Memos from the Middle

Pillow Talk

I giggled, and the white sheets vibrated over our bellies.

“Sh!” he commanded playfully, burying my face in the space between his neck and his shoulder.

“I can’t help it. It’s funny,” I retorted in whispers. The smell of citrus from our nighttime snack wafted from his beard. I breathed it in deeply, trying not to laugh anymore.

“I’m not trying to make you laugh. I’m being serious.” He stroked my hair in his heavy-handed way and kissed me gently on the top of my head.

“That’s what makes it so funny.” I pulled myself away from his grasp and looked him in his eyes. The deep brown would have been invisible if not for the light shining boldly from the streetlights outside. I smiled, and he smiled too.

For a moment, we lay silently, listening to our own breathing. I flopped hard onto my back and watched the fan slowly rotate above me. The air felt good.