Getting to Happy Read Free

a day. Every single day. And not a peck, like that bullshit he gave me today, but a warm, slow, succulent kiss complete with arms I dreamed about when I was alone in a hotel bed on a business trip. Isaac is the best kisser in the world. And to date, the best lover I’ve ever had in my life. He was my Mr. Wonderful. I thought he was going to be my Mr. Once-and-for-All.
    There was no escaping the hold he had on me or the spell he’d put on me. After a year of complete bliss, I surrendered and said of course I’ll be your wife. When he lost his job putting up the fence along the Arizona-Mexico border because the company had gotten busted for hiring illegals, I wasn’t worried. He was only twenty-six units shy of getting his degree in engineering.
    Unfortunately, my world started shrinking not long after I married Mr. Wonderful. Since I didn’t have kids, I was used to doing what I wanted and going where I wanted. I ate out at least two or three times a week. Enjoyed going to plays and live concerts and dance performances. Loved foreign films. Didn’t mind the subtitles. In fact, I used to go to the movies at least once a week except in August, when the slashers came out. I loved reading in bed. Unfortunately, Isaac couldn’t fall asleep without the television blaring. Turns out he wasn’t keen on eating in restaurants except Denny’s and The Olive Garden. I never saw him open a book but he couldn’t get enough of Outdoor Projects or Dream Decks & Patios or Wood Magazine . He didn’t like taking bona fide vacations because it was a waste of good money. He was also afraid of flying, which meant everywhere we went had to be by car. We rented movies, except during holidays. Isaac also liked fish, so once a month we went to the aquarium. Yahoo.
    Last August, I flew to Chicago for the Democratic National Convention and was able to hear the young senator Barack Obama give a speech that sounded like it might go down in history. Flying wasn’t the only reason Isaac didn’t want to go. Right before the 2004 primaries, I inadvertently opened his absentee ballot. He had the nerve to be registered as a fucking Republican! I couldn’t believe my eyes. I don’t know any black Republicans. I was not only offended, but confused. I felt like I was married to a Nazi or something.
    “Of course you have the right to align yourself with whatever party you so choose,” I said when I confronted him. “But what on earth would possess you to support the Republican party, Isaac?”
    This was Mr. Millionaire’s answer: “Because they make sure we get the best tax break.”
    I left his ass standing in the bathroom dripping wet, since he was waiting for me to bring him a towel. So it was his dumbass vote that helped reelect that dumbass George Bush. Twice. I wondered who in the world I was really married to. It worried me.
    I can’t lie, I spent a lot of energy trying to give Isaac as much love as I possibly could as often as I could for as long as I could. Right after he lost his job, I tried to make him feel valued. I asked him to share his dreams with me. I listened. He changed his mind about getting his degree in engineering, opting instead for a construction management program. I paid his tuition. When he talked about all the things he wanted to build one day, I shared his enthusiasm. I also slowed down, said no to some travel. The Olympics in Australia was the biggest. I cooked almost every day. Washed and folded his work clothes. Took pills for car sickness. Everywhere we drove: “You see that sagging fence right there? That’s a sign of a rookie.” Watching the History Channel and This Old House was like foreplay. And wrestling: like witnessing phony cavemen perform acrobatics. I went to football games, which I didn’t like because it was violent and took too long to make a fucking touchdown. I went camping and fishing but I didn’t like getting dirty and putting stinky things on the end of a pole, and grabbing a wiggling