THE BRILLIANT MORNING LIGHT slicing through the east-facing window leaves Annika feeling exposed. Christopher will continue to lie there on their king-sized bed in all his sweaty, naked glory, but Annika cannot. She grabs the cotton sheet from around her ankles and, with a flick of her wrist, tents it over her, allowing it to float down over her body. Then she pulls one, then another Kleenex from the box on her bedside table and tucks the tissues high between her thighs, wadding them into a ball to capture his stickiness into a wet plug.
A heavy sigh rumbles up from Christopher’s chest. Annika sometimes finds it hard to interpret her husband’s grunts and groans. Was that a release of sexual tension? His body relaxing into the mattress? Or an unconscious expression of his discontent? She wants to say something, to ask if he shares her weariness, her boredom, her feeling that something essential has been lost after ten years of marriage. But she can’t find the words, so she says nothing. She tips her face toward him, hoping that she’ll read the answer on his face.
Christopher grabs his cell phone from the side table, flips onto his side, his back to her, and taps out a text. Annika’s mood instantly shifts from melancholy to murderous. Who the hell does that? What is more important than sharing this quiet moment with her? His damn phone has replaced the post-coital cigarette. Both could kill a man – only the cell phone is
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Diana L. Gustafson is a Canadian author with roots from sea to sea. She was born in a small farming community on the prairies, published dozens of articles (and three books) during her twenty years as a professor and women’s health researcher at an east coast university, and completed her MFA in creative writing at the University of British Columbia. She lives in Toronto and is an active member of three writing collectives.