It was hard when I moved with him to the city. I didn’t fit in with his crowd. We got to bickering; the resentment built up in him and I was no longer exotic but just different. Suddenly, he didn’t want different - like my dad with my Gran, he was embarrassed by me. It was little things at first – gibes and threats and then he started to beat me. I realized it was all my fault and all and I still loved him. I just couldn’t seem to make him love me any more.
Then I saw him out with someone else. Naturally she was blond and had those kind of blue eyes that looked as if the sky was shining right through her head when she lifted it up to meet his eager lips. That kind of did my head in.
I am thinking about my grandmother now, as I stand at the stove, stirring the pot of herbs. “I’m making some chicken soup,” I tell Alex. My eyes wander over to him as he sits carelessly reading the newspaper at the table and they darken like the night outside the window. I lift a hand to touch the bruises on my face and wonder if I inherited my grandmother’s desire for revenge right along with her old recipe book.
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