The Extension.

The Beginning

The sun begins to rise as the light edges around my drawn curtains and the room quickly brightens as the rays touch all of the neutral turns that decorate the room.

Again my husband, Peter, has left my side before my eyes open. Bastard.

We met 5 years ago outside a quaint coffee shop. He was on his way to work and I was out exploring the city of Seattle as I’d only just moved there to start up my business. I was an aspiring property stager.

He was storming towards me on his phone, his expression angry and his tone of voice harsh but just as I began to observe the crispness of his suit, the olive flecks around his pupils and his extremely well-groomed combover, his shoulder collided with mine as my folders fell from my grip.

“Fuck!!” I growl as I drop to my knees to retrieve the sheets of paper that are scattered on the damp floor.

“Hey. Ugh god. Jesus Christ I’m so sorry here let me help you”. As you can imagine my anger passed quickly with his presence and needless to say 3 years later we were married.

It seemed romantic and almost film worthy. Eventually, I would be wrong.

After we wed, he’d been promoted to the CMO of a financial company which required a move to Pennsylvania. Without hesitation or discussion with me… he accepted.

At this point, my business was coming in steadily and I was making a name for myself around the city. The night he had announced all of this to me I was speechless. As questions threw around the room he shut me up quickly when his laptop slammed in front of me with a white picket fence suburban house for sale.

“It’s ours”. His selfishness was something he kept at bay until this promotion unleashed it. I was not ungrateful.

“Look it’s gorgeous, but what about my job Pete? I’ll have to start all over again realistically!”.

“At the end of the day this house needs a lot of work and with the amount of money I’ll be earning and the time it takes for you to do it all up you might not want or even need to work Cammi”. I’ve always preferred Camilla but this nickname seems to have stuck with him.

His misogynistic tone forces an eye roll.

At the time I was so in love with this man and really the thought of decorating and designing my own home from scratch is something I’ve always dreamed of. Maybe it’ll be ok.

2 years have passed now and it wasn’t ok.

I barely see Peter now. He’s up so early and back so late that our paths scarcely cross. I’ve been so invested and distracted by the remodelling and interior design of our new home that now that it’s complete I am left feeling empty with no real purpose. This house doesn’t feel like a home and I’ve become a shell of the ambitious woman I once was.

Part of me has considered starting up my business here in Chester Brook but this time I find myself too scared to attempt it again. The girls think I need a change of pace with pilates, running or swimming.

No.

Something I have however always wanted was a library area in my own home. We don’t really have the space so I grimace knowing it’s something I’ll have to discuss with Peter.

I call him. His assistant picks up and puts me through to him.

“Hey babe what’s up?”

“Hey, no nothing erm. I was just browsing through my magazine and there’s this amazing library space in this staged house, I know we don’t have the space right now so I wanted to…” I’m interrupted.

“Fuck it do it. Find a guy to build the extension, anything for you Cammi”.

I’m excited to get creative again and get started on this project but I can’t help but feel like he’s just throwing money at me to shut me up. The distance we have makes my gut wrench. Let alone the sex or lack of it. Peter was the first guy I’d been with that made me feel insanely confident and sexy. But it’s been months since we’ve been intimate and I couldn’t feel less desirable.

I fetch my laptop to scan through construction advertisements until I text my friend that lives back in Seattle for help. I ask her if there was anyone on her listings that she recommends building an extension.

She sends a number and a name…. Jackson Miller.

“Girl, thank me later, love you catch up soon”.

Her comment amuses me as I wonder what she meant. I search for him and quickly find his website. Simple, to the point, amazing reviews and stunning properties on there that he’s worked on. I send an email for a consultation with him.

Wow, that was fast. My laptop pings as an email come back immediately. He’s in the area and can come now if I’m available.

I’m barely presentable but I agree and scramble to shower hastily….

As I’m rinsing the shampoo from my lengthy auburn hair, my bathroom echoes with the ring doorbell tone from my phone. Fuck he’s here already?

I shut off the shower and here the garage entrance door slam. Hmmm… “Bye then Peter..” I mutter under my breath as I hurry to brush my teeth to race downstairs.

As my feet drop to each step I unlocked my phone to see a tall figure standing at my doorway facing away. I swing the door open and immediately apologise.

“I’m so sorry I was in the shower!” I confess as I’m tightening the fold of my towel under my arm.

Jackson is well over six feet. His plastered clothing was heavy but the trousers were tight enough to hug against his legs and his loose checkered shirt eventuated the broadness of his impressive shoulders. His messy hair of hazel locks frame his face as they meet the thick stubble of his beard, and a pen sat atop his ear.

Clipboard readily in hand I admire his edgy formality… or I thought it was that that intrigued me and I make a mental note to message my friend Lana later for her premeditated assumption of my thanks.

“Bye hun,” Peter calls out as he’s pulling out the drive. I wave with a false smile.

“That all huh?” Jackson questions, his eyes scanning me from head to toe. I’m shocked by his immediate awareness of Peter’s neglect of our relationship and it stunts my ability to respond. I just chuckle half-heartedly as I let him inside.

Did he just check me out?

After a rough introduction of my thoughts on the plans of the extension, his fingers scribbling into his sheeted clipboard, I offer him a refreshment.

“Ermmm tea, coffee… lemonade?” I suggest.

“Lemonade would be incredible darling.” I cannot remember the last time I was called that.

I prepare the glass and take the jug out of the fridge and as I’m pouring, he is across the kitchen island in front of me.

Jackson smirks and jumps off the stool to come around and meet me. I almost overpour as I feel his proximity closing in. His thumb swipes his tongue as he brings it to the side of my mouth.

“You were in a rush weren’t you.” I’m immediately set back by the surprise of his forward approach and he reassures me…

“Toothpaste.” His gaze doesn’t leave mine and neither does his flirtatious smile as he rinses his fingers under my tap.

“Oh shit… sorry. Ermmm…. here”. I hand him his glass.

The deprived sexual needs inside me seem to awaken as I watch him slowly take a sip and I try to remind myself that I’m married.