Quick writer's note:
Tags for this story: Drama, Husband, Love, Married Couple, Wife
Conversations 07 - Moving Forward
is a flash story, a short story about a conversation between a husband and wife and moving on. It's another installment in an ongoing series of conversations among spouses, lovers, or former ones, and their families
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I want to thank my editors for their collaboration and advice. The story is a better one because of them. Charlie, John, Demosthenes384bc, KenD, and HighLuster all have contributed.
I love collaborating with people, so I'm always interested in expanding our editing team. If you are interested in being a part of the team, please send me your email address through private messaging, and I'll shoot you, my stories.
My eyes inched open, struggling to stay that way. The first rays of sunlight were breaching the east-facing windows. I forgot to close the blinds again. I always counted on Taylor to do that.
I surveyed the left side of the bed. It was smooth and vacant. Taylor hasn't been coming to bed lately. I'm getting so tired of her behavior.
How long is it going to last?
Staggering into the bathroom, I took care of business. It's Saturday, so I don't have to rush. I have nowhere to go and all day to get there. I stretched my stiff back, slipped on my sweats, and rummaged around for my cleanest dirty T-shirt from the hamper. Laundry is something else Taylor used to attend to regularly.
I figured out a way to make it down the stairs and towards the kitchen; the smell of fresh coffee called me. I was relieved to find her sitting on the counter, coffee already in hand.
Well, at least she hasn't completely abandoned me.
Her auburn hair glistened in the weak sunlight coming through the all-glass sliding door, picking up the red highlights. I always loved her hair. In the right light, she was damn near a redhead; more often, she was a brunette. The low-cut tank top she wore barely concealed her perky B-cupped breasts. It hung low enough to cover the band of my plaid boxers she insists on wearing.
"Good morning." She is way too lively. Her high school cheer squad personality shines brightly this morning.
I looked at her sideways. "Morning." It was a statement of fact, not just a greeting. "You didn't come to bed again last night."
"I know. It doesn't feel right." She has dropped that perky smile, "I don't feel you've fully forgiven me yet."
Damn, it's way too early to be picking at this scab.
"I don't know how to get over what happened, Taylor." I paused while adding the essentials to my coffee to make it drinkable. "Tell me how, and I'd gladly do it." I would, too. I needed to get past what happened. It hurt me to the core of my being. I hated being such a soft, whiney man, but the damage seemed irreparable. The grievance was just too large to scale.
I picked up my coffee, opened the box of Krispy Kremes left on the counter, grabbed a three-day-old donut, and found my way to our breakfast nook.
No sense in letting eight bucks go to waste.
She followed me out and sat on the table. Her smooth perfect legs dangled in the air.
"Got something against chairs?" I sound much grumpier than I feel.
Her laugh...her laugh is happiness. It's pure joy to a broken heart.
"I like it when you stare." She teased me.
Just how much more of this can I take?
"So, what's on your schedule for today, Love?" She asked like it was so normal, but nothing had been normal for almost a year. And still, here we are, faking it till we make it.
"Same as every other day, except no work." My reply is dry and lacks emotion.
"So, nothing. Just sitting around and feeling sorry for yourself, huh?" My mouth was full of stale donut. I pointed to the tip of my nose, nodding my head.