They had talked three nights in a row, and gotten nowhere.
He said he had forgiven her, and she said she had forgiven him. Somewhere in the words and the tone of voice and the hurt and hope and mixed signals, she chose to believe they both meant it, and that they were only a step or two away from … well, from whatever they were becoming.
She’d spilled, at lunch with her BFF, venting her frustration and trying to convey how earnest she was, how certain, how ready to take things to the next level. Her BFF knew the whole story – about the mixed messages, the stupid mistakes, the near-misses – and expressed a belief that they really were good together.
It’s like trying to catch my own hand, she complained. It’s that way for both of us! I just don’t have the right words. And I don’t blame him for being on his guard, after the mess I’ve made of things.
Her BFF reminded her that he, too, had contributed to the mess.
I know, she had answered. And I really believe he’s in the same boat. He’s not exactly Shakespeare at his best, let alone under this kind of pressure. But I know he wants this to work, as much as I do. We just don’t have the right words.
And her BFF had sipped her Chardonnay, smiled that little smile of hers, and said, Who needs words?
She had gotten to work, preparing the most ambitious undertaking of her romantic life. It took her several days to work out what she wanted to say, and several more days to work out how she could say it without words.
Her rough draft was over-the-top, dramatic and flamboyant and, in the end, not very real. Her second pass, she thought, brought everything home.
He came through the back door too tired to be apprehensive, not quite distant but also not quite fully there. He didn’t notice the vast spread of raw materials and cooking utensils spread across the kitchen countertops. She intercepted him before he could get to the living room, easing off his jacket, hugging him warmly.
He started to speak.
Shhhhhhh …
She touched a finger to his lips. He frowned, amused. She waved a hand at the food that waited to be prepared.
He smiled, and started to speak again.
Shhhhhhh!
She smiled, too.
He started to speak again, caught himself before she did, and indicated that he would be back in a moment.
Returning to the kitchen in jeans and a t-shirt, having washed his hands and face as much to draw energy from warm water as anything, he grinned at her playful body language – she was clearly eager for him to get back, and almost bouncy with excitement over the evening that lay ahead. He put his own finger to his lips, at this point on board with the game.
No words tonight!
She handed him a bowl and a wooden spoon, and set him in front of an assortment of ingredients. She herself picked up a small saucepan and turned on one of the front burners on the stove.
They were going to fix dinner together.
We’re a team …
Not quite an hour later, the meal was spread out before them, a happy banquet with way too many calories and numerous amusing imperfections. She handed him two fresh candles, having him hold their wicks together. She held up a lighter, and lit both at once, then took one candle from him.
We share the fire …
They ate in playful silence, feeding one another bits of food, making a mess, licking each other’s fingers, sipping each other’s wine. Wordless was even more fun than words, as she managed to silently tease him over the vegetables she knew he only pretended to like. The dessert – decadent, messy, and eaten very much with fingers – was sensual.
The messages were many, until finally the meal was done.
Ordinarily the dishes would have waited. Leading him back in to the kitchen, she set him before the sink and started handing him dishes.
We clean up our messes together …
He dried his hands off with a dishtowel and she took one of them, interlocking fingers, and they left the house. It was a clear, cool summer evening, with lightning bugs and kids making noise in neighboring yards and streetlights just beginning to come on. They walked hand in hand throughout the neighborhood, till the stars were out and the crickets could be heard. Walking back toward their own home, they passed window after window, each glowing with the soft light of family.
This is our journey …
When they got back to their house, she led him to the porch swing, lighting a candle on the plastic table next to it. She brought out wine glasses and an already-open bottle from beneath the table, and poured them both a second glass. They sat quietly in candlelight and starlight, listening to the soft sounds of evening around them, the occasional noisy child not yet in for the night, the dog-walking neighbor running late, the moon drifting into view.
She gave him a wine kiss and nestled into his arm.
I want to grow old with you …
They lingered on the porch, the steady rhythmic creak of the swing blending with the staccato chirp of crickets, as the candle flickered and the wine disappeared. The peace was almost indescribable, and she felt so safe, so far removed from the terrible argument that had shaken them so badly last week, the awful things that had been said. She hoped he felt as comforted as she did – and, realizing that she could hear his heart beating, she searched it for signs of the same security she was drawing from their unique dialog.
She eased away from him and leaned over to the candle, blowing it out. Handing him the empty wine bottle, she took the glasses in one hand and his hand in the other and led them inside.
The walk-in shower had always been a luxury to her, but tonight more than ever. A single candle on the bathroom sink lit the room, and she undressed him slowly, encouraging him to undress her, and they took a long, slow shower together, each bathing the other … she led, with slow, deliberate movements, encouraging him into a sharing that was more intimate than erotic, reaching not into the depths of sex, but of bonding. They lingered until the hot water began to wane, and then she dried him off slowly, luxuriously, and he did the same.
We take care of each other …
… and it was again a single candle that lit their way as they eased into their bed. The usual frantic rush was absent tonight; in its place was a steady, certain pulse, working its way through them both and bringing them closer. She straddled him, her body glowing, and leaned down, taking his face in her hands, looking deeply into him, stroking his cheek, running her fingers along his neck. She reached down and kissed him long, finally surrendering to the fire …
I can be myself with you …
Their bodies merged again and again, with the tireless abandon of teenagers, and she wondered where the energy was coming from. It hadn’t been like this in a very long time … but the answer became clear, as they moved together firmly, fiercely, but slowly, not for ecstasy but for the oneness. In the back of her mind she knew that the rarity of these moments was more her fault than his, the usual rush, the need to be needed … and this deeper connection went unexplored, all too often. Tonight, there was nothing else.
In the continuous exquisite tangle, her rewards came in gasps, not shouts, and he was unsure of her satisfaction, as she drew more and more from their bonding. He paused and reached for the nightstand, where they kept her favorite playthings, hoping to bring her whatever she was missing. She stopped him with a firm hand, sinking into their deepest kiss yet …
You’re all I need …
Tears welled up, and she was on the edge of breaking her own rule. She rolled them both, with determination, putting him above her, wrapping her arms and legs around him firmly … her eyes wet, she dug her fingers into him, encouraging him with every move, every muscle, opening herself completely to him, to all that they were. She let herself become lost in the quickening rhythm, the force of his movements, her need enfolding them both like a shroud. Their common surge was like a cliff falling away beneath them, warm currents lifting them both into evening sky, and as they both trembled with shared joy, she was truly wordless … she couldn’t have spoken if her life had depended on it.
He held her long as the candle burned low, and all the things they’d said without speaking lingered like incense. Peace and calm slowly enfolded the moment, though her eyes were still wet. They sparkled as she looked up into his eyes, one final message passing through the stillness.
Forgive me …
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