to figure out. As the past few months whizzed by in his mind, he was reminded of what Dr. Goldfine had said, that it takes two to tango. Sure, he still blamed her for the collapse of their marriage. He had tried his best to be a good husband for her, and she had tried to be a good wife for the neighbors. There were days when he just wanted to run up and down Wisteria Lane calling out for all to hear, “I don’t care!”
But he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d kissed his wife. Clearly, he hadn’t been trying hard enough.
Suddenly, Rex stood up. He tucked his chair back in behind him and walked over to Bree. She looked up at him, surprised, and he planted a firm kiss on her mouth before walking back to his place, pulling out his chair, and sitting back down.
“What was that for?” she asked.
“When was the last time I kissed you?” he returned.
“Andrew’s last birthday,” she said promptly. “When you thanked me for having given you our son.” Rex’s face showed immediate confusion.
“Well, you were rather inebriated,” Bree continued. “Dinner hadn’t exactly gone over well.”
“Oh. I hadn’t remembered.”
“Yes. Well. That was when you last kissed me.”
“Andrew’s birthday was months ago.”
“I know. I was there.” There was a slight acidity to her voice, a sharp reminder that if their marriage was over, Rex had at least played some role in its downfall.
“I always wanted to be a good husband.”
“Then come back,” she said suddenly, her voice full of warmth. “Come back and live with us and we’ll try to make things work out.”
He looked at her hesitantly, wanting so much to say yes but knowing full well what the outcome would be.