Read Russell Wiley Is Out to Lunch for Free Online Page B

She waits for me to finish, tweezers hovering in midair.
    I step away, strip to my underwear, lie back on our bed. “What time do we have to go?” I ask.
    She positions the mirror to look at me without turning. “Soon,” she says, giving me the magnified eyeball.
    I heave myself back up and reach into the wardrobe for my jeans.
    At dinner, she hangs her cardigan on the back of her chair. She’s wearing a sleeveless dress, drinking wine, laughing more than anyone at Max’s feeble jokes. There’s a candle on Shila’s dessert and we all sing “Happy Birthday.” As a group we treat Shila to her meal. Sam’s and my share tops two hundred bucks.
    At home, she says the wine has made her woozy. She’s tired and needs to sleep. She undresses in the dark, slipping into her purple T-shirt before turning on the light to hang her dress.
    While she’s at the bathroom mirror, I reach around her, grab the floss and rip off a section. Something from the credit card statement has been nagging at me all night.
    “You spent fifty-nine dollars at Classmates.com?”
    She spits toothpaste and grabs the edges of the sink. “Jesus, you’re so fucking cheap sometimes. It was a three-year subscription. It’s the best deal they offer.”
    “I’m just asking.”
    “This is why I need my own credit card. I’m sick of you scrutinizing everything I buy.”
    I could tell her to get her own credit card and a separate checking account to go with it. I could also suggest a pay-as-you-go budget amendment that puts a limit on her monthly spending. Instead, I retreat to the living room. I floss slowly, waiting for her to leave the bathroom. I wrap my floss in a tissue. I stretch my arms above my head, then reach over my left shoulder to massage the achy spot on my upper back. Sam turns off the bathroom light and heads to the bedroom. The clock on the cable box counts off two more minutes. I wait for her to switch off the light on her side of the bed. I wait a minute more before heading quietly into the bedroom.
     
     
    “Ow! What are you doing? Stop that. What time is it?”
    “Come on,” says Sam. Having thrown open the curtains, she’s now pulling at the comforter. “It’s the one day we have together. We need to go to the greenmarket, then the grocery store. And I want you to get the laundry done by twelve so we can get to Bed Bath & Beyond and back before we go to Julie and Fergus’s.”
    Our apartment’s on the top floor of an elevator building. Our bedroom faces the back. Lying in bed, when I take my forearm away my eyes, it’s possible to look through the lead-paned glass and see nothing but sky.
    “Can’t we do Bed now and Bath and Beyond later? Like you said, it’s our one day together.”
    “Don’t start. There isn’t time.”
    “What do you mean? It’s not even eight yet.”
    “We’ve got a lot to get done. My head is pounding. Work with me, OK?”
    I stretch out diagonally across the bed, then prop myself on my elbows. Sam is undoing the buttons of the comforter cover so she can throw it into the laundry pile. “You know what makes Fergus jealous?” I say. “The thought that you and I can luxuriate in bed together on a Saturday morning. No screaming kids. No diapers to change. No ‘Blue’s Clues Nora Squarepants’ to watch.”
    “We still have a lot to do, Russell.”
    “I just thought you should know how Fergus imagines us. He thinks we’re just two young lovers without a care in the world. Taking advantage of a relaxing Saturday morning. Enjoying a slow journey of mutual exploration through the exquisite contours of each other’s bodies.”
    “You think talking like that’s going to help?”
    Sam’s already dressed for outdoors. A blue T-shirt, khaki shorts, sneakers. She reaches in a drawer for her Boston University baseball cap, puts it on, and clips it so her short ponytail pokes through the space in the back.
    “What do we need at Bed Bath & Beyond anyway?” I ask.
     
     
    By three o’clock