December 2nd, 1989

December 2nd, 1989

At home

For the second day in a row, I woke up with Ben. The word blissful comes to mind. The entire day felt as if we’d set the clock back by several years, back to when we were utterly in love and so happy together. There were no hurtful words, no me getting upset because of something Ben said, no him getting frustrated with me because of a misunderstanding. No nonsense. Just two people, enjoying each other in every way, six years after their love first blossomed.

This afternoon, while we were stretched out on the living room floor, listening to “You Send Me,” I started giggling.

“What’s so funny?”

“Us. What we’re listening to.”

“I thought you liked Sam Cooke.”

“I do but I doubt this is what most people in their early twenties listen to.”

“That’s true but we love eighties music too.”

I smiled when I said, “Our decade.”

“You do realize your beloved eighties are almost over, don’t you?”

“I hadn’t given it much thought but now you mention it, it’s weird to think that in less than a month we’ll be into the nineties.”

“Spooky,” he said, making me laugh as he reached for my hand.


We stayed on the floor, singing;

“At first I thought it was infatuation, but ooo it’s lasted so long. Now I find myself wanting to marry you and take you home.”

When the song ended, Ben tightly squeezed my hand. “Where do you think you’ll be, ten years from now, at the end of the nineties?”

I laughed. “What kind of question is that?”

“One I’m interested in the answer to.”

“I’m not sure,” I said.

“You must have some idea.”

“I have lots of ideas but where I end up depends on so many different things.”

“Ok, well where would you like to end up?”

“Maybe in France.”

He laughed. “You’ve always loved French stuff.”

“Oui, je connais.”

He rolled towards me and propped himself up on one elbow. “Je t’aime.”

“No, you don’t,” I blurted.

“Don’t you think I should be the judge of that?”

“I suppose,” I shrugged.

“I do, you know,” he said, staring at me.

“Hmmm,” I uttered, not quite knowing what to say.

“Why hmmm?” he mimicked, in a way that made me laugh.

“Eh, I hate to bring her up, but what about Mandy?”

He rolled onto his back and sighed. “Mandy’s great but she’s a different kettle of fish.”

“To what?”

“To you, of course.”

I rolled onto my side. “You’re just saying that so I’ll drag you upstairs to my lair, again.”

He rolled over to face me. “As much as I’d love that, it isn’t the reason I just told you I love you.”

“Oh, is that what you said in French?” I teased. “Sorry, your accent was so atrocious I had a hard time understanding you.” I tried my best to keep a straight face but I failed miserably.

“You. Are. Very. Naughty,” he grinned, slapping my thigh.

“So, do you love Mandy?”

“In some ways, yeah, I do.”


“I don’t see us ending up together.”

“Why not?”

“I think I need somebody more like you.”

“Yeah, right. And I’m still not dragging you upstairs.”

His face took on a look of seriousness. “Actually, come to think of it, the two of you are polar opposites.”

“Oh, I’m so relieved to hear that.”
He gave me a questioning look. “Why?”

“I’ve seen her taste in shoes. Or lack thereof,” I sneered.

“Uh-oh,” Ben said, getting up. “I think it’s time to change the subject.”

“Definitely,” I said, reaching for his outstretched hand.

“Get up here and dance with me, you cheeky minx,” he said, pulling me up to meet him.


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