Page 7 of Untangled
“Ten years from now,” I interject. “Wow. It sounds like a good plan.”
“It’ll be here before we know it.”
“Yeah. Now we just have to figure out the plan for getting there,” I reply.
“You know, I think these nightly activities are a good start.”
Day 4
Dance to your wedding song.
Violet sits at the head of the table, banging a spoon on her tray and using the other hand to press roasted sweet potato into a paste. Streaks of orange pop on her wispy blonde hair where she’s taken to patting her head. She babbles to Daniel as he makes a silly face, and the scene is typical for a weeknight dinner in the Hayes household.
Thinking back to our conversation yesterday, about our lives ten years from now, I’m preemptivelynostalgic for this moment in front of me. Daniel is right—it’s going to disappear too soon. I try to memorize Violet’s chubby hands with the dimples over her knuckles and the way she giggles when I wiggle my eyebrows at her. I look over at the man who shares her eyes and the cowlick at her forehead and yes, maybe we aren’t as close as we once were, but I’m lucky he’s mine. I do feel that way, on a conceptual level. While we lack the magnetism of when we first got together, that was the result of hormones and brain waves. What we’ve built since is from years of choosing each other, and that has to mean something.
“Excited for tonight’s card?” he asks, turning to me before lifting his fork to his mouth. “So far it’s been a lot of talking and not a lot of…activity. I wonder when that’s going to change.”
“We’re less than twenty percent in,” I reply. “I’ve gotta assume they save the good stuff for the second half.”
“The good stuff, eh? You sure we can’t peek ahead?” With this, he raises one eyebrow and pulls his bottom lip between his teeth.
I need to be clear: we have sex. We had this baby, after all, and we’ve been intimate since with some regularity. This is not a man deprived. Maybe it feels a bit rote, sort of… compulsory, but I’m holding up my end of the bargain. The implication that he wants more, with that raised eyebrow, turns the air between us taut. What was just soft with appreciation feels sharp.
“Yeah, that’s a no. We’re following the plan as written, but nice try,” I say.
“Worth a shot,” he replies, before turning back to his plate and reengaging with Violet.
I push back from the table and grab the deck of cards from the island. What does Day 4 say? If I was wrong in my assessment and itissomething sexual this early in the process, I need to prepare myself. I slide the day’s card from the stack and look it over.
Dance to your wedding song.
Physical? Yes. Sexual? Not particularly, which is a relief.
“Looks like we’re dancing tonight,” I say to Daniel as I sink back into my seat. I toss the card his way and he catches it under his palm.
He nods and squints like he’s trying to recall the memory of our first dance, to place the title and artist.
“It’s Ed Sheeran,Thinking Out Loud. A top hit of the mid 2010s, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“I know,” he replies. “I was trying to remember the tune.”
Grabbing my phone from the chair beside me, I find the song in my library and press play. There’s only one chord before the lyrics start, and the song is blissfully simple in its orchestration, directing all attention to the words. We listen in silence, save for Violet’s occasional trills, and the phrase about falling hard at twenty-three knocks the breath out of my lungs. We lived that part. Can we live the rest?
“What if we dance now?” Daniel’s interruption surprises me.
“You don’t want to wait til she’s down?” I ask, nodding at our sweet girl who, based on the volume of food on the floor, seems to be done with her dinner.
“We could, if you want. But we could also dance with Violet. Make it a family affair.”
That sounds nice. Easy. Less potential for awkwardness than the two of us fumbling over our feet and words after his comment earlier fell flat.
I nod, grab the packet of baby wipes—the centerpiece of our table in this season—and get to work cleaning up. Violet protests, flails, pushes me away and it’s like trying to restrain a feral raccoon every time I wipe her face. Daniel plucks her from her chair, sets her on his hip and tilts her back and forth, prompting delighted squeals. He extends his free hand to me and I reset the song to the beginning.
With my arm around his waist, he drapes his over my shoulder. It makes for a weird sort of line with Daniel at the center and his girls on either side. I bring my other hand to wrap around Violet, my arm resting on top of his, to make us into a circle. Bringing my cheek to his chest, I let myself lean into him. He’s solid, though a bit softer on top of the muscle than he used to be. My head fits where it always has, in the divot under his collarbone. I nuzzle against the soft flannel of his shirt and a contented sigh, so quiet I’d have missed it if I wasn’t right here, leaves his mouth and blows warmagainst the skin of my neck. Goosebumps spring up where it touched.
We continue to sway, and Violet snuggles into Daniel further. My eyes catch on hers and they’re heavy from the movement and the late hour. The fight from before has left her little body, and she’s calm, noodle-boned.This is her home, I think. Not just this house and this room, but Daniel’s arms. My eyes. The warmth of this moment. I feel lucky again.
The song loops to the beginning and we don’t stop dancing. The heavy weight of Daniel’s hand comes to rest at the back of my head, his forearm between my shoulders radiating warmth across my back. He tucks me against him until we’re nearly flush, minus Violet between us on one side. His fingers thread through my hair and scratch against my scalp. Up and down they run, pushing at the skin and then dragging down with the scrape of his fingernails. It’sheavenly. My resulting “mmm” sounds more like a moan than I intend. My quiet “thank you” is breathier than it should be. But it feels so nice to be touched with tenderness like this. Without the expectation to rush to “the good stuff.” I want more of it.
