Welcome (back) to my relationship peep show. I'm Abigail, sextech leader, born-again monogamist, love lover, and mother of two. Thank you, dearly, for being here.
We hear the harmonica from the Farmer’s Market. Joe and I lead the two boys through the vegetable rows and tent poles to join the crowd watching the show.
I sit on cobblestones, wearing my 4-year-old as a lap blanket. A man in cowboy clothing sings a children’s song in Swahili. Toddlers wave colorful silk flags while bouncing - that knee-heavy movement tiny humans do before they learn to jump.
On my lap, our eldest yawns, rubs his eyes, and rests his cheek on my thigh. There’s a crust of chocolate milk just above his top lip. I lean back, and tilt my head to take in the day; the leaves, still mostly green, and a blue sky beyond. My left cheek is catching too much sun, and I like it.
I lift my face toward the warmth. My husband is there, holding our 11-month-old on a bench. They are chest to chest, a pudgy arm drapes over my husband’s shoulder, the other hanging limply by his side. His eyelids flutter but don’t open. Joe tucks his chin in and surveys the sleep progress. His gaping bottom lip turns into a grin. His eyes flash toward me. He sees me seeing him. We share a smile.
Serendipitous sleeping sons, a sweet Sunday spousal solitude.
This is why we don’t make plans.
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Joe slices the tomatoes we bought at the farmer’s market and sets them on the table. I lean back in the dining chair to notice the evening sun. It shines through the window in the exact line of the amber glass tray we found on a neighbor’s stoop that morning. I admire the refracted golden hour sun spreading over our white laminate table, and smile at the happenstance alignment. The track playing through our bluetooth speaker changes to ‘Ride,’ by Lana Del Rey. “She got married this week,” I say.
Joe isn’t fond of Lana, but he understands why I am. Not because he sees her charm but because he thinks she has for women what Morrissey has for men: the ability to distill their genders’ young adult yearnings. Their lyrics are direct lines to our youthful wishes.
‘Ride’ is lonesome freedom. Cloudy days, accompanied by your own mind, moving fast and far away from what’s known. It was the epitome of glamor when I first heard it - flying alone in airports, yearning for more than I had.
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As I lay beside my two babies at dusk, I hum a tune I’d played for them on the harmonica after dinner. “Don’t take my sunshine away,” I whisper.
“You have three sunshines?” Henry asks.
“Yes, baby.”
“You don’t want us to go away?”
“No, baby, I do not want you to go away. But one day, you might.”
“No. I don’t want to go away.”
“Then today, I’m the luckiest lady in the world.”
Soundtrack:
Thank you, love lover, for reading my story.
It’s touching to have you here, celebrating love with me. If you have the time, I’d be grateful if you gave this post a like, a comment, or a share to perhaps reach more people who enjoy love like us.