“I love you,” I said to Tom as we talked on Skype. “Most ardently.”
I thought he’d be moved. Instead he went, “What did you call me?”
I sighed. This is why it’s hard to be married to a man who doesn’t like to read. “I said ‘I love you. Most ardently.’”
“Did you make that up?” Tom stuffed M&Ms into his mouth. He’s obsessed with the candies.
“No, I didn’t make it up,” I replied. “It’s from Pride and Prejudice.”
I expected Tom to nod. I mean, hasn’t everyone heard of Pride and Prejudice? Instead he just chewed on his M&Ms and waited.
“Pride and Prejudice,” I repeated.
“Sounds awful,” Tom finally answered.
If things aren’t blowing up, he’s not interested.
“Mr. Darcy says it to Elizabeth and I think—” I begin.
“What kind of name is Mr. Darcy?” Tom interrupted.
“I don’t know. Ask Jane Austen. Only you can’t, because she’s, you know, dead. Anyway,” I pressed on. “I’ve always wanted someone to say that they loved me. Most ardently.”
Tom shook his head. “I’m not doing it.”
“Why not?” I demanded. Honestly, it’s not like I ask a lot from him. I only request simple things: such as dressing up as Henry VIII on Halloween (he won’t, he says there is no way in hell he’s wearing tights), taking ballroom dancing lessons (he’d rather kiss a toilet), and saying romantic things. Like I love you. Most ardently.
“I won’t say it because first of all, I already forgot the word,” Tom admitted. “Absently, was it?”
He’s lucky he’s in Korea. Otherwise I’d have conked him over the head. I find it amusing that he can remember all of Megan Fox’s films but he can’t recall a simple word.
“Ardently,” I corrected.
“Whatever,” Tom said. “Second, I won’t say it because if I did, I’d have to beat myself up.”
“It’s okay to show emotions,” I snapped.
“True. But not that way,” Tom insisted.
“Well, fine. I love you. Most ardently.”
“Great. And I just love you.”