Thomas lets go of me and makes a beeline back towards the bar.
“I’m quite pleased to learn how olives still interest you above everything, and I do mean everything else.”
To be fair and honest, I’m very much looking forward to returning to my own drink as well as I drift to the bar.
“I’m smart enough to spot that sarcasm, my love. Or am I?”
My feverishness recedes, and a sense of comfort washes over me as we retake our usual spots at the bar.
“Are you asking about the nature of my comment?” I ask, picking up my martini glass by its stem.
“If I were, what would you say?”
My drink is still nicely chilled as I take a sip. So much is happening in such a short time.
“I suppose I was being straightforward, Thomas. I do enjoy your quirks, and I’m always finding new ones.”
Thomas demolishes the last of his olives in one bite.
“Good to know I’m not a bore.”
“Ohhhh—I didn’t say that.”
My husband startles me, again, by letting out a few forceful coughs before gulping down everything that remains in his glass.
“I just choked on my fucking olives. That’s not boring, I hope.”
“No. Nothing you do is boring to me.”
“But that’s not what you just said, dearest.”
“What can I say? I think what I think, but sometimes...”
“Sometimes you think I’m boring?”
“Sometimes shit just comes out all fucking weird when I try to say it.”
Thomas drops his empty glass. It shatters on the Brazilian walnut floor.
And he stares at me, wordlessly.
“That’s…that’s my favorite thing you’ve ever said.”
“Really? That?”
“I’m in love with you.”
“I should hope so.”
“And I’m tired of being a bore, so...”
“Okay…wait. Do you mean?”
“I mean, I’m ready to try some new ways of expressing it. You’ve still got that leather overnight bag, right? What were you keeping in there, again?”
“Let’s go to the other fucking room already.”
Thomas