Allergic to Love: The Inhaler Switch

The day my husband's first love shows up at my house, I catch a faint, cloyingly sweet scent of gardenias in the air.

My genetically-linked asthma flares violently at the scent of gardenias.

As expected, halfway through the meal, my chest suddenly tightens. I can barely draw a breath before collapsing onto the couch.

My younger brother sprints into my bedroom like he's lost his mind, grabs an inhaler, and shoves it straight to my mouth.

"Tess!" he roars. "Why the hell is there gardenia perfume?"

Everyone panics.

My dad grabs a liquor bottle. My mom lunges forward, grabbing the woman by the hair. And my husband positions himself in front of her, protecting his beloved first love as she trembles.

Amid the chaos, I muster the last of my strength. I reach into the crack of the couch, grab another inhaler, take a deep breath, and slowly push myself upright.

I let out a cold laugh as I fix my gaze on the woman cowering behind my husband. "Finished with your little performance? It's my turn now."

The day my husband, Jason Lowe, invited his first love, Winona Lloyd, over to our house, the doorbell rang three times in quick succession.

I didn't move.

Jason shot me a look, his voice carrying that familiar impatience he always dressed up as concern. "Tessa, go open the door."

The moment the door swung open, an overpowering wave of sweet, cloying gardenia hit me head-on. It felt like something was constricting my chest. My temples started pounding.

Winona stood there in a white dress, smiling innocently. When she saw me, her eyes lit up. "Tessa, long time no see."

Behind her, Jason was looking at her with a kind of tenderness I hadn't seen in a very long time. That tenderness wasn't meant for me.

I said nothing and stepped aside to let her in, already feeling a faint tightness creeping into my lungs.

Jason frowned. "What's wrong? You don't look so good."

I pointed toward Winona. "Her perfume is too strong."

Winona immediately covered her wrist, guilt written all over her face. "I'm so sorry, Tessa. I forgot you're allergic to gardenia. I made a point not to spray any before coming out. It must just be a tiny bit lingering on my clothes."

A tiny bit? It felt more like she bathed in it. And sure enough, Jason said, "It's just a little scent. Don't be so sensitive, Tessa. Winona hardly ever comes over."

There he was—my perfect husband. I didn't argue. I turned and walked to the corner of the living room and switched on the brand-new air purifier.

It hummed softly. The red warning light started flashing wildly as the air quality spiked instantly. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Winona's smile freeze for just a second.

Good.

At the dinner table, it turned into Winona's personal nostalgia show. "Jas, do you remember back in college when you stood in the rain just to save me a seat? You ended up with a fever for days.

"And that time I got locked in the library, and you climbed over the wall just to bring me food."

Every story she told was a past I'd never been part of. Jason listened with a faint smile, his gaze drifting far away.

My mother's expression had already darkened. My father kept his head down, drinking silently.

Finally, Winona picked up her wine glass and stood. "Tessa, let me toast you. Thank you for taking such good care of Jas all these years."

She walked toward me, then suddenly stumbled. A full glass of red wine tipped at the perfect angle and poured straight onto my white cashmere sweater.

The icy liquid soaked through instantly.

"Oh no!" Winona cried, looking like she was extremely guilty.

Jason's first reaction was to steady her. "Winona, be careful. Did you hurt yourself?"

He didn't even look at me. The last bit of warmth in my chest went cold.

"Tessa, let me help you clean up," Winona said, breaking free from Jason and hurrying after me.

I walked into the bedroom. She followed, clinging like a shadow I couldn't shake.

"I can handle it myself," I said flatly.

"That won't do. This is my fault," she insisted, stopping by my bed. Her eyes casually swept over the nightstand, where my emergency medication was.

I turned and walked into the walk-in closet. Just before shutting the door, I caught a glimpse of her in the mirror. With her back to the living room, she swiftly pulled something from her bag—a small bottle, identical to my emergency inhaler.

Her movements were lightning-fast. In a blink, my inhaler was gone, tucked into her bag. It took her less than three seconds, flat.

I changed my clothes and came back out. She was still standing there. She looked at me with an expression that somehow managed to be both innocent and guilty, as if the cruel woman I'd just imagined had never existed.

"It's fine," I said coolly.

She visibly relaxed and followed me back to the living room. The mood at the table froze.

And I could feel my chest tightening. My breathing started to falter. The gardenia-scented perfume she'd so carefully "brought with her" was finally taking effect.