“Why won’t she stop crying?” Luna stumbles into my room, bleary-eyed, with an anxious pit bull trotting at her heels.
We arrived back in Nashville late, having stayed longer at brunch with Paige and Dash than we’d planned. Plus, the return trip required more stops to give Pig bathroom breaks. When we got home after dark, we took the time to walk our new dog around Luna’s yard and into each room of the house, showing her all the dog beds and toys I stocked up on.
The two of us headed to bed maybe an hour ago. But Pig doesn’t seem to have gotten the sleep memo.
“Maybe she misses Pumpkin?” I offer as I reach for my glasses on the bedside table. Once I slip the frames on, everything loses its blurry edge and I can meet Luna’s eyes.
She blinks at me, more awake than I first thought.
“You wear glasses?”
“I wear contacts.” I sit up straighter in my bed, hoping the bulky frames don’t make me look too dorky. “But I take them out when I sleep. Glasses are just so I don’t trip over anything when I’m walking from the bathroom to my bed.” If I even bother to put them on. Sometimes it’s more work to find the frames in the middle of the night than it is to stumble through the dark house. Not like I can see much in the dark anyway.
“Hmm.” She tilts her head, studying me, but gets distracted by Pig hopping up on the mattress and curling into a seemingly content ball beside my feet.
“Okay,” Luna uses a hushed tone, her whole demeanor cautious. “She’s quiet. She’s happy. I’m just going to back out slowly.” The woman takes careful steps backward out of my room. She gets just out of eyeline when Pig pops her massive head up and starts a new round of pitiful whimpering.
With a defeated huff, Luna stalks back into the room. Then she keeps on coming, climbing onto my bed and settling on the other side of her dog. My fake wife swipes the remote off the table beside her and flips on the TV mounted on the wall across from the foot of the bed.
“Let’s watch something. Maybe she’ll fall asleep and I can sneak out. Sound good?”
“Works for me.” I try my best to keep my tone casual, even as I’m a bundle of nerves and excitement on the inside.
Luna is in the bed with me. Well, me and Pig.
The dog thumps her stubby tail in a couple of happy wags, then burrows her head into the soft covers.
“What do you want to watch?” Luna asks, flipping through the thousands of options on a single streaming service.
“Something with no plot.” No doubt this brief wakefulness will wear off in a few minutes.
“Reality TV it is.” Luna ends up choosing a show about tattoo mistakes and cover-ups. With the entertainment selected, she settles back against the pillows, her hand coming to rest on Pig’s head, giving the pup affectionate scratches.
My mind imagines what it would be like to have Luna’s strong fingers on me, digging into my skin, massaging my muscles. Maybe leaving scratch marks as she gasps out my name.
Back up. Not going to go there.
Not when she’s right next to me anyway.
As the vaguely interesting show keeps playing, I find myself sinking deeper into the bed, leaning toward Pig. Luna and I almost cradle her with our bodies, and the position soothes the dog until she’s sleeping, her eyes shut as little puppy snores eke out.
Turning my head to Luna, I expect to see her eyes on me with a silent message that she plans on sneaking out. But I find that Luna has drifted off as thoroughly as her dog, the two of them now passed out in my bed.
My chest tightens. But the sensation doesn’t hurt. More like the pressure pulls against the inside of my rib cage, encouraging me to do something. To revel in this perfect picture of domesticity.
But what can I do other than memorize every detail of this moment? The sound of the show not fully drowning out the gentle puffs of breath from Luna and her hound. The smell of the fabric softener she uses that scents the sheets. The warmth of two bodies close but not touching mine.
More than anything I ache to cross the space between us. Reach out an arm to tuck a stray strand of hair behind Luna’s ear, then brush my thumb against her sharp cheekbone.
Eventually, I slide my glasses off and set them aside, allowing this dream of mine to blur. To remove a small ounce of the need to beg for this marriage, this home, this perfect place for me, to be real.