Page 38 of The Marriage Game

“What? No!” I say quickly. “Of course I still love you.”

“And I love you,” he agrees, the words holding fact, but lacking passion.

“Well then, there you go,” I say, sitting back in my chair. “Clearly Dorothy has no idea what she’s talking about.”

“Clearly,” he agrees. Silence settles back over us. Anyway, it’s not as if marriages are built on passion, I decide as I pick my menu back up. Sure they start with passion, but that only lasts so long. What Max and I have is a good, solid foundation of…something. I’m not exactly sure what it is, but I know it’s something more important than passion. Longevity perhaps? We do have that going for us. That and predictability. We know each other really well.

For instance, I already know Max is going to order an egg white omelet with Swiss cheese and a side of turkey bacon. If he were suddenly overcome with the need to use the bathroom right as the server came back I could order for him no problem. How’s that for foundational?

Yes, passion may be what I’ve been longing for in the last couple of years, but who cares? Longings don’t always get fulfilled. Sometimes you just have to play with the cards you’ve been dealt. Passion is for the birds, as they say.

I push down my brain’s automatic response to this last thought:then I wish I was a bird.

I glance over at Max again, then set my menu down with a smack against the table. “We need to prove her wrong,” I announce. Any gratitude I may have felt for Dorothy’s interference is long gone. Now I’m angry.

Max sets his menu down too, leaning forward. “I agree,” he says earnestly. “She can’t just be allowed to walk around interfering in people’s marriages like this.”

“Exactly.”

“So what’s our play here?” he asks.

“For starters, we’re not reading whatever is in that envelope,” I wave a hand at the offending item.

“Definitely not,” Max agrees. “It’s probably unsolicited marriage advice.”

“Almost certainly,” I agree. “Obviously we have to show her how in love we are,” I add definitively. “Wipe that smug smile right off her face.”

“I like it. Just tell me what to do.”

I think for a second, my mind automatically going into public relations mode. “Come move your chair next to mine,” I instruct. “That’ll make it look as if you can’t bear to be separated from me by a whole table.”

Max grins conspiratorially, then lifts his chair up to bring it over to my side. I feel a small flutter of panic as he approaches, worried this is going to encourage him or give him the wrong idea. I am still mad at him, after all, and I refuse to have sex with him when I’m mad at him. But then I remember Dorothy’s sanctimonious expression and decide it’s worth the risk.

Max plops his chair down right next to mine then sets a hand on my thigh, rubbing his thumb lightly across it. “How’s this?” he asks.

I try to swallow, but my mouth has gone oddly dry. “Um, great. That’s great,” I manage to eke out. When was the last time Max touched me like this? So casually possessive, like he’s trying toremind me that I’m on his mind or that he can’t help but touch me when I’m so close.

But of course it’s all an act at the moment. I no longer drive my husband to distraction.

“What else?” Max asks.

“Um,” I search the recesses of my strung out brain, “no more fighting, of course.”

“Yes, of course. No more fighting,” he agrees. “And when the food comes I’ll feed you some from my fork. My omelet, that is,” he elaborates quickly. “I know you don’t like turkey bacon.”

“That’s all good,” I agree, “but it’s not enough. She may not even be watching us that closely right now. We’ll have to keep up the ruse.” I pause, realizing how that sounds. “I mean,” I amend, “keep actively working to show our undying love for each other for the whole trip. That way we can make it abundantly clear that she’s dead wrong about us and should perhaps consider a different career choice. We’ve got a session at 9:30 today. She’s giving a talk. Knowing her, she's going to want some audience participation. I say we volunteer for anything that comes up then act all lovey-dovey on stage.” I think back to Hannah’s jokes about trying to get lost in the woods with Luke. “Then on the horse ride later, make sure you make loud jokes about wanting to get me alone in the woods or something along those lines.”

“Brilliant.” Max squeezes my thigh, his eyes shining with the exact same excitement I feel buzzing through me. We can totally do this.

“Well, well, well, look at you two.” We both whip around to see Hannah and Luke standing by our table, Hannah wearing a very cat-like smile. “I’m having flashbacks to when I lived with you and had to knock on doors before entering lest I stumble upon the two of you making out.”

“Oh please, we weren’t that bad,” I protest quickly, an embarrassed blush rising to my cheeks at being called out onsuch a thing in front of a pastor. Sure, Luke is my brother-in-law and sure, I’ve walked in on the two of them kissing enough at this point that Hannah has no grounds for complaint…but even so, he’s still a pastor. It would be nice to appear a little bit closer to holy in front of him.

“Hey, I’m not judging.” Hannah holds her hands up in innocence. “Or complaining for that matter. It’s actually nice to see the two of you being a little touchy-feely again.” She drops her hands and snakes one arm around her husband’s waist, getting a little touchy-feely herself. Luke responds by looping his own arm around her shoulders and pulling her against his side.

“Excuse me but we’re touchy-feely plenty,” I inform her loftily, then, not to be outdone, I grab hold of Max’s hand and attempt to lift it up around my shoulders. Only he misunderstands what I’m trying to do, seemingly thinking I was going to put his hand around my waist. My upward pull conflicts with his downward movement, landing his hand smack in the middle of the two potential destinations…right on one of my, uh, less than perkyfriends.

And yes, by friend I do mean boob. His hand lands directly on my left boob. Right in front of my pastor. Who is also my brother-in-law. The two identifiers are equally mortifying at this moment.

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