John came home, and without even taking off his shoes or coat, blurted out, “Emma! We need to have a serious talk…”
And right away, without a pause and with his eyes wide open, he said, “I’ve fallen in love!”
“Well, well,” Emma thought, “looks like the midlife crisis has finally reached us. Nice to see you.” But she didn’t say a word, she just looked at John very carefully, something she hadn’t done for five or six years (or was it eight?).
They say your whole life flashes before your eyes before you die, and for Emma, it was their shared life that started to rush past. They met in the most ordinary of ways—online. Emma shaved off three years from her age, and her future husband added an extra inch to his height. This somewhat unremarkable effort allowed them to meet each other’s search criteria and connect.
Emma couldn’t recall who messaged first, but she vividly remembered that John’s message was neither crude nor flirtatious, and was tinged with light self-deprecation, something she found quite appealing. At thirty-three, with average looks, she realistically assessed her chances on the dating market and knew she was probably in the second-to-last row, at best. So she resolved to bite her tongue, open her ears, wear the rose-tinted glasses, lace lingerie, and slip a homemade cookie and a book of Turgenev into her handbag for the first date.
Their first meeting went surprisingly smoothly (proving that dressing the part really helps!), and their romance quickly blossomed. Six months of regular dates and parental pressure finally led John to propose, influenced by his parents’ despair of ever seeing grandchildren in this lifetime. Their families quickly became acquainted, and the couple’s wish for a small family wedding was readily approved. Wary of any changes of heart, they picked the earliest available date to tie the knot.
Life, as Emma saw it, was good. Their relationship felt tropical, with manageable fluctuations, no fiery passion, but it was harmonious and respectful—which to her, was happiness. John, being a typical straightforward man, shed the “sensitive romantic teetotaler with golden hands” persona just weeks after the wedding, revealing himself as a down-to-earth, hardworking man comfortable in his home sweats.
Emma, on the other hand, eased out of her “seductive intellectual homemaker” facade little by little. Her swift pregnancy sped up the process, and within a year, she happily retired her painstakingly constructed image, embracing the comfort of a cozy housecoat.
The fact that neither of them ran from the marriage or held grudges despite dropping their roles reassured Emma that she’d made the right choice and strengthened her faith in their little unit. Raising two children born in quick succession shook the family boat from time to time, but it never capsized. Once the storms cleared, they continued to sail the calm waters of their family life. The doting grandparents lent generous hands whenever possible. Both Emma and John climbed their career ladders slowly but steadily, without forgetting to travel, engage in their hobbies, and dedicate time to each other, staying within the bounds of the average couple.
After twelve years of marriage, John had never been caught in infidelity or even innocent flirtation, even though Emma wasn’t the jealous type, and he probably could’ve dared a minor indiscretion without sparking a scandal. Imagining John flirting made Emma smile, as the thought was both funny and absurd to her. The thing was, after several failed attempts to deliver compliments in the traditional manner early in their relationship, John had decided silent admiration (or was it ultrasonic praise Emma couldn’t hear?) was more his style.
Throughout their years together, Emma had learned to decipher John’s emotions by the wideness of his eyes: from sheer awe to mild approval, unexpected surprise, bafflement, perplexity, or complete indignation. She pictured John silently complimenting some rat, his eyes widening more with each silent approval.
Emma’s throat went dry, and she gave a nervous chuckle, croaking out, “So, what’s your rat’s name…?”
John’s eyes now really did bug out, and he stammered, frantically patting himself down to find words, “How? How did you… how… how on earth did you guess I fell for a rat?! You know, when I saw it, I was blown away, I just couldn’t pass it by… you have to see how amazing it is, so soft, so lovely… it’s just like you…”
John pulled a small gray rat with pink, translucent ears and black beady eyes from his jacket.
Emma heard nothing more. She watched John, his new little friend, their mutual affection, and felt endlessly happy that he had fallen in love with this rat, which seemed so much like her…
