Now I’m All Over the Shop

Stockholm comes over after a difficult night at work. We’re in bed and she’s lying with her head in my lap while I stroke her hair.

She’s telling me about an asshole customer, but she’s not explaining why he’s an asshole. Eventually she explains it was because he told a joke she didn’t like.

After much needling from me, she tells me the joke.

It’s a bad idea to laugh when someone’s head is in your lap and repeats a joke that defined its teller as an asshole. I know this. Unfortunately, when someone’s head is in your lap stifling laughter is obvious. When her head is shaking because of your laughter and she gets up and starts putting on her clothes, you have to turn on major game.

There were many I’m sorry’s and baby’s, cooing and softly rubbing her forehead and cheek with your thumb. You know you have to make her stay. If she leaves like this, she won’t be coming back. This is not the time to make her laugh. Laughing will remind her of your laughter.

This is the hard sell.

This is, after the cooing and apologies, after the thumb rubs and baby, baby come here, put down your keys, after she softens when you kiss her neck, but stiffens again and looks for her shoes, after you crouch beside her as she slips them on, after another don’t go, don’t leave, stay here, stay with me, that’s when it just slips out, and you haven’t been drinking so you have no excuse.

It just slips out and it’s there and there it is, and she looks at you, after you’ve said it, and you see her surprise and your chest is throbbing and feels waterlogged.

You can feel yourself breathe.

‘I should go,’ she says, but she’s softened. She steps toward you and kisses your cheek. You don’t move. You feel yourself blinking, a series of fast blinks one after the other. You’re trying not to twitch. She’s already facing the door, but turns to you for the briefest of moments.

‘Call me tomorrow,’ she says, ‘if you meant that.’