Thursday, September 17, 2009

Playing house

I hear the key and run (hobble?) to the door, sprained ankle and all. I get there just as he arrives. "Welcome home!!" He has brought flowers. I ask him about his day as I arrange the lilies in a vase. My roses in a little bowl. I have laid out tea. The little china tea cups, a dish of macarons. Didn't I do this with dolls once? I tell him about my day.

"What shall we do for dinner?" We walk to the grocery store. We buy a baguette. A bottle of wine, why not? We step on each other in our little kitchen. My hands smell like garlic. "Some more wine?" "I'll set the table" Spurts of conversation and a comfortable silence. I wash a spoon, feel the warm water trickle around my wrist. I read my book. I hear him moving around. I lie back on the slightly uncomfortable sofa. I look around. I close my eyes. Fragrance. Warmth. I hear him whistling a tune. I turn a page.

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