Hand-Me-Down

I turned, and he was in the bathroom doorway with a towel wrapped around his waist. His hair was wet and mussed, his skin wet and glowing. He didn’t just look like the same guy this morning, he looked better.

“Muh,” I said.

He smiled. “Coffee’s going.”

“Guh,” I said, meaning good. I’d take a man who made coffee over strong-and-silent any day. Still, I stayed by the window. If I was properly backlit, he wouldn’t notice my sleep-puffed face.

“Six months,” he said. “I know what you look like in the morning.”

I finally managed to croak out a real word. “Godzilla.”

“More like Cameron.”

“Cameron?” As in Diaz? Maybe not entirely true, but if that’s how he wanted to see me—

“No. Gamera. Remember the Godzilla movie? Gamera’s the big puffy turtle he fights.”

Forget the lighting, I shot across the room and ripped his towel from him. He raced, laughing, to the safety of the bed before I could whip him with it. I fell in next to him and started smacking his bare skin. He caught my hands and kissed me. “You’re beautiful in the morning.”

I stopped struggling and pressed my face against his chest. My mood was beginning to match the sunshine.

He absently ran his fingers along my back. “What time is Charlotte’s thing tonight?”

Charlotte’s birthday party. Dark clouds gathered—I didn’t want to talk about it. “You used all the hot water.”

“Uh-huh. What time is it?”

I checked the clock. “Almost seven.”

“I mean Charlotte’s party,” he said.

I stood and shrugged into my robe. “Six or something. I don’t know.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Anne.” He grabbed me by the sash. “What’s wrong?”

“You sleep over, and you—you use all the hot water, and there’s none left for me and I’m—what am I supposed to do? You never think. What about me? I’m stuck with a cold shower, that’s what.”

He mumbled something that sounded like, “You need a cold shower.”

“Oh, I’m not the one who needs a cold shower!” I tightened my robe in a meaningful manner.

Rip pulled his boxers and pants on. He reached for his shirt and I considered slamming the bathroom door, but decided against it. I put my head on his shoulder instead.

“I hate Charlotte’s birthday,” I sniffled.

“We don’t have to go,” he said.

Of course we did. “So now you don’t want to go?”

“Baby…”

“It’s just—she’s all perfect, and her kids are perfect and her husband’s perfect and her life is perfect, and everyone loves her.”

“And nobody loves you,” he said, straight-faced.

“They don’t. Not like—”

I realized where this conversation was going and sobered fast, suddenly terrified he’d think I wanted him to say he loved me. We’d never said “I love you,” and I saw no reason to start now. Especially not if he thought this was a desperate bid for commitment, when it was clearly just a desperate bid for attention.

“I mean she’s, um, loved by one and all,” I said, flailing around for dry ground and sinking deeper. “And I, on the other hand, am, um…”

“Anne,” he said. “I—”

Was he going to say it? I willed him to say anything else: to tell me he was secretly married, or a post-operative transsexual, or moving to Arkansas. I tilted my head back to reveal the full horror of my morning face. No man could say “I love you” to that face.

He must’ve seen the naked terror in my eyes, because he smoothed my hair with his hand instead of finishing the sentence.

“I still haven’t got Charlotte a gift,” I blurted, to change the subject.

He smiled to tell me he knew what I was doing, but didn’t mind. “Take the morning off to shop.”

“Really?”

“Sure.”

“But that’s favoritism,” I said.

“So? You’re my favorite.”

Couldn’t argue with that. “Are we talking a paid morning off?”

He managed to sigh and smile at the same time. “Just be in before noon.”

“Don’t worry. Everything’s all caught up.”

“No more personal calls?”

“That was serious business,” I said, with dignity. “We’ll see who’s laughing when I get the retirement village built.”

“Uh-huh.” He grabbed his wallet and extracted two twenties. “Speaking of business…”

“Forty bucks?” I shrugged out of my bathrobe and pressed my naked self against him. “You know I’ve raised my prices.”

“That’s not all you’ve raised, Polliwog.” He called me that sometimes—his special love name for me, for reasons I refuse to divulge. He nuzzled my neck and put the money on my dresser. “Let me buy a gift with you. You know what Charlotte likes.”