The man lying beside me – did I remember his name? – cradled the pillow, snoring.
Morning sun peppered his three-day growth.
And then, he broke the reverie: a guffaw, long and low and rolling. His eyes opened. “I was just dreaming about you,” he said, sleepy-voiced. “What’s for breakfast?”
“Breakfast is not included,” I said, hospitality affronted.
I walked naked into the kitchen. Marie sat at the table, coffee cup in hand. She was as pretty as the day I had married her.
She set the cup down and pushed her blonde bob behind her ears as I pulled a chair out and sat opposite.
“When is this need for constant confirmation of your sexual attractiveness going to stop, Barry?” she said. “It’s getting a bit lame.”
“I’m not even forty yet,” I snapped. “So it’s got a way to go.” I stood up. And there I had been thinking how pretty she still was!
“I just don’t think this is the best environment to be bringing up children,” she added. And paused. A smirk played on her lips. And her eyes sparked.
I rushed back into the bedroom. “Get dressed!” I said. “We’re going out for breakfast – my shout. I’m going to be a father!”
I threw clothes at his startled face and jumped into my jeans.
Marie stood in the doorway. “Hey,” she said. “I’m just thinking of getting a dog.”
“Oh,” said the man. And a guffaw, long and low and rolling, escaped his lips again.