Chills

three

Warm sunlight cascades over my face and exposed arm, stirring me from my deep sleep. I rotate my body so I'm facing my husband, my back to the window. I stretch my arms and back while my mouth opens like a lazy lion in the sun to yawn. My hands glide through the covers, my fingers reaching and searching for Robby's warmth. The dream I had last night made me miss him terribly. Not the zombie, always-on-the-computer-who-doesn't-notice-me-anymore Robby. My Robby. The one who didn't have to ignore me when he worked, the one I could tease constantly and who'd laugh genuinely and tease me back, the one who'd be excited to be marrying me. The Great Prodigy Robert.

I reach the end of the bed having found no trace of Robby and confirm that he's already up and working. Concentrated coffee scent spills into the room, double confirming he's getting ready to write scripts. It annoys me that I cling to false hope that one day I'll find him in bed and he'll willingly want to cuddle for a while before we get up. I toss and turn until I'm facing the window again, and find comfort in the heat of the awakening sun. The sun has always warmed me up when Robby couldn't.

Creak...! Creak, creak, creak! Creak...! I recognize Robby's elephant feet coming up the stairs instantly. No matter how much he tries to tip toe around the house, it'll always sound like he's stomping a forest down. I debate whether I should call him over and talk about everything and nothing, like the good old days, or if I should just let him work. Then I wonder if he'd actually come if I did call him or if he'd pretend he didn't hear me. I stuff my face into my pillow and scream my lungs out while banging my fists against the mattress.

The wedding was two years ago and I feel like we're on different planets, him on Mars and me on Venus. It's been known for millions of generations that men and women will never fully comprehend how the other gender thinks, but shouldn't married couples understand each other more than anyone else? Shouldn't both of them be at least excited or maybe a little bit nervous, not just one of them? Shouldn't they be expressing what they feel, not bottling themselves up in their office and working 24/7? Of course, the female depends more on her heart, while the man uses his brain--though sometimes it doesn't show--which is why men and women will never have a civilized conversation without arguing or disagreeing.

"What's wrong?" a voice coos from the doorway. I rip my face away from my pillow and whip my head towards the voice, bolting upwards in a sitting position. Robby's leaning on the doorframe, steaming black coffee mug in one hand and one of his scripts in the other. He's in an old deep blue sweater with a stain on the right breast and dirty jeans. The hair at the back of his head is sticking out at weird angles, while the front curls like an untameable bush. He pushes his glasses on top of his head and eyes me expectantly. "Are you going to say something or are you going to stare at me like a goldfish all day?"

I snap my jaw closed--I hadn't realized I was gawking at him--and think of something intelligent to say so I don't lose his interest. I want him to stay with me and talk. I pull the covers to my chest, knowing very well that he'd deny my request immediately and claim having to work. I need to be careful of what I say because any wrong moves and he'll be back at the desk for hours. What can I say to make him stay?

"Ivree...?" Robby pushes off the doorframe he was leaning on and takes a step forward. "Are you okay?" He tucks his script under his middle and ring finger of the other hand and waits for my response.

"Yeah--I mean--no..." I let my gaze fall to the covers I'm gripping.

"Could you repeat that? Was that a 'yes' or a 'no'?" I imagine Robby's bushy eyebrows furrow with worry. "Are you sick?"

Will that make you stay? "Uh... No... I just..." For a few moments, I feel like I'll burst out in tears. My throat closes up, almost painfully, and my eyes water.

"Hey, hey..." Robby slides beside me under the covers, reaches for my hand and squeezes it. He sets his coffee and script on the bed stand, then cups my cheek in his palm. He tilts it towards his face and kisses me tenderly.

With that kiss, I imagine we're young again, at the party where I met him and the many more to come. People would be dancing to a song I wasn't listening to because all my attention was on Robby's delicious lips, and they'd pause to watch us, jealousy pouring through their pores with their sweat.

It's like he's kissing me for the first time, like he's expressing his true feelings through his tongue in my mouth and like the world could be ending and we'd rather die stuck in this position. Heat expands through my chest and lungs and all I can think is, The sun doesn't compare to this! I slip my hand through his messy curls, while he pulls me closer. I can smell the aftershave he used yesterday night and I'm slightly aware of his prickly stubble tickling me. This is the closest we've been to each other in over a year.

"I love you, Eveline," he pants in my ear when we break apart to breathe. His hot breath on my neck sends shivers down my spine, making me giggle quietly.

"I love you too, Robby." I burry my nose into the crook of his shoulder and hug him tightly. I know this is a one time thing, and the next time he'll do this could be years later, so I want to cherish every moment.

"You're going to suffocate me," he cackles. I feel his hand on my back.

I roll my eyes quickly before he pulls away and picks up his probably already cold coffee and his script. He edges off the bed, then turns quickly to peck me and leaves the room. I watch him go, my body cooling down with every step he takes away from me. When he's out of sight, I feel lonely again and I want him to come back and kiss me.

The last time he kissed me like that, like real lovers, was a year and a half ago. And it was the last time.