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“You wash, I’ll dry?” Wyatt asks, tapping his foot against mine to get my attention.
I feel myself smile as I nod. “Yeah, okay.”
I hand him a towel and start washing dishes, handing them to Wyatt once they’re clean. As I finish the last cup, a melody starts to play that I recognize. Wyatt remembers too, and he puts the cup and rag down. He turns to me, a small smile just beginning to form in the corners of his mouth.
“Hey, it’s our song.” He points to his phone on the small island behind us.
“It is.” I nod, turning off the sink.
The first verse of “Sun to Me” by Zach Bryan starts to play and Wyatt holds out his hand.
“Dance with me, Lucy,” he says softly.
I slide my hand in his and let him gently lead me toward the middle of the room. My arms lock around his neck and his hands easily rests on my hips. We sway to the music, Wyatt softly singing along. His voice is quiet, but nice. I lean my head against his chest, closing my eyes. These are the kind of moments I know I’m going to remember for the rest of my life. The quiet, mundane moments of dancing in the kitchen after cleaning up dinner. The feeling of Wyatt’s hands on my hips, the deep timbre of his voice as he quietly sings along.
I remember my parents doing this. I would come downstairs to find them swaying, almost exactly like this, in this kitchen. I remember sometimes sitting on the steps, peeking through the bars, watching them. And I remember thinking how much I wanted a love like that someday. One that felt like coming home, like peace. Love like that is so underrated.
Wyatt kisses the top of my head and I look up at him. He gently brushes some hair away from my face, his fingers lingering on my cheek for a few seconds before finding their way back to my hip.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks.
“You,” I answer honestly.
“What about me? You have a strange look on your face,”
I laugh and gently rest my hand on the back of his neck, tilting my head back to get a better look at him.
“You know, when I was a kid, I thought every love was like this. The older I got, the more I realized how wrong I was. Only the lucky ones get this kind of love, the kind that sneaks up on you. The soft, easy kind of love. The one that feels like coming home.”
“And that’s how you feel with me?”
“Yes. I spent a lot of my life thinking I’d never fall in love. Yet, here I am, being loved by you. And I can’t think of a single thing better than this.”
Wyatt smiles down at me and rests his chin on top of my head.
“We’re the lucky ones, aren’t we?”
“The luckiest.”
The song changes to something more upbeat, and Wyatt takes my hand and spins me, making me laugh. He starts to dance, and god, he’s horrible. But I’m smiling as I dance with him, even though I know I’m just as bad as he is. He throws his head back and laughs, and I want to make him laugh like that for the rest of my life.
A few more songs play, and we have our own dance party until my chest hurts from laughter and my legs burn from dancing. Wyatt grabs his phone, and we collapse on the couch. I reach for the remote and absently scroll through Netflix while Wyatt runs his fingers through the ends of my hair. I decide on a romantic comedy, because I think we both could use something light and happy tonight.
I snuggle up closer to Wyatt and he wraps the blanket around us.
“I could get used to this.” I sigh.
He chuckles and props his feet up on the coffee table.
“Yeah,” he agrees, “me too.”
Twenty minutes into the movie, he falls asleep. I sneak a picture of him with his head leaned back on the couch, mouth open, and hand on top of mine on his chest. I make it my wallpaper and go back to watching the movie. My phone buzzes and I reach for it, trying not to wake Wyatt but he doesn’t stir.
Mom:How’s it going?
Lucy:It’s good. It’s been nice to get away, but mostly it’s nice to remember happy moments with Dad. Little memories I’d forgotten about until this weekend. I thought it would hurt, remembering him. And in a way it does, I guess, but it’s a good kind of hurt.
Lucy:How’re you? Everything okay at home?
