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When he was younger, Jack Walten believed that his relationships would consist solely of sensuality and fervid sexual desire for the other individual, with close to little actual interpersonal connection. He figured that nobody in their right mind would care about about him in that manner. Furthermore, it was the only kind of attraction he’d ever known.
Until he met Rosemary, that is. She caught his eye in his third year of high school, and gradually, but surely, the two grew close. The girl wasn’t stereotypically attractive, but what the hell did that matter? With her, Jack caught himself experiencing a deep emotional affinity he’d never felt for anyone prior. He could talk to her about life, whatever was on his mind, or even his memories, both the proud and the shameful.
He was incredulous; he was gregarious, but there were some things even he couldn’t mention to people. With Rose though, he had no hesitation in saying what he felt. She approached their issues with the same considerate sweetness that had charmed him the first time they conversed, and with her, Jack had little to stress over.
More surprising, whenever she talked, Rose brought out the altruism and sensitivity he didn’t know he had.
He could listen to her talk for hours about practically anything, her vivacity and the enthusiasm in her speech was so enthralling. Anytime she laughed, it brought a laugh out of him too.
Of course, they were still intimate, but he enjoyed their non-sexual intimacy just the same; if not more. Often, they would just lie in bed, no intent other than to curl up and fall asleep in the other’s embrace.
Jack felt so at peace with her, and he could rest on her comfortable, chubbier form with complete sanctuary.
After the pair eventually got married, there’d be moments where Jack would sit next to Rosemary and be in near complete disbelief. He could still (without difficulty) recall when they were just friends, just two students trying to understand the feeling they’d get when they were in a room alone together. He had no idea what finally made them realize, but he was thankful they did. The years with Rosemary were the happiest of his life.
Little in their lives changed on finding out one day that Rose was pregnant. They (Jack specifically) were ecstatic. The man struggled with harsh difficulty to not pull the expecting Rosemary into a hug each time he saw her; after all, she held a precious piece of life within herself, a piece of life that was part of him too. More than once when he’d told her that the woman laughed; but, as she then smilingly stroked her abdomen, she murmured, “I guess you’re right, honey.”
More so, after the children were born, his love for Rose only seemed to grow. Even after so many years, she could still give him that familiar warmth in his stomach that fluttered like her long eyelashes when she woke up with the man she held so dear.
The one thing that changed was whenever they were in the house, and he and Rose expressed their infatuation in the form of a kiss, the kids would be there to sneer with revolted expressions, “Ewww, gross, stop!”
It wasn’t like he minded, though. Contrarily, Jack found their reactions rather cute; but what was even more cute were the reactions they’d have after Rosemary told them, “You say ‘ew’ now, but I’m sure when you find that special someone, you’ll kiss every chance you get” with the most teasing smile she’d likely ever given.
They’d disbelievingly roll their eyes and continue on with whatever they were doing, regarding the woman like she’d just spoken complete nonsense. Every time Jack thought about it, he’d lightly chuckle to himself.
They’d been precisely like him.
In his youth, it’d been all too common he’d regard “that special someone” as a corny myth reserved for pretentious poetry and schmaltzy romance novels.
The times when Rose would come and hug him by the waist, make him feel appreciated and at home however is when he knew that was a reality.
Looking into her eyes, or soul, as some writers had put it, their brilliant indigo would place him back into simpler times. When he believed the ultimate point of romance was sexual pleasures, and nothing more. When he met the girl who fundamentally changed that line of thinking with a simple chat.
It didn’t matter how many times he skimmed his eyes over her plump figure; it was like watching the most phenomenal movie for the first time all over again. The excitement, the way she made his heart race, the comfort, the awe, the joy, it was all still there. She was like a high that didn’t end.
Maybe that’s what made him realize.
And what was better was that she felt the same. Anytime she’d cry, she’d come to him. She’d trustingly grasp his arms while he whispered reassurances and words of support, hoping to once more hear the gorgeous cadence of her loud, enthusiastic voice.
It hurt his heart to see such a purely optimistic and doting soul like hers devastated.
But when she’d start to cheer up, he’d nevertheless keep her in his embrace, repeatedly kissing her forehead in an effort to hear her lovely laugh while the last few tears streaked down her face.
Subsequently, he’d kiss her ample red lips before he’d invite her to discuss whatever she wanted to talk about, calling her that nickname she’d grown to love so deeply.
Querida.
Even in her deepest turmoil, that address always got at least a smile out of her.
And when they’d lie in bed after a long day of work, holding each other much like they did when they were teens, she’d affectionately question, “I love you more than anything, you know that, Jack?”
The man would give her a grin, the one that freaked out everyone but her, and he’d whisper, “Of course, qeurida. I love you too.” prior to delicately kissing one of her rosy cheeks.
He couldn’t stress enough to her that he meant it.
He’d never forget the woman that taught him a different kind of attraction.
He’d never disregard the woman who sent him into a cozy, nostalgic ecstasy every time she so much as entered the room.
He could, and never would imagine life without her.