Marriage For One

He chuckled, and it warmed something inside me. He let go of my hand and cupped my cheek. The hairs on my arms stood up, and I could do nothing but close the distance between us, needing to get closer to him. Only a few inches were left between us.

“I’m the one who is an acquired taste in this relationship, and we both know that,” he said.

Gently, I laid my head on his shoulder, but then he lifted his arm so I could lie on his chest. We settled in better after that.

He moved his hand under the covers and came out with something between his fingers.

My heart jumped in my chest when I saw what he had for me. “My ring!”

“I thought I should hold on to it until you were feeling better,” he explained.

“I’m good. I’m okay.” I held up my hand between us, impatient for him to put it back on. His fingertips slid along my ring finger and he pushed it back until it was securely in place. I stared at it for a little while in the dark.

I closed my eyes and let out a deep breath from my mouth. “How do you feel about Thursdays?”

“How should I feel about them?”

“Like pizza, maybe? We can do pasta on Mondays and pizza on Thursdays.”

“We can argue about the toppings.”

“Sounds fun to me.”

“Good. Now go to sleep.”

With a smile on my face, I snuggled in closer. “I have a good feeling about this, Jack Hawthorne. I have a really good feeling about this.”

I smiled even bigger when he whispered, “It’ll work. I promise you, Rose.”

Jack and I, we were made in a crappy hospital bed, whispering our secrets, dreams and promises to each other. We were holding each other close as if what we had, what we were forming and building would be taken away from us with the sunlight.

Four days after the surgery, they finally took out the packing in my nose, and to say it was an experience would be an understatement. I’m not ashamed to admit that I cried for a solid ten minutes after it was done as Jack let me hold on to him tightly in our room and told me to stop crying. Everything seemed to be catching up with me, and then when they took out the damn thing—which I’d thought was only a few inches in but actually reached all the way up to my forehead, if not higher—I couldn’t keep it together any longer. I hadn’t cried since the surgery, so I supposed I was due.

The nights with Jack continued to be the only highlights of my day. I was secretly hoping we’d get to sleep in the same bed when we went back to his apartment, because I was already getting used to feeling his body and touch right next to mine.

When I had first met and married this man, I hadn’t understood him, but he had surprised me at every turn from day one. I couldn’t believe I’d thought the man lying next to me was cold and detached. He had proven otherwise with his actions countless times.

With all of that in my mind, I was feeling surprisingly torn about leaving the hospital, feeling afraid things would change once we got back to the real world as Dr. Martin gave me his last warnings on the day I was set to be discharged.

“You’re on bed rest for two weeks, Rose.”

“Can I get back to work after that?”

“You have a cafe, right?” he asked.

“Yes. I won’t work too much, but I’d like to get back out there as quickly as I can.”

“Fine. You can go back to work, but you can’t work like you used to. Don’t overdo it. Sit down and look over things, and only a few hours at first. Listen to your body—if it tells you it’s tired, you stop doing whatever you’re doing. No heavy lifting, nothing more than a few pounds. No sneezing whatsoever. No sex, no alcohol. You have to take it easy.”

I only latched onto one thing. “No sex?” I could feel Jack’s eyes burning into me, but I maintained eye contact with the good doctor.

“Yes, no sex for quite a while.”

“What’s quite a while exactly?” I pushed, probably surprising everyone in the room.

“At least three months. No alcohol for at least three months either, and no plane rides, because that kind of pressure can undo our work. Anything that can create pressure in your skull is to be avoided.”

“Okay. No sex for three months.”

Dr. Martin let out a loud laugh, and I couldn’t help but smile back at him.

“I want to see you back here next week, and in another two weeks, we’ll take out the stitches in your stomach.” He turned his attention to Jack. “You have my private number if anything happens or if you have any questions, and don’t hesitate to call me. I’ll see you two next week.”