Date

 

"Cute?" Elliot's wife asked him, showing off the little black dress she planned to wear to the wedding she was going to on Saturday.

Elliot swallowed, staring at his wife's breasts, the short hem. "It...it might be too pretty," he said.

"Sweetie," she said.

The wedding was a friend of her boyfriend; he was invited to the wedding and was taking her as his "plus one."

"I just...I mean..."

"You're worried still."

"Some...some of your girlfriends...Angela and Marcy will be there."

"Yes," she said.

"They...they'll assume your his...his...date."

"Sweetie, I am his date," she said.

"But...but if you dress like that they'll assume you're sleeping with him," I said.

"Sweetie, I am sleeping with him," she said.

I tried again. "But they'll assume he...he's your boyfriend," I said.

"Sweetie, he is my boyfriend," she said.

Finally I blurted it out. "But they'll assume that...that I'm...I'm a loser and...and you're going to leave me for him."

She looked at me. "You have to say it," she said. "You have to communicate what's bothering you. You can't keep it bottled up inside."

"But they...I..."

"And you know what?"

"What?"

"They won't think that because I'll explain to them that everything they assume is true but that. I'll explain to Angela and Marcy that I am his date. That I am sleeping with him. That he is my boyfriend. But I'll also explain that I'm married to the sweetest, most tender, most caring little boy in the whole world who pampers me and supports me and is my best friend and who lovingly gives me space to have a man in my life."