Antlers
Mark had wondered what had gotten into his wife. Emily was
never that aggressive in bed. When she confessed, he faked a sneezing fit to
get away.
—Sorry. Must be my hay fever acting up.
Now, as he watched her sleep, he wondered what to do. One of
the reasons he had married Emily was that he thought that a vegan would never
fetishize his hunting the way some of his exes had. Trophies, they had asked
for: hooves, horns, teeth, anything . . . it disgusted him. He only hunted for
what he could eat.
Emily stirred. —Why aren't you sleeping, Mark? What's wrong?
—Just allergies.
—Poor you.
She snuggled up against him with her head in his lap, and he
began stroking her hair. What could he say to her? What about your beliefs?
Well, what about them? She wasn't killing or eating any animals. He wasn't
going to start hunting more because the thought of it turned her on; if
anything, he'd do it less. No, there was nothing to say. He loved her. That was
that, unless she asked him to put antlers on the bedroom wall.
Mark coughed a few times. Emily turned but didn't wake. He
lay down beside her and put an arm around her waist. He was going to have to
get used to the ropes.
Venison
It was disgusting, but Emily couldn't stop looking at it.
Every time she came into the garage to get a book or a box
of next season's clothes, she'd open up the freezer, and no matter how long ago
hunting had closed, it would be full of meat. Worse, no matter how far Mark had
gotten in the butchering process, all she could think of was Bambi's mom.
It had been one thing to respect hunting from a distance. Of
course it's more honest to shoot your own prey than to buy it, sanitized and
certified cruelty-free, from Whole Foods. But to marry a hunter and have the
carcasses in her home, to kiss a man who could hold a gun and end a life . . .
—Well, shit. What do you do when you're a vegan and hunting
turns you on?
Emily closed the door and called his name.
