Chapter Text
Maryland, Baltimore, circa 1953.
“Good morning, ladies and Gentlemen- boy, are we glad to have you with us at Channel Six on this early September morning! Thankfully, we won’t be seeing too many surprises this week, with temperatures reaching a beautiful high of seventy-five degrees with the low looking to fall around sixty degrees. As for Tuesday afternoon, we may be seeing some light showers, so if you’re going out with the missus don’t forget to grab that umbrella on your way out of the house, she’ll thank you that’s for sure…”
Vincent’s somewhat static voice flowed from the television set in the living room as the missus of the house made her way about her morning routine. Her heels clicked against the freshly polished wooden floor as she went from window to window, cracking them open to get a slight breeze flowing through the house. Her husband, right as always when he reported on the weather, predicted a beautiful seventy-five degrees which would fill the home with a refreshing and cool gust of air, just enough to give her a pep in her step for her morning chores.
She hummed happily to herself as she leaned upon the marble counters in the kitchen, a pen in hand as she scrawled out a list of things she needed to accomplish before her husband returned home.
“Let me think… Theres the bathroom, the tub needs to be scrubbed…” She spoke quietly to herself, brows furrowed in concentration as she continued forward. “Then the oven, I’ll definitely need to get that cleaned if I’m going to make Vince’s favorite tonight.”
Mrs. Whittman paused momentarily, dropping the pen on the counter as she straightened up, running her hands down the front of her circle skirt before sauntering to the fridge. Her eyes scanned the contents of the ice box, her head cocked ever so slightly. Cream. They were out of heavy cream, something she definitely couldn’t go without if she was still planning on making Vincent’s favorite tonight- and she was. She sighed to herself, pursing her lips as she closed the fridge door, reaching back out for her to-do list.
“I’ll have to make a run to the supermarket today as well,” She muttered out loud, her gaze flickering from the paper to the ticking clock just on the wall just behind her, deciding to herself whether there would be enough time to make herself look presentable before leaving the house.
Regardless of her time constraints, she would need to look presentable before venturing out. She was Mrs. Whittman after all, and how she looked reflected heavily on her marriage to her husband. After all, the perfect marriage can only have a perfect wife.
It was nearly five in the afternoon when Vincent finally returned home from work. He entered their home to the smell of his favorite meal lingering about the house. His wife hummed lightly in the kitchen standing before the stove, donning the same apron she wore every day upon his arrival. A small grunt escaped his lips as he stepped out of the doorway, peeling his blazer from his shoulders and dropping his briefcase beside the wall with a heavy thud.
“You’re home early!” The missus called from her spot, glancing over her shoulder at her husband as he stepped towards her, loosening the tie around his neck with an absent gaze. “I made your favorite, why don’t you sit down, and I’ll get you a plate.”
Vincent did as his wife suggested, sitting down at the small round table beside their bay window. His eyes narrowed downward at the laminated wooden surface, his index finger tapping repetitively against it.
“Long day…?” His wife cooed softly, the clicking of her heels following her every step as she placed a plate in front of him. Her eyes were gentle as she set the utensils on top of a napkin. “You seem tense.”
Vincent was quiet for a beat, his eyes narrowing at the glass plate below him before momentarily glancing back up at her. “Long day would be an understatement.” He finally muttered, picking up the fork and pushing around the contents of his meal.
“I can make you a drink and we can talk about it, if you want?” She offered, a smile pulling at the inner corners of her lips as she took the seat across from Vincent, her hand finding his with a gentle touch. “I have some glasses chilling in the fridge.”
Vincent scoffed lightly, stress etched onto his face as he pulled his hand out from under hers, waving it absently. “Don’t bother. If I have a drink right now, I won’t be able to stop.”
His wife swallowed, nodding a bit as her hands returned to her lap. “You should tell me what’s going on Vince, it might feel good to get it out.”
“It’s this damn job.” Vincent retorted sharply, brows furrowed as he stabbed his fork into the casserole below. His movements were sharp as he brought the fork up to his eye level, his heterochromatic eyes glaring at the contents stacked on the utensil. “Bottom of the rung. A nobody. Not a single person cares what I have to say unless it has to do with which way the cold front is coming in. A no-one. A small and powerless individual. No one in the studio respects me.”
“That is enough, Vincent.” His wife scolded sternly, reaching for his hand once more, pulling the fork from his grip and setting it on the edge of his plate. She sighed quietly, reaching up to run her thumb along his cheek. “You are not small, and you are not powerless…”
She studied his expression momentarily, taking in the way his hardened gaze glossed over unamused with her words. “I know you want more. You’ve always been vocal about that, that’s why we’re here. But now? Just take a moment to look where you are, how far you’ve gotten outside of your career. Our marriage, and our home. Everything in here is a testament to how hard you’ve worked, how far you’ve come and how far you’ll go.”
Vincent laughed, running his hand through his greying hair, his hand balling into a fist as it hit the tabletop. “Right, because that’s exactly what all my colleagues talk about around the water cooler. Just how successful their marriages are.”
The two fell quiet, water dripping from the leaky faucet behind them. Mrs. Whittman let out a soft breath, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Well.. I don’t see why they wouldn’t.” She finally chirped out in response.
Straightening up, Vincent’s wife stood from the table, reaching behind her back to untie her apron from her waist. “You go ahead and finish up your dinner, I’m going to go finish up the dishes.”
Vincent watched as his wife stood up before him, hanging her apron on the back of the chair across from him. He closed his eyes, steadying his breathing for a moment to gather himself before finally taking action.
“Hey now, baby…” Vincent murmured, pushing his plate away as he rose to his feet. “You know I didn’t mean it that way, work has just been overwhelming. There is chatter from the executives about a new time slot opening up, so I’ve been burning the candle at both ends trying to prove my worth to them. You know I’m doing this for us, right?”
His wife pursed her lips, her hands rummaging around the soapy water pooled in the sink below her. “…I know, Vince.” She chirped, glancing back at him from over her shoulder. “I know you do, and I’m thankful for your hard work.”
A charming smile pulled at the edges of Vincent’s lips as he spun her around, wiping the water from her hands using the apron she had previously hung on the back of the dining table chair. “That’s my girl.” He chuckled, bending to place a soft kiss against her lips. “Now, how about that drink? I know I said no already, but the more I think about it, the more I crave it.”
Vincent’s wife nodded, her eyes following his hands as he pulled the tie completely from his neck, setting it on the counter beside her. “Sure, I’ll bring it to your study.”
“You’re the best.” He praised, his hand caressing the underside of her chin as he placed a kiss atop her forehead.
Without another word, Vincent took his leave, disappearing into his study as his wife began on his drink. Without a word, Mrs. Whittman pulled the chilled glass from the fridge and fetched the liquor from the top cabinet. She paused, her gaze estranged by Vincent's meal, it being practically untouched on the kitchen table
The sound of Vincent’s voice echoed through the house as the reruns of his Channel 6 weather broadcast played on the television set in the living room. “And that’s it for today on our Channel 6 broadcast. We hope you have a wonderful evening, and we get to see you all again tomorrow! Remember to trust us with your weather and broadcasting needs.”