Happy Wife Inc

The roses were sad. They had not been trimmed in weeks and the spent flower heads hung woefully, dried out. Carlisle’s new wife didn’t have an eye for that sort of thing. She had an eye for modern art, which now decorated their new living room, and she had an eye for expensive shoes, which lined the floors of their recently renovated closet.

Their gardens, however, had never been so neglected. Grass had crept into the tulip beds, the petunias – which were overflowing into the lawn – had as many dead heads as they had fresh blooms, last summer’s mandevilla vines were still wrapped around the trellis, dead while the fresh vines had started to creep up through the un-mulched, un-fed and un-watered soil. It was a wonder anything was growing at all. All the beds were reminiscent of the love and care so thoughtfully poured into them the previous season.

Carlisle looked at his new bride now, wondering if he had made a mistake. Her hair was well-kempt, her face bright and symmetric, her long legs flawlessly toned. She was, of course, exceptional. He had been adamant about nothing less. She was the newest model.

He watched her carefully sweep the patio, never once stepping off into the grass, and remembered a similar woman; a slightly shorter, less symmetric woman who would dance in the grass barefoot and sing her favorite songs in the wrong key. This other woman would add too much salt to his potatoes, would miss the corners when she vacuumed and neglected her fitness. Carlisle smiled at the memory. She would be sweaty and winded by the time the gardens were mulched, but with the widest smile. It was her favorite – and only – physical activity. His new wife preferred standing in front of a mirror with colorful bands wrapped around her legs as she followed the video Pilates.

A pang of regret hit his heart then, pressing on his chest and closing his throat up. Was it possible he wanted a refund? He mumbled something quickly as way of excusal and hurried inside to make a call.

“Happy Wife Incorporated, how may I direct your call?”

“I’d like to make a return.” Carlisle peaked out the blinds to be keep an eye on the woman – his wife – sweeping the patio to perfection, lemonade tray standing ready for her completion.

“I’m sorry, I’m not sure I understand.” The voice on the other line was happy, cheerful. Perhaps even a product of the company for which she was now employed.

“Returns and exchanges department please.” He rephrased.

“I’m sorry, sir, we don’t have a returns department. Would you like to speak to someone about a replacement or repair?”

“That’s fine.” It was the department who had helped him last time, surely, they could again.

“Happy Wife, Replacement and Repairs department.” A gruff, male voice answered on the second ring.

“I’d like to make a return, I’m not satisfied and would like my previous model back.” Carlisle preferred to be succinct.

“I’m sorry to hear that, friend, but that isn’t actually an option. We can offer an upgrade or replacement if a fault is suspected. Unfortunately, all trade-ins are final. What did you say your name was?” Carlisle could hear the operator clicking away at his computer.

“Carlisle Buchanan. I don’t want an upgrade. I sent in for an upgrade several months ago, but I’ve decided I no longer want it and would like to have my trade in back.” Carlisle tapped his foot, guilt crawling up his back – what would he say to her when she came home? How could he apologize?

“Mr. Buchanan, I understand you feel dissatisfied with our service. Could you perhaps explain the specific issue so we can try to find a fix?”

“I just – I want her back. This new model isn’t… She doesn’t prune the roses.” It was only partially true. It was the final bit of information that broke him down into admitting his mistake, but it wasn’t the real reason.

“You want her to prune the roses?”

“I want my old wife back.”

“Sir, we can program her to prune the roses.”

“I want my old wife back.”

“That isn’t an option in your package, sir.”

“I don’t care. I’ll pay to get it added to my package.”

“Sir, you misunderstand. We don’t offer a return policy.” The operator stopped typing.

“I want to return this model; I don’t love her.”

“Mr. Buchanan, may I offer you a complimentary exchange for a specially programmed model?” The operator asked gently.

“I’ll exchange this model for my original trade-in, please and thank you.” Carlisle spoke firmly, watching his newest Happy Wife Inc wife sip from her lemonade as she sat in the rocking chair, the sun dancing through the pergola to reflect off her hair. She was beautiful; cold, daft, and beautiful.

“Mr. Buchanan, your trade-in is no longer available.” His voice was soft but firm. “Should we explore the exchange program?”

“What do you mean no longer available? Bring her back from wherever you’ve sent her!”

“Sir, that isn’t exactly how this company works.”

“How does it work then?”

“We can upgrade your model, or we can make an exchange and work in a few additional features – like rose pruning – “

“You aren’t listening. I don’t want an upgrade. I want my wife back.” Carlisle’s palms were sweaty now. He was a paying customer, they couldn’t tell him no.

“Sir. I’m very sorry, but your trade in no longer exists in the form you remember her. When you ordered your upgrade and sent in your trade-in, she was decommissioned.” Carlisle’s mouth gaped.

“You mean … she’s dead?”

“We prefer much softer terms here, sir. It is just that, as a part of this program we need a base model to build on when we create our Happy Wives. Your wife, is still your wife.” Carlisle lowered the phone slowly. The woman outside, who would no longer walked on the grass, looked back towards the window. Yes, there was a familiarity in the way her eyebrows arched, and the way she held her glass. But what had happened to the easy laughter, the love of the garden, her soft personality? He held her gaze.

There, under her perfectly shaped brows, her eyes held his. They were a shade lighter then they had been, but the warmth and familiarity he had known for 15 years was gone. There was no gentleness, just a cold bitterness. A corner of her mouth lifted in a cruel smile. He lifted his phone back to his ear.

“Do they remember?”