Next Time

It was raining outside. Every few minutes there was thunder. Inside the house it was cozy and the air conditioner on the far wall above the bookshelf exhaled a warm breath in silence. The husband sat on the couch with a scotch. He drank it neat. His wife poured herself a glass of Merlot from a bottle with a clownfish on the label.

“What would you like me to cook tonight?” she asked.

“Rendang.”

“I can make rendang.”

She sat beside him and placed her glass on the coffee table.

“Not like that,” he said. “You always use a coaster.”

The wife nodded. She lifted the glass and slipped a coaster beneath it, then set the glass back down. She smiled at him and he smiled back. He rested a hand on her thigh.

“It’s almost perfect,” he said.

“What is?”

“This time. It’s almost perfect.”

She looked down at his hand on her thigh, she smiled.

“Did you ever hear back from your sister?” he asked. 

“No, not yet.”

“Yes you did. She called you seventeen minutes before I got home.”

He winked at her. The wife paused a moment, then winked back. “Yes, that’s right, she did call me.”

A clap of thunder slapped the sky nearby. The wife jolted and looked outside. He pulled her closer.

“What?”

“Come closer,” he said. 

“Why are you smiling?”

“Am I?”

“A little.”

“What did your sister say?”

The wife leaned her head on his shoulder. She watched the air conditioner above the bookshelf. 

“She asked if she could borrow the lawnmower this weekend.”

“Why does she need to borrow it? I’ll just cut the grass for her,” the husband said. 

“I know,” she sighed. “That’s what I told her.”

He rubbed his beard and took a sip of scotch. She sat up to drink some wine. 

“You always do that,” she said. 

“Do what?”

“Do everything yourself.”

“Do I?”

“Yes, you do.” 

She laughed. So did he. She looked away. He kept watching her.

“Ok.” She stood up. “I’m going to start dinner.”

“Stay with me a little longer.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” She tilted her head. “I’m just going to cook. The food that you wanted, by the way.”

He swirled the glass before holding it to his nose. The amber liquid smelt of cloves and milk chocolate. She had given him the bottle for his birthday. Now she gave him the same one every year. She said it smelt like Christmas cake. 

“Pour yourself another drink and watch the game. I’ll call you when I’m done.”

“There’s no game on today.” He finished it in a gulp and set the glass down. The wife smiled. 

“Oh. That’s right, there’s not. Well, you can still have another drink, can’t you?”

“I can. I’ll read a book while I wait for you. Don’t take too long.”

She leaned in and kissed his cheek as he got up to pour himself a drink. By the time he sat down to read, the sky was black. Past the window, streetlights flickered yellow between the distant white flashes of lightning. From the kitchen came the opening and closing of cupboards and the chop of vegetables. The smell of garlic and ginger grew stronger. The wife sang softly as she worked. He closed his book and listened. Chilli hung in the air and caught in the back of his throat. He coughed. He closed his eyes. 

“It smells wonderful,” he called out. 

“I know,” she called back. 

“I love you,” he said. She couldn’t hear him over the sound of the sizzling frying pan. He didn’t mind. 

They sat on the floor, eating together at the coffee table. He finished his plate before she did. There was another flash of lightning, and as she turned to look out the window, he stole a large spoonful of rice and two pieces of chicken. 

“Good thing I’m full,” she said. 

He laughed and ate the stolen food. 

“It was a little spicy,” he told her as he fanned his lips.

“Why did you finish it all then?”

“Because living with you means if I don’t eat spice I don’t eat at all.” 

“You do eat more chilli now that you mention it.”

“Because of you.” He stacked his plate on top of hers. “I never used to eat chilli before I met you.”

“No, you didn’t,” she said while he refilled her wine.

He cleared the table and returned with a fresh drink for himself. They sat close together on the couch. He had another scotch that smelt like December, and she had her wine from the bottle with a clownfish on the label.

The wife rested her head in his lap. She looked up at him. “Are you happy?” 

He took a sip and set his glass down slowly. He looked out the window. “I am.”

“Me too.”

“I’m glad to hear.”

“I’ve been thinking, though.”

“Thinking about what?” he asked while watching the flickering street lamp beyond the glass.

“We should go away somewhere. Go on a trip.”

The husband looked down at her, her dark eyes locked on his. “Where do you want to go?”

“Anywhere. Fiji perhaps. Maybe even New Caledonia. I heard it’s basically a part of France. Like a tropical France. Can you imagine that?”

“It sounds amazing,” he told her as he ran his fingers through her hair. 

“I’d love to go whale watching. Spend some time on the beach, doing nothing but sunbathing and listening to my audiobook. Maybe I’ll even get the time to finish it.” 

The husband nodded. 

“We could go over your Christmas break.”

“We could.”

“The weather’s supposed to be perfect then. It will be summer after all. I don’t want to go there when it’s raining.”

“No, we don’t want to go when it’s raining,” he said.

“You can even go on a fishing charter one of the days. I’ll stay back and relax on the beach or by the pool.”

“Are you sure you want me to go a whole day without you?” he asked. 

“Of course! We could go for two weeks, and that should be more than enough time, don’t you think? What’s one day apart?”

“It’s only one day, I suppose.”

They both laughed. She closed her eyes and he looked out the window. 

“I’m getting tired,” she said. 

“Just a little longer, please.” 

“Aren’t you tired?”

“I am. But I’m not ready for you to go.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be sleeping right next to you.”

“You always go. Right after you knock your water bottle off the side table. It always ends twenty-three minutes after that.”

“Then I won’t knock it over this time,” she said. 

“You will,” he said quietly. 

“Do you miss me?”

“Every day.”

“I bet I miss you too.”

“I bet you do.”

She reached up and ran a hand over his cheek. 

“Abby,” he said. 

“Hmm?”

“It was Bora Bora, not New Caledonia.”

“Okay, I will remember that for next time.”