see my wife. “What happened now?”
She taps her index finger against my lips. “Someone dropped the cake before the last few frames. This is what happens when they use real cakes for commercials.”
“Isn’t that the point?” I remember the faux cupcakes from last weekend. The wedding cake was real and so was the couple on the screen. But when they called “Cut!” and the shoot was over, I grabbed one of the stupid cupcakes and nearly chipped a tooth. The director made Nora decorate the fake cupcakes and everything. Then again, they pay her more for one day than she makes doing two weddings.
“One day, I’ll quit my job and you’ll homeschool all of our babies, and we can do this all day.” She rubs her breasts against my chest.
I softly push her back. “And what would that teach our babies?” I tease my tongue along her jaw. She pushes her breasts to me again, begging for me to touch them.
“Not yet, little one,” I whisper behind her ear, and she squirms in my arms.
“The kids would learn how to love their spouse. And to bake. We will have the perfect little army of loving chefs behind us.” Her eyes light up with amusement, and I run my fingers through her long silky hair. “That’s it! We can travel the country baking and teaching. We would never have to work in an office again.”
I kiss at her neck, imagining her in the middle of the country, only dirt and wind around us. Somehow, I don’t think she is thinking too far in advance about this.
“Shh.” I kiss her cheek. “Shh, my city girl. You wouldn’t last a day out there in the land of no offices and corn.”
She begins to challenge me, but our daughter comes barreling down the hallway with a pink hairbrush matted into her hair. “Mommy!” she screams.
Nora jumps off my lap. “Your turn,” Nora says to me, biting at my lip just as our daughter enters the room. Between the chaos of my daughter growing up too fast and my wife trying not to laugh, my heart swells and I am the luckiest SOB in the world.
Sometimes it’s tragedy that binds us with another. The bond feels unbreakable, but sometimes in between the tears and the ache of a dull knife carving the painful memories into you, you can find a spark of light. The tiniest of sparks can ignite to fire with just a touch of happiness. The light can burn out the darkness, and when there’s nothing but ashes and a fire, you learn a new kind of bond. One that blazes brighter than the sun.