His POV

nailing it

His POV

When the screen turned to black and credits started to roll after A Walk to Remember, I thought of the sweetest thing I could say. Her head is still lying on my lap and I bet it would stay there for many minutes more. I brushed her soft, brown hair with my fingers and whispered, “I want to hold your hands when we’re 80 and say that we’ve made it.”

She lifted her hands to my face. “Will I still be having this red, sexy nails?”

“What? Why do you keep doing that?”

“Doing what, baby?”

“I’m trying to be romantic here.”

“Don’t make me choose between you or my nails,” in a second she’s up and walking towards the kitchen. “Just be warned. Someday you’ll ask me to give up something I really love, and then it’s going to get ugly.”

I think she’s pissed that Jaimie Sullivan died.

not the dishes

His POV

“I can’t believe I’m going home to this,” I said, pointing to the dirty dishes at the sink.

“We’ve discussed this before, right? I do all the housework, but not the plates. Never the plates. That’s your only contribution to the welfare of this house,” she said, her hands on her hips.

“But I have work! I’ve been out working straight for eight hours.”

“Doing this won’t take you that long, I promise,” she said.

“Honey! I’m tired!”

“So am I!”

“Tired of what?! Doing nothing?” I heard myself shouting. I am tired. “We don’t even have kids! What were you doing here all by yourself all day anyway? Don’t you ever thought that maybe I want to rest after a stressful day? Come on!”

After a long pause she said, “You know what? Fine. I’m going to do the dishes today. Only for today. Just so you know that I am an understanding, considerate, patient, and merciful wife.”

“Thank you,” I said in exasperation and head upstairs.

Later that night, before I close my eyes to sleep, I finally accept that she forgot that it’s my birthday.

comfort me

His POV

One night, in our room, I heard her sobbing. I was worried. She never cried before, at least not within my sight. So I sat beside her in the bed and held her hands tightly. “Sweetheart, you don’t have to say a word. I can see that something is bothering you. And I just want you to know I’ll help you in any way I can. You tell me what it is, and believe me, honey, it can’t be as bad as you think. And we can work on this together. We can. You don’t worry. I see something bad. But we can fix it, you and I.”

I am almost out of breath as I finished speaking, my heart pounding with every end of a sentence. I felt like crying myself. Have you seen someone you love weeping? It’s horrible.

So you can understand my anger when I found out she was just making fun of everything including me.

Playing dead

His POV

You, standing in front of a whole-body mirror wearing my shirt and boxers.
Me, still in bed pretending to be asleep.
You, making faces, talking to yourself, smelling your armpit.
Me, still in bed pretending to be asleep.
You, suddenly turning, crossing your arms, rolling eyes. A deep, deliberate sigh. “Are you going to play dead for hours? I’m hungry.”
Me, still in bed pretending to be asleep, smiling.