Mona was there to meet Michael at the entrance of their apartment. As the two of them came together for a long embrace, she said, “Oh, husband, it has been far too long.”
“Yes,” Michael said. His throat was so constricted it was all he could do to get that one word out.
The two of them clung to one another until Mona stepped back from their embrace. “I do not want to leave your arms, husband, but neither do I want to overcook our dinner.”
“We can’t have that, can we? What can I do to help?”
“You can find a vase for those beautiful roses you are holding.”
“This feels like déjà vu,” Michael said. “You were making my favorite meal the night before I left for Las Vegas, and that’s what I’m smelling now, isn’t it? I thought tepsi baytinijan was only for special occasions.”
“It is,” she said.
There was something in his wife’s voice that made Michael take a read of her face. “Am I missing something?”
“Something, and someone,” she said. “Since even before you left on your trip, I have been offering you hints, but you never took notice.”
“What are you saying?”
“Do you remember when you told me of your plans to go to Las Vegas, and I said to you, ‘We will not stand in the way.’”
Michael tried to make sense of what Mona was saying.
“And for the last five days, there hasn’t been a phone conversation where I didn’t tell you, ‘We miss you.’ And ‘we love you.’”
“We. I made your favorite dinner to celebrate, but when you told me about your trip, I decided the news should wait. Still, I could not resist passing on hints. I half hoped you would pick up on them.”
“We,” Michael said, realizing the import of that word.
The two of them—no, the three of them—embraced.
Once again, dinner had to wait.