8 #2
“That smells great.” Dale returns from the bathroom wearing a gray T-shirt and 501s that hug his waist just right. He’s got a long flat box in his hands, cream colored, tied with a dark red ribbon. “You got out of bed so fast this morning I didn’t get a chance to give you your next Christmas gift.”
Interesting. I thought he was just talking about sex. But this looks like a real gift, something he spent actual money on. I take it gently in my hands.
“Go on, open it!” He smiles.
My pulse races as I slide the ribbon off and lift the lid. A dress sits nestled in shimmery blue tissue paper. It’s breathtaking—dark, sleek, bespoke. It’s the kind of high fashion dress I’ve only ever seen on red carpets or trending Instagram posts. I peek at the label and gasp.
“I can’t accept this,” I exclaim. “This is couture. It must’ve cost an obscene amount of money.”
“It’s handled.” He gives a subtle nod. “The label covered everything. But I chose it. I wanted you to have something worthy of you.”
The word worthy lands heavier than the dress itself.
I study Dale and the quiet, triumphant smile on his face as he studies me appreciating his gift. It’s like the old days when he would show me chords to a new song, or a new dish he found that I could take pictures of. He would get quiet like he is now and watch me closely to see if I was pleased.
And I am. As I stare at this dress that looks like it’s from the pages of a fashion shoot, I can’t help remembering a sundress he once bought me from a clearance rack because it reminded him of a summer when we were so happy. I wore that red dress until it frayed at the hem.
Those early days of our relationship. That love had been real. Simple. Safe.
This feels like a version of that love. But stronger, steadier, sexier. I watch as his eyes darken. My pulse races. This must be the reason I wanted to marry this man.
Dale’s fingers graze my waist as he steps closer—barely a touch, more suggestion than contact. My breath stutters.
“I think you look sexy in anything. You look sexy in your big T-shirt right now, but I won’t be able to take my eyes off you in this dress tonight.
” His lips press against mine. The kiss is confident, hungry in a way that sends a shiver racing down my spine.
His hands drift gently down my back till they are just above my ass.
Despite the scent of soap, he still smells like the greasy pomade he douses on his hair.
It takes me back to post-gig after-parties.
Catching looks of envy from his fans as we did far more than was appropriate for dark bar corners.
He pushes my big Cobra Strike T-shirt out of the way and skims his fingers over the thin strip of skin above my waistband. “You’re so sexy in the morning, you know that?” he whispers in my ear, his skin still warm from his shower.
My phone rings from where I left it on the countertop, snapping me back to reality.
“Ignore it,” he says gruffly in my ear. Oh, I remember how that voice used to get me to do literally anything. But not this morning. Not when I haven’t heard from my family and I don’t even really know where or when I am.
I pull back.
“I’m not comfortable hooking up with you while he’s in the room,” I say with a smirk, squirming out of his arms and gesturing at the life-size plush doll, who has been watching benignly from the corner.
“He’s harmless!” Dale whines after me good naturedly while I dive for my phone.
My heart leaps. A picture of Juliet fills my screen.
“Happy holidays!” I shout-answer the call. “I’m so happy to hear from you!”
The silence on the other side makes me nervous.
“Cuz?” I ask. Did I lose her?
“I’m here, I’m here.” Juliet’s voice fills me with relief. She laughs nervously. “I saw your text earlier.”
“My SOS!” I say, not even caring that Dale might overhear.
“Yeah.” She pauses. “It’s been a while since you texted me that. You haven’t needed me that much lately.”
Now it’s my turn to pause. “I always need you.”
“It doesn’t seem like it these days,” she says, her voice strangely distant. “You’ve been hard to track down.”
That can’t be true, can it? Juliet’s my BBFF, I’d always need her.
“Babe,” Dale interrupts from where he’s still standing over the stovetop, “where are the pancakes?”
“Hang on, Juliet.” I look over at him. “What?”
“Remember we bought the pancake mix?” he says, starting to go through the cabinets. “You said you’d make them for me. For good luck.”
“I’m talking to my cousin,” I say. “Can’t you make them yourself?”
He frowns and pulls the box of pancake mix from a cupboard.
“The instructions are right on the side,” I say. “I’ll help when I’m done talking with my family.”
Leaving Dale to his pancakes in the kitchen, I hurry into the living room, tucking myself between a stuffed cobra and a pillow sham with Dale’s face on it, and switch my phone to FaceTime.
“Is Dale cooking?” Juliet muses. “Remember a year ago you were worried you couldn’t bring anyone home for dinner?”
I take a deep breath. My phone confirmed the year, yet hearing Juliet acknowledge the time jump makes it even more real. Silverware jangles in the kitchen, reminding me of Madam Lunas. I grip my phone tight.
There’s cooing and baby babble in the background. My eyes water. Of course if it’s the future, Juliet will have had her baby.
“Juliet, I wish I was there to meet your baby,” I say, trying to keep it together.