He huffs slightly, and I don’t roll my eyes because I don’t care about his inconveniences. I clip back our daughter’s hair and overspray her with hairspray. Then, order them to both get their fancy outfits on.
Henry needs help with his tie.
Suzy needs help tying the back of her dress.
They’re picture-perfect. I sit them in front of the television and make them promise not to move until I return from getting dressed.
“Mom, my lipstick,” Suzy reminds me, holding up the tube she selected in her palm.
“Oh, right. We’ll do it at the church, okay?”
I rush upstairs to put on my dress and add my jewelry. John is escaping the shower. I don’t look, nor do I feel weird that my almost ex-husband’s penis is swinging around in the same room as me. I’ve seen it for over ten years, and the dynamic we’ve created with each other has made our naked bodies very uninteresting.
“You aren’t ready yet?”
My gaze snaps to his. “No, too busy getting everyone else ready.”
“They’re old enough to get ready by themselves, though, aren’t they?” he asks, throwing on his boxer briefs and suit pants.
I almost laugh at how he phrases the question as if he doesn’t know what his kids are capable of.
“It’s a wedding, John,” I reason.
He shrugs, holding up two ties. “Which tie?”
“Burgundy. It’s a Valentine’s Day wedding,” I answer.
There’s a flash of pain and remorse that scurries over his expression. “Right. Happy Valentine’s Day.”
“Happy Valentine’s Day.”
Neither of us is emotional or upset as we say the words. We always thought it was a stupid holiday, despite my love affair with chocolate. I thought it was preposterous that anyone should need a reminder to give the love of their life flowers. And John always hated the taste of the chocolates inside the cardboard hearts.
But my niece insisted on a Valentine’s Day Wedding. I’m sure it will be lovely. And I hope her marriage is even better.
“I’ll go load up the kids,” John says, shrugging on his jacket.
“I’ll be right down.”
Life together has always been this awkward song and dance with no rhythm or passion for years. We’ve been walking in this routine of complacency for so long that we rarely misstep. But every time we’re forced to perform one more time, it becomes more and more abundantly clear that it’s time to find our own dance.
four
THEN
I LAUGHED WHEN HE OFFEREDto be my date at my sister’s wedding, but his expression told me he wasn’t joking. “Oh, you’re really serious. You want to go to my sister’s wedding.”
“I mean, I already know where it is.” There was mischief in his smile as he turned in the chair to face me square on. He wasn’t touching me, not even reaching, yet I still felt so consumed by him. I was certain he could swallow me whole if he did actually put his hands on me. I shifted on my chair, squeezing my knees together.
“You understand what that means, right?”
He just stared, eyes hooded, a knowing expression written all over his features.
“Like meeting my family...” I continued, dragging out the last word with trepidation.
His mouth dropped in dramatic shock as he held a hand to his chest. “Oh, you mean your family will be at your sister’s wedding? In that case, absolutely not.”
I laughed at his sarcasm, swatting his knee. “What does this entail? Like, are you an escort? Are you expecting me to pay you in cash... or...” My voice trailed off. I was entirely unsure of how transactions like this go.
