“I don’t think you do.”
“Oh, trust me, I do. I just think it’s a little too late for that. Now, go hang out with your parents. I’ll be back down in a lil’ bit.”
She walks away from me, heading toward the bedroom. I hang my head and go downstairs to entertain my folks, hoping my mother is done teasing my father about flying.
Around five when my parents have simmered down, finally (thank God), and made their way to the guest bedroom for a nap, I walk to the back door, watching Cyn pace the yard withher phone up to her left ear. I know it’s none of my business, but it irks me that I don’t know who she’s talking to. More specifically, I want to know if it’s a man. Has she moved on from me? It’s another thing I hadn’t considered, because I haven’t thought twice about seeing any other woman, so I didn’t think she wanted to see anyone else, especially given the fact that we’re still married. I have always held out hope that something would eventually put us back together where we belonged, but the more time passes, the more a reconnection seems out of reach.
As she paces, she looks over at the door as if she could feel someone watching her. She waves me outside to my surprise. I open the door, walk out onto the porch, and down the stairs to join her.
“I love you, too. Bye,” she says to whoever she’s talking to.
A pain hits me in the chest. She loves who, exactly? I don’t want to jump to conclusions, but—
“Hey, um, so how do you think it’s going?” she asks.
I try to form a smile, but my face is tight with envy. “It’s going okay, I suppose.”
Who were you on the phone with?
“Yousuppose? Am I doing something wrong?”
“No, Cyn. You’re doing—um—” I take a breath. “The lunch was the perfect touch. Thank you for taking the time to do that.”
“It wasn’t a problem at all. Besides, I love your parents.”
Yeah, just not me…
“I noticed the wreath and the candles, too. Nice touches to make it feel like a woman actually lives here.”
She smiles. “No problem. Now that I know you’re good with everything, I’m going to go relax for a minute.We’ll probably have to order out for dinner.”
“For who?”
“Your parents.”
“Nah. Those sandwiches put them right out. Mom probably put one in her purse so she doesn’t have to come back down later.”
“True.” She grins. “You really think they’re down for the count?”
“Yeah. Travel is rougher on old people and babies. They’re done. Trust me.”
She laughs silently and nods.
Who were you on the phone with?
I don’t ask. I just stare into her brown eyes, wishing I could reach over and stroke her face like she did mine earlier. Instead, I just stand here, staring. Wishing.
I look at her lips. I remember their sweetness. Their softness. I’m tortured by more questions.
Who’s kissing them?
Who’s touching them?
Who’s touching her?
The thoughts make my skin crawl.
She frowns and asks, “You good?”
