Christmas Eve – Divabetic

12/24/202112/24/2021

Pink Champagne Christmas Story 10

My voice trembles for a moment. Now that I have told my husband about the painting, I passed the fork in the road. There’s no turning back. He wants to know where his new piece of art is. The excitement in his eyes makes my heart flicker. I feel it too. But my adrenaline rush is coming from the shift in our power dynamic. Suddenly I’m in control.

I managed to do something so unexpected earlier today. The realization makes me heady. I laugh, taking another sip of pink champagne. Could my insecurities that consumed my life from gestational diabetes vanish just as quickly as the bubbles in my glass? The confidence I felt as my old self was returning.

My. Jasper shifts uncomfortably in his chair. I grasp his hand and slowly begin to explain. Midway through my story, it dawns on Jasper that he might not be getting the painting for Christmas. I’d like to think either guilt or regret is the reason why his tongue is tied. I’m explaining to him how I found a lonely man on the street, a stranger, who would take the painting I bought for free. The color drains from his face. Earlier today, I took a photo with the man, assuming I would rub it in his face at this point in the story, but it’s unnecessary. Jasper feels the pain he caused me. His jaw is stiff for a second, then it relaxes.

Whether I ever decide to tell him that I saw him with her at the restaurant doesn’t matter. Jasper knows I know. He tightens his grip on my hand, looks deep into my eyes. First, he apologizes to me. Then he says,

“I don’t need another painting.” Huh? My husband doesn’t need another painting is the last thing I expect to hear. “I already have a masterpiece. It’s sitting right in front of me.”

My eyes fill with tears. My throat is choking with sadness and fear and regret and what feels an awful lot like hope, too.

Now, Jasper is looking at me like he hasn’t seen me in years. He sees the fierceness that he first fell in love with. The woman was so opinionated before slowly succumbing to the idea of what she thought Jasper wanted his wife to be. Searching my husband’s hazel eyes, I see my reflection. I found myself again this Christmas.

TO BE CONTINUED …

Click HERE for Pink Champagne Christmas Story Part 1

Click HERE for Pink Champagne Christmas Story Part 2

Click HERE for Pink Champagne Christmas Story Part 3

Click HERE for Pink Champagne Christmas Story Part 4

Click HERE for Pink Champagne Christmas Story Part 5

Click HERE for Pink Champagne Christmas Story Part 6

Click HERE for Pink Champagne Christmas Story Part 7

Click HERE for Pink Champagne Christmas Story Part 8

Click HERE for Pink Champagne Christmas Story Part 9

Divabetic Holiday Playlist: Gary Barlow’s super festive song, “How Christmas Is Supposed To Be” featuring Sheridan Smith. Gary told The Sun: “Everyone loves Sheridan, don’t they? She’s a great ball of energy and a great laugh. She’s just wonderful — and is a great actress and singer.

“We met in the wings of the Blackpool Opera House last year while waiting to go on for the Royal Variety Performance. She just said: ‘I’m a big fan, will you take my number and keep in touch?’

“So we swapped numbers and then when I wrote How Christmas Is Supposed To Be last year, I just thought of her immediately.

The song, How Christmas Is Supposed To Be, is about a couple who have a falling-out, they can’t do things right, it looks like they might split up.

The Take That star said of a new album The Dream of Christmas, “We were all trying to make Christmas feel good last year.

“It was a really hard Christmas for so many because of the scenario we all found ourselves in. So to try and make things a bit special, I started writing these songs

12/09/202112/09/2021

Pink Champagne Christmas Story, Part 4

Although they always say the holidays are always full of surprises, nothing prepares me for what I see across the room after our waiter takes our order.

The sound of a man’s laugh is so familiar it catches my attention. I glance around, trying to locate the laughter as waiters glide by with trays filled with mouthwatering delectables. Then, a shock hits my heart and explodes. I can’t stop myself from staring. Across the room, the man laughing is my husband, Jasper. And he is not alone. His arm is casually draped around the back of a curvaceous woman. She turns and kisses him on the lips a mere twenty feet away from our family. As if on cue, a strolling photographer stops at their table to capture their embrace. I watch as they inch closer together and smile brightly for the camera. The flashbulb goes off, and the image uploads in my mind, possibly forever. A wave of nausea sweeps over me.

At first glance, the woman isn’t his type. For one thing, she wears her hair natural. Her clothes are loud and funky, not muted or sophisticated. Even her hot pink nails are too long and too bright a hue to appeal to Jasper’s taste. Or so I would think. Of course, this woman looks lovely to everyone else in the restaurant. But no one else has lived under the scrutiny of Jasper’s eye for the past decade except for me.

I wonder if she is Jasper’s new Eliza Doolittle? He made me over, maybe he’s thinking about doing the same with her?

My mother’s first impression of Jasper wasn’t kind. She raised me to be a strong independent woman. She could tell that Jasper’s strong will would one day undermine mine if I let him. Deep down, my mother didn’t want my life to be like hers. My father made the rules for the rest of the household to follow. She wanted my life to be different.

My mother’s warnings about Jasper angered me. I didn’t listen to her because she didn’t make sense to me. When Jasper and I first started dating, I was very opinionated and vocal about it. I didn’t waiver or step down when he challenged me. He said he had never met a woman like me before. Jasper told me more than once that he actually admired my strong will and opinions. But my pregnancy changed me. For whatever reason, I let my gestational diabetes make me feel like a failure as a woman, wife, and mother!

Looking across at this woman with my husband, I see why I am sitting here. All my insecurities that came from mismanaging my blood sugars undermined my overall confidence. It’s just dawning on me what I allowed to happen. I grab hold of the edge of the table in an attempt to settle myself. But I can’t stop myself from staring.

