then.”
“If he hadn't been, I'd have tried to get the rug into my trunk, just to get a rise out of the old bastard,” Tom said.
I laughed at the visual. “That's hysterical,” I said breathlessly, once I'd regained the ability to speak.
“Isn't it?” Tom asked, obviously delighted with himself. Twenty-four hours ago, this would have riled me. Now I thought he was cute.
“How do you feel, Tom?”
“I feel hopeful. I feel like we might make it.”
“Me, too.”
“I think yesterday was a turning point.”
“I hope so,” I said.
“We're getting new carpeting out of the deal.”
“So I hear. How's your face?” I asked, reaching to touch the ugly bruise. Tom took my hand from his cheek and kissed my fingers. He held my hand tightly and squeezed it.
“It's okay. I'm gonna go talk to Thurman, man to man.”
“I don't know if that's such a good idea,” I said, and Tom shrugged.
“We have to work something out, Mona. If we're gonna dump a lot of money into this old house, I'd hate to think we be driven out by a psychotic neighbor.”
“I'd imagine he thinks we're the psychotic neighbors right about now.”
“I should have left the rug in the yard with your boots sticking out the end,” Tom said, and I laughed so hard my head nearly exploded.
“You're a crazy man, Tom Siggs,” I said, leaning forward as far as I could. I pressed my lips to his. He winked at me and I giggled. Maybe he was right. Maybe we'd be okay.
“I love you, Mona. You know that, right?”
“I know, Tom. I love you, too,” I whispered, and my husband smiled. I couldn't imagine why I'd stopped saying it. It was so easy, this spoken reminder of the vow I'd once made, of the love I still felt. What kept me silent for so long?
“That place we were. Let's not go back there,” he said.
“I can't.”
“Me either.”
We looked at each other for a long while.
“We need to figure out how we got there, Tom. That's the key to making sure it doesn't happen again.”
“We will,” Tom said. “I promise.”
“I promise, too.”
“Why don't you come to Lowe's with me later,” he suggested, opening the morning paper.
“For carpet?” I asked.
“Yeah. Paint, too.”
Something flashed through my brain to my lips in one fluid motion, and my filtration system - heavily damaged by the hangover - failed. “You know, we can't paint and carpet over our problems, Tom,” I said, instantly regretting my words.
“I know that. I'm not trying to.”
“Okay,” I whispered.
“It's gotta be a gradual thing. I know this, Mona,” Tom said.
“I never stopped loving you,” I whispered, and he met my eyes.
“Me either. I didn't like you for a long time though, if we're being honest here. Are we, Mona?”
“Might as well.”
“You ignored me, and avoided me like I had the plague, and although I was a first class asshole for asking such a thing in the bathroom last night, I admit I was starting to wonder if maybe you were a closet lesbian.”
“Jeez,” I hissed through a breath, although I understood.
“I thought maybe with that Beth person.”
“Beth Mulpepper?” I asked incredulously.
“You always talk about her.”
“I know. She's my boss.”
“So, you don't like her?”
“Not enough to want to sleep with her.” I tried to maintain a serious demeanor, but images of an intimate evening with Beth Mulpepper started running through my mind, and I started laughing. I imagined Beth ogling me through her tortoise shell, coke-bottle glasses, and for a moment, I was afraid I might wet my pants. My laughter increased with a fervor bordering on hysteria. I tried to calm myself with a mouthful of coffee which I spat all over Tom's paper.
“Jeez, Mona. You all right?”
“If you met Beth, you'd understand,” I said through my tears.
“So, you're not gay?” Tom asked, and I shook my head.
“Not gay.”
“Good, because I was a little worried last night when you had to get drunk to wanna be with me,” Tom
“If he hadn't been, I'd have tried to get the rug into my trunk, just to get a rise out of the old bastard,” Tom said.
I laughed at the visual. “That's hysterical,” I said breathlessly, once I'd regained the ability to speak.
“Isn't it?” Tom asked, obviously delighted with himself. Twenty-four hours ago, this would have riled me. Now I thought he was cute.
“How do you feel, Tom?”
“I feel hopeful. I feel like we might make it.”
“Me, too.”
“I think yesterday was a turning point.”
“I hope so,” I said.
“We're getting new carpeting out of the deal.”
“So I hear. How's your face?” I asked, reaching to touch the ugly bruise. Tom took my hand from his cheek and kissed my fingers. He held my hand tightly and squeezed it.
“It's okay. I'm gonna go talk to Thurman, man to man.”
“I don't know if that's such a good idea,” I said, and Tom shrugged.
“We have to work something out, Mona. If we're gonna dump a lot of money into this old house, I'd hate to think we be driven out by a psychotic neighbor.”
“I'd imagine he thinks we're the psychotic neighbors right about now.”
“I should have left the rug in the yard with your boots sticking out the end,” Tom said, and I laughed so hard my head nearly exploded.
“You're a crazy man, Tom Siggs,” I said, leaning forward as far as I could. I pressed my lips to his. He winked at me and I giggled. Maybe he was right. Maybe we'd be okay.
“I love you, Mona. You know that, right?”
“I know, Tom. I love you, too,” I whispered, and my husband smiled. I couldn't imagine why I'd stopped saying it. It was so easy, this spoken reminder of the vow I'd once made, of the love I still felt. What kept me silent for so long?
“That place we were. Let's not go back there,” he said.
“I can't.”
“Me either.”
We looked at each other for a long while.
“We need to figure out how we got there, Tom. That's the key to making sure it doesn't happen again.”
“We will,” Tom said. “I promise.”
“I promise, too.”
“Why don't you come to Lowe's with me later,” he suggested, opening the morning paper.
“For carpet?” I asked.
“Yeah. Paint, too.”
Something flashed through my brain to my lips in one fluid motion, and my filtration system - heavily damaged by the hangover - failed. “You know, we can't paint and carpet over our problems, Tom,” I said, instantly regretting my words.
“I know that. I'm not trying to.”
“Okay,” I whispered.
“It's gotta be a gradual thing. I know this, Mona,” Tom said.
“I never stopped loving you,” I whispered, and he met my eyes.
“Me either. I didn't like you for a long time though, if we're being honest here. Are we, Mona?”
“Might as well.”
“You ignored me, and avoided me like I had the plague, and although I was a first class asshole for asking such a thing in the bathroom last night, I admit I was starting to wonder if maybe you were a closet lesbian.”
“Jeez,” I hissed through a breath, although I understood.
“I thought maybe with that Beth person.”
“Beth Mulpepper?” I asked incredulously.
“You always talk about her.”
“I know. She's my boss.”
“So, you don't like her?”
“Not enough to want to sleep with her.” I tried to maintain a serious demeanor, but images of an intimate evening with Beth Mulpepper started running through my mind, and I started laughing. I imagined Beth ogling me through her tortoise shell, coke-bottle glasses, and for a moment, I was afraid I might wet my pants. My laughter increased with a fervor bordering on hysteria. I tried to calm myself with a mouthful of coffee which I spat all over Tom's paper.
“Jeez, Mona. You all right?”
“If you met Beth, you'd understand,” I said through my tears.
“So, you're not gay?” Tom asked, and I shook my head.
“Not gay.”
“Good, because I was a little worried last night when you had to get drunk to wanna be with me,” Tom
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