I admit it: I'm guilty of taking my wife for granted. I'm not exactly sure when I began neglecting Lily. Perhaps it was when I accepted the promotion to district manager from account manager. Long hours came with the responsibility of moving up and the challenge of doing something different. Those hours and the money accompanying them sustained the lifestyle Lily and I wanted: the house in Sunset Hills; the cars, her SUV and my Beemer; the electronics; the clothes; everything else that we had and were acquiring. I told myself it was important because it seemed to be important. I thought Lily understood.
Work kept me away from home most of the day and behind my computer at home much of the evening, however. After awhile, I noticed that we were living together separately.
Living together separately.
It sounds funny. We shared a house, but we weren't sharing lives. We slept in the same bed, but not often together, rarely as lovers. Our time together consisted of dinner once or twice a week and an hour or two in front of the television.
Then came that moment.
I was walking from my home office in the den to the kitchen for coffee. Lily was finishing the dinner dishes at the sink. The under-counter stereo played a smooth jazz CD. Lily moved slowly, her hips swaying to the music beneath her skirt. Something in the simplicity of it stopped me. I stood there watching her dance under the amber cone of the sink light. I wondered what she was thinking. Was she dancing in a memory, a fantasy? Was I there with her? Had I gone away?
These last two questions concerned more than I expected. I loved Lily. I had known that I wanted a more permanent relationship with her after a month of dating; we married a year later. But we hadn't been together for awhile. Though I found purpose in my work and my work gave us this world around us, it wasn't everything.
I stepped toward her. My cell phone vibrated in my pocket. I looked at the screen and saw it was Mathias calling. No doubt he wanted to talk about the Benning proposal. I turned toward my den; he would want to go over the figures we put together on Tuesday. I heard plates clank as Lily put them in the dish drainer.
Lily.
I looked over my shoulder. Lily swayed in the soft light.
Alone.
The phone whirred in my hand. I thumbed the button which stilled it. I put the phone on the hall cupboard and walked toward the kitchen.
"Hello," I said, putting my arms around her loosely.
She froze in my embrace.
"Don't stop," I said.
"What?" she said.
"Don't stop dancing."
I felt her smile through the warmth and ease of her body. I felt her hips move slowly to the music once again. I felt the rustle of her skirt against my pants. I tightened my embrace, drawing her closer. Her dark hair brushed my lips and nose. I breathed deeply of her.
"Do you remember New Orleans?" she said.