It’s easy to blame the lingering doubts about my gestational diabetes for what’s happening in front of me. However, Jasper’s laser beam focus on his career is also a factor. The same drive and determination that initially attracted me to him now make my blood run cold. Memories of my own father’s absence in my childhood are repeated. I don’t want my children to experience my childhood. Their father needs to be a presence in their life. He needs to be a loving source of encouragement, not just a breadwinner.

Maybe that’s why I hate his art collection. Every time Jasper buys a painting or collectible, the art is stunning but what it represents is so ugly. Every masterpiece on the walls of our home represents more time spent with clients and less time spent with his family. It breaks off another piece of my heart. The twins are growing by leaps and bounds. I hate what his art collection represents so much that I push him away. So why did it take until this moment for me to realize this?

The crushing realization that my marriage may be over hits me. What have I done? I love my life. Why did it take this woman kissing my husband to see it?

My son, Darren, slams his spoon down and declares the hot chocolate the best in the world. The sound snaps me back to reality. I look at my two children dressed in their Sunday best and burst out laughing. It takes me a good thirty seconds before I can stop myself. Thankfully the restaurant is too busy with waiters and customers for anyone to notice. The twins look at me and smile. I quickly grab some whipped cream off my son’s hot cocoa and dab it on my nose. Suddenly being refined, elegant, and soft-spoken are the last things I want to be. Both kids are laughing. It feels good.

Looking at their two sweet faces with whipped cream mustaches, I see what’s at stake. Suddenly I know what I have to do. And I have until precisely 8 PM to do it. I quickly ask for our check and scramble to get the kids home. The kids don’t notice their father, and Jasper didn’t see us either, which means I still have a chance.

TO BE CONTINUED …

Click HERE for Pink Champagne Christmas Story Part 1

Click HERE for Pink Champagne Christmas Story Part 2

Click HERE for Pink Champagne Christmas Story Part 3

12/07/2021

Pink Champagne Christmas Story, Part 2

The way Jasper thinks he knows better than me about the finer things in life hasn’t helped our relationship in the romance department at all. I’ll be the first to admit that classical music, decorative arts, and art collections are not my forte. It wasn’t Jasper’s forte either when we first met. Now, he’s one of New York’s most respected “collectors”, and I’m scratching my head trying to remember the last time we were intimate. Go figure.

No one in my family brought art or real estate strictly for investment. I was brought up in a modest working-class family in the suburbs of New Jersey. My family didn’t have four-poster beds with Egyptian cotton sheets, leather wallpaper, a Lalique crystal dining room table, a Picasso hanging in the foyer, or a built-in pool. But I still managed to be happy. I loved my simple childhood.

I used to think it was cute when he schooled me about the names of artists, architects, and operas that are popular with the partners in his law firm. Back then, he’d even consult with me before he’d actually set foot in an auction house. Sometimes, he’d blow my phone up a million times during the day with details about an upcoming auction. But over the past decade, my husband’s love of art has become oppressive. It hurts deep in my heart when he lets an auction take precedence over our family’s needs. Missing a soccer game or two or a recital is understandable, not an entire year’s worth. He’s missing out on the twins’ childhoods and they’re missing out on their father. If you ask me, deep down, I think Jasper is addicted to the adrenaline rush from ‘winning.’ It doesn’t matter what it is – if it’s considered the best of the best, he has to have it. As a result, we have amassed a top-notch African-American art collection worth several million dollars. At the same time, I attend family gatherings or social functions alone.

He certainly hasn’t paid half as much attention to me as the Christie’s catalog for the Cox Collection that he’s been carrying around. I could shave my head tomorrow and I doubt he’d blink an eye. He’s too busy memorizing the province of each piece of art from one of the most significant American collections ever to even notice. When I remind him we don’t have any more wall space available for another so-called ‘masterpiece’, Jasper just laughs and keeps flipping the glossy pages of his dogeared catalog. I miss the days when he used to make me feel like the only woman in the room.

Is there anything wrong with a wife wishing her husband would spend more time looking at her than some silly art auction catalog? If so, I am guilty because I have gone to a lot of trouble to make our dinner at the Plaza Hotel romantic.

First off, I managed to get my stylist, Joe Murray, to squeeze me in for a last-minute appointment at his Hale Organic Salon. Jasper loves it when I wear my hair up, and Joe is the master of the updo.

Secondly, I found the perfect black dress online at Nordstrom. It’s off the shoulder, silky smooth, and the boning inside makes my waist look like it did before I had twins. My stationary bike workouts while our nanny, Carla, watches the kids have paid off. My legs look great in a shorter hemline. Thank you, Peloton! And Jasper’s Christmas gift from last year, a strand of pearls long enough to make Coco Chanel jealous, adds a touch of stated elegance that Jasper appreciates.

Finally, there isn’t a setting that’s more romantic than the Champagne Bar at the Plaza Hotel. The intimacy of only ten tables overlooking Fifth Avenue is only enhanced by the world’s finest champagne, caviar, and wines available upon request. Thankfully Jasper has already agreed to turn off his phone, so there will be nothing to interrupt us. Tonight will be just the two of us like when we first met. Two people in love celebrate the best time of the year. Plus, the Champagne Bar is conveniently part of a hotel. So if things go according to my plans and the magic of the holidays cooperates, Jasper and I may get a room. I already called ahead to confirm they have a few vacancies for tonight, which is why I took the extra step to ask my mom to stay overnight and watch the kids.

Click HERE to read Pink Champagne Christmas Story PART 1