It was Friday morning and it was sunny. The trees were just starting to bud and the tiny house sparrows and cardinals that lived in the neighborhood flitted and squabbled between the bare branches.
Sun poured through the windows and Mya and Tom sat at their kitchen table, which looked bright and happy with its blue-and-white checked tablecloth.
Mya was sitting forward in her chair, leaning her elbows on the table and scanning her husband's face.
He was sitting with his shoulders slumped and his eyebrows knit, his hands folded in his lap. He wore a loose white t-shirt and gray gym shorts, his brown hair laying haphazardly on his head, unkempt and about four weeks too long between haircuts. The stubble on his face was at least a day beyond a five-o-clock shadow, stray hairs standing out at odd angles at the corners of his jaw and curling down over his upper lip.
He was staring at the little white pill that sat on a small brown envelope on the table between them.
For several long seconds, neither Tom nor Mya spoke.
"Where did you get it?" Tom finally asked, without taking his eyes off the pill.
Mya hesitated. "I got it from Molly," she said finally.
Tom's eyes flicked to Mya's face and she felt her shoulders tense.
"Molly?" His voice was sharp. "You told Molly?"
Mya sat back in her chair.
"She's my best friend, Tom. I tell her lots of things."
Tom leaned forward on the table and his gaze turned back to the pill. "Now she's going to think I can't get it up or something."
"She doesn't think that," Mya said. "That's not what I told her."
"And anyway," she continued, "Molly wouldn't care even if she did think that. And who would she tell? She's half-way around the world."
Tom looked at his wife for a second then back to the pill.
"Well what did you tell her?"
"I told her the truth," Mya replied. "We were just talking. We talk about sex sometimes and... well she's my friend, so I told her we were having a little bit of trouble, that's all. And she was really sympathetic."
"And she thinks this will help?"
"If anyone would know, it's Molly," Mya replied.
"What is it?" Tom asked.
Mya paused again. "I don't know exactly," she said. Tom snorted in response.
"She didn't say what it was," Mya continued quickly, "just that it might help you... you know, get there."
Tom raised an eyebrow and exhaled heavily through his nose. There was a long silence as he sat staring at the little white pill on the table.
"It was just an idea," Mya said finally, pushing her chair away from the table. "You know Molly, she means well."
Tom didn't look up as Mya picked up her brown leather tote bag from the table and walked around behind his chair.
"You working today?"
"Yeah," he said, without looking up. "Just for the morning though. I have to finish reviewing these documents for the Paris client but I'll be finished in a few hours."
"Well," she said, "don't enjoy yourself too much while I'm gone."
"Mm," Tom said, eyes still on the pill and its little brown envelope. "Probl'y just watch television or something."
"Right." Mya sighed to herself.
"Do you want me to get rid of that?" she asked and paused when he didn't answer.
"I'll do it," he said finally.
Mya took her car keys off the hook on the wall.
"Okay. Well I'll see you tonight. Love you."
"You too," came his reply from behind her, as Mya closed the front door and strode down the walkway to her car.
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It was a short time later and Mya was lost in thought.
She was remembering the previous weekend, the feel of the floor digging into her knees through the towel she'd laid down and of the ache in her neck as she bobbed her head back and forth on Tom's cock, desperately working and willing it to orgasm. She remembered the feeling of Tom gently pushing her away from him and his thin smile as he picked her up off the floor and said "It's okay babe, I don't think it's going to happen tonight."
She remembered sitting on the edge of the bed with her hands clasped between her knees as Tom hugged her to him and suddenly feeling very, very naked.
"So anyway, the bathroom looks great, but we're going to have to replace all that tile. Do you think we could use that to negotiate the price down a little bit?"
Mya's attention snapped back to the furnitureless, sun-filled living room. Her voice echoed slightly off the bare walls and empty parquet floor. "Hm? Oh, the tile." She fixed her face into a practiced professional smile. "You know, it doesn't hurt to try. Let's add that to the list. Did you get a chance to see the laundry room yet? It's just this way."
She extended her arm in the direction of the laundry room and her clients, a pair of thin, bespectacled mid-thirty-somethings meandered past her toward the rear of the house, gawking at the moldings and the doorframes and the off-white paint on the walls.
The corners of Mya's mouth fell as she followed behind them. She thought again of her husband, of his promises to discuss the matter further with Dr. Ward (which he'd done), his efforts to exercise and eat healthy (which had been successful) and his determination to ease up at work and reduce his overall stress level (which is exactly what had happened).
"It's got nothing to do with you," Tom had said. He'd said it many times. And Mya knew it was true. But it didn't make her feel any better as she followed the bespectacled couple into the back of the house to see the laundry room.
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Mya's feet felt like lead weights when she got home. She'd taken the bespectacled couple to half-a-dozen houses that day and they just seemed to get more demanding as the day wore on.
She hauled her legs out of the car, then climbed out behind them and locked the car door. She heaved a sigh and slumped against the frame of the car as she saw her messenger bag still in the back seat, the ache in her knees and lower back suddenly feeling overwhelming. She left the bag in the car and made her way to the house.
When she opened the door, Mya was stopped in her tracks by an incredible aroma. After a moment of puzzling, she recognized the savory smell of roasting fowl and herbes de provence, sauteing mushrooms and hot butter. She heard the clatter of metal utensils against steel prep bowls and the dramatic strains of french opera. She slipped off her shoes and peered cautiously around the corner into the kitchen.
Tom was dressed in tight gray trousers that hugged his now-muscular legs and backside and a black polo shirt that showed off his chest and arms. Overtop, he wore the faded, frilly kitchen apron that they'd bought half as a joke on one of their first weekends away together. He stood in front of the stove surrounded by bowls and whisks and bottles of oil and jars of seasoning, a large cast-iron skillet sizzling and spitting in front of him. A bottle of wine stood open on the counter next to a pair of stemmed glasses, one of which was half-empty.
Tom turned around, saw Mya and smiled. His hair had been cut and now lounged with easy, stylish confidence over his handsome face. He'd shaved, and his beard now carefully traced his jawline instead of obscuring it behind neglected fuzz.
For a moment, Mya forgot about the aches in the soles of her feet.
"Ah!" he said. "Bon soir, ma belle! You are just in time." He grabbed the fuller of the two glasses of wine from the counter and slid gracefully across the kitchen floor in his socks to where Mya was standing. He pulled her to him and kissed her before pressing the glass of wine into her hand.
"Hello darling," he said. "How was work?"
Mya smiled and raised her eyebrows at her husband.
"It was... fine," she said. "I mean, no, it was terrible, but... fine. How was your day?"
"Oh you know," said Tom as he let go of Mya and turned back to the stove. "Worked for a bit, took a walk, got a haircut."
"Hey," he turned to face her again. "I figured we could maybe have a bit of a date night at home tonight."
Mya's smile broadened.
