Soon after my news was delivered, our table was ready so we grabbed our drinks and were seated. I remember having a great salad and a nicely seared steak, and chatting with glee about how I saw our future as we co-parented our kids and lived free from the shackles of our mostly unhappy marriage. I almost felt guilty to feel so happy. We drove home agreeing to file papers soon, to be amicable to the best of our abilities, and to be supportive of one another. It was surreal. It hadn’t occurred to me that two people who could not be civilly married could be civil as they unwound the life they had (kind of) shared for some years.
Upon our arrival home, I went to the master bedroom, and he retired to his leather lounger in the living room; our usual sleep arrangement. He preferred to sleep in front of the TV when he came home from the late shift and that pattern had started on the first week we got married. It seemed like a lie to even say we were married. My own parents never slept apart.
Sometime after I had fallen into a light sleep, a fluttering sound woke me a little. I opened my eyes as much as I could after three gin and tonics and two glasses of wine: was that my husband standing beside the bed? What is he doing in here? Naked? Is he crazy?
“What are you DOING?” I whispered. “I’m trying to sleep, here.” I tried to make my voice sound a little drunky and sleepy but I knew exactly what he was doing. How could I not? His manhood was only inches from my face. Gee, ya think? Frankly, I was trying not to hurt his feelings. The sight of his naked member wasn’t exactly thrilling at this point in time.
Amazingly, he had a little proposition for me. It was a night of strange announcements, alright.
“One more. Now. Why not? One for the road, our last stroll down memory lane,” he whispered back.
