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Aaron found himself awake sometime in the deep hours of night in a strange room, aware of the person beside him in the bed. He didn’t move for fear of waking her. He could hear her breathing slowly beside him, her back to him. He wondered if she was awake too, staying still and silent to give him the impression she was sleeping. He was stiff and self-conscious of his own breathing.
It was the third night of their honeymoon. He loved Meredith and still couldn’t believe he was married to her. They had been friend before discovering their attraction, and this aspect was still so new and exciting….
But now, suddenly, he felt awkward. Who was this person in bed with him? For twenty-three years he had slept alone, slept when he wanted, in torn and should-be-washed shirt and shorts, drooled on his pillow, and had the night hours to himself.
He suddenly needed to go to the bathroom and wasn’t sure he could extricate himself from the covers. So he waited, unmoving, and closed his eyes. That only made the pressure in his bladder more insistent.
Why should he be nervous? They were married. They were one flesh. (But only for three days. That was hardly any time at all.)
Meredith’s grandparents were German Americans. They had slept in separate beds their entire marriage. It was not at all romantic, he had thought when he first learned that. But he could admit now that it was orderly and convenient, a bit of privacy in a shared life. Meredith had joked about how she hogged covers, and her sister had warned him that Meredith often ended up with her head facing the foot of the bed because she moved so much when she slept.
This did not bode well for his rest. And he liked his sleep.
He waited and listened and finally determined that Meredith was good and asleep. Then he slowly wiggled his way to the edge of the bed and slipped out from the covers. He crept swiftly over the wooden floor of their rented cabin, slid the bathroom door shut, and relieved himself.
Should he flush the toilet? He couldn’t remember how loud it was. He couldn’t remember ever caring how loud a toilet was.
He slipped back to bed as quietly as he could. Meredith wasn’t there.
Should he keep still and pretend he didn’t notice? Earlier in the evening, he might have considered this some sort of playful gesture, but the time and his earlier uneasiness made him anxious. He listened and heard some rustling at the edge of the room, but he couldn’t see well after the light of the bathroom. He sat up and said, much too softly, “Meredith?”
“I just forgot something,” she said, too loudly. “Don’t worry.”
She returned to bed almost immediately.
“Sorry,” she said.
“For what?”
“Nothing.”
“What’s the matter?”
“I was just looking for something.”
From her tone, he knew he shouldn’t ask. “I don’t want there to be secrets between us,” he said, more passionately than he had expected. “I don’t want us tiptoeing around each other.”
“I know,” she whispered. She turned away from him.
“You can trust me,” he said.
“I know.”
She said nothing for a few minutes then got out of bed and returned to their suitcase on the floor at the edge of the room. She pulled something out, held it close, and sat on the bed, back to him. He could just sense her outline.
“I thought once I was married….” She looked over her shoulder at him. “Don’t be mad.”
Now he was worried. “I won’t.”
“I just can’t sleep. It’s still so strange.”
He nodded, realized she couldn’t see it, but didn’t say anything.
She straightened, as if she had decided something, and turned suddenly. “This is Mr. Catface. I’ve had him since I was a baby. I sleep with him almost every night.”
In the darkness all he could see was a ball of fur. She held it out to him and he took it. It was soft and it smelled like her.
He handed it back. “I love you.”
She lay down, squeezing it close. “Good night, husband.”
He scooted close to her. “Good night, wife.”
A few minutes later, she started snoring. He turned away, covered his head, and tried to sleep.