I took a deep breath. “Do you think it’s all romantic bullshit, Brian? The Christmas tree lights, and the wedding rings, and the fireplace?”
He shrugged but didn’t answer me.
“Because it’s all your romantic bullshit, Brian. You bought this house, you bought this fireplace, you bought the fucking firewood. You bought the Christmas tree, and the lights, and you bought these fucking rings. I never asked you for any of this. Never.”
He turned his head, and his eyes looked hurt, but I just stood up, and picked up his ring from the table. “You can tell me it’s all bullshit if you want. You can throw our rings on the floor and tell me to fuck off. Go ahead.” I started to pull my ring off, his still in my palm, and Brian grabbed my hand and stood up. He didn’t let go of my hand, just pulled it up and shoved my ring back down on my finger.
“Don’t.” He had his forehead pressed against mine, and his hand was clenching so hard on mine it hurt.
I felt tears burn in my eyes again. “Why, Brian? Why shouldn’t I? You did.”
He shook his head, and dug his ring out of my palm, and pushed it hard on the finger of his left hand. “Don’t.”
I closed my eyes, and he just pressed his forehead harder against me, and held our hands together tighter.
“Brian…”
“Justin, Justin, please… just…” and he kissed me, and I thought, sometimes there just aren’t words for everything. He broke his mouth away from mine, and let go of my hands, and brought his up to either side of my face, his fingers lacing into my hair. He kissed my forehead, and then my hair, and looked at me. “I love you.”
I stood there for a second, looking at his eyes, and then I smiled. “I know.”
He laughed, and pulled me down on the sofa, and I crawled up onto him and pushed him against the arm, and kissed him. And we didn’t fuck, or talk. We just sat there in front of the fireplace, with the bullshit romantic fire and Christmas tree lights, and our wedding rings, and held onto each other until we fell asleep.
Bawling like a baby! Utterly, astonishingy beautiful and perfect. I love it, and you. You have outdone yourself, which I would have thought impossible.
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He shrugged but didn’t answer me.
“Because it’s all your romantic bullshit, Brian. You bought this house, you bought this fireplace, you bought the fucking firewood. You bought the Christmas tree, and the lights, and you bought these fucking rings. I never asked you for any of this. Never.”
He turned his head, and his eyes looked hurt, but I just stood up, and picked up his ring from the table. “You can tell me it’s all bullshit if you want. You can throw our rings on the floor and tell me to fuck off. Go ahead.” I started to pull my ring off, his still in my palm, and Brian grabbed my hand and stood up. He didn’t let go of my hand, just pulled it up and shoved my ring back down on my finger.
“Don’t.” He had his forehead pressed against mine, and his hand was clenching so hard on mine it hurt.
I felt tears burn in my eyes again. “Why, Brian? Why shouldn’t I? You did.”
He shook his head, and dug his ring out of my palm, and pushed it hard on the finger of his left hand. “Don’t.”
I closed my eyes, and he just pressed his forehead harder against me, and held our hands together tighter.
“Brian…”
“Justin, Justin, please… just…” and he kissed me, and I thought, sometimes there just aren’t words for everything. He broke his mouth away from mine, and let go of my hands, and brought his up to either side of my face, his fingers lacing into my hair. He kissed my forehead, and then my hair, and looked at me. “I love you.”
I stood there for a second, looking at his eyes, and then I smiled. “I know.”
He laughed, and pulled me down on the sofa, and I crawled up onto him and pushed him against the arm, and kissed him. And we didn’t fuck, or talk. We just sat there in front of the fireplace, with the bullshit romantic fire and Christmas tree lights, and our wedding rings, and held onto each other until we fell asleep.
Bawling like a baby! Utterly, astonishingy beautiful and perfect. I love it, and you. You have outdone yourself, which I would have thought impossible.
More f/b later, dear wife.